wait stop cuz youre a FUCKING GENIUS
world where hanahaki disease doesnt exist, its not a thing
but after madara leaves hashirama starts having trouble breathing
its like theres something clogging his lungs. and he can feel it, he can feel its energy and it feels like dark, miserable nature chakra. he tries to manipulate it but the roots only grow stronger. he can't manipulate them out
he feels the flowers before he coughs them out. he hides them from mito and tobirama, hides his condition entirely—no, im fine, just caught a cough! ill be alright
the roots start spreading throughout his nervous system. they worm into his muscles, wrap around his bones. slowly it gets harder to move
other people notice, but he just says hes getting old, or he didnt sleep, or something
one day, a child bumps into him, and hashirama—god of shinobi, second-to-non hashirama—falls over, and needs assistance to get up. the roots are everywhere, flowers unfurling with abandon in his ribcage. hashirama feels them pulse with every heartbeat—they feed off him, off his misery. he misses madara so much that he cannot breathe anymore, literally. he literally feels madara's absence in his bones
after the falling incident, tobirama forces him into the lab for a checkup. is horrified at what he finds, but immediately starts researching how to clear hashirama's system, how to kill the roots or remove them surgically or something—"the only thing that could ever kill you was always going to be an overabundance of cells, i can fix this, i–"
mito touches hashirama's shoulder, concerned, and hashirama groans in pain, as the vines slither in response to what they perceive—what hashirama's subconscious perceives—as a touch thats abhorrent, sullying madara's memory
mito winces. hashirama gives her a reassuring smile and tries to pay attention to tobirama's sciency ramblings, but its. hard. hes just so tired.
that night, after everyone is asleep, hashirama pulls himself from his rocking chair with effort, and stiffly drags himself towards the door. he walks through the gardens, then leaves—he finds his way into the forest, and despite the feel of cement in his joints and how each step makes him cough violently with exertion, walks deeper, and deeper.
and if a tree deep in fire country is a lone, strong cedar in a sea of oak and fir, well. no one ever thinks to look.