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Once Tobirama is pointed out the core of the problem, he carefully combs through the mess of strands to find what is causing the new spurt of blood to trickle into the water. The fact that it is just a dislodged feather temporarily allows him to feel relieved. As brutal as the damage seems, it is not as serious as he thought it would be. The feather will eventually grow back and judging by Madara's reaction, the tengu hardly even knows about it aside from some form of discomfort.
"I see," Tobirama lets Madara know verbally that he has acknowledged his words, carefully pulling the feather out completely. It will be much better for Madara to be rid of it and additionally, it will prevent the area from getting inflamed. It comes at the cost of some additional pain but he hopes that Madara will not react too violently to it.
After all, there is still a lot left to do.
As Tobirama's access to appropriate 'hair'-care supplies is limited, he uses what he can, including Hashirama's odd herbal concoctions that are supposed to help the caked dirt and tangling (and hopefully not cause further irritation where the suds may accidentally go over a wound or two).
When it comes to additional tools, though, Tobirama has to scrutinise whatever supplies Hashirama had dragged in with him. None look too appealing, oddly crooked and with teeth of varying distances, undoubtedly Hashirama-made as well, judging by the attempt at polishing of his Mokuton wood. The distant hum of chakra underneath the combs' surfaces alone is telling, but Tobirama can only feel it once he lays his hands on the combs properly.
The rest of the work passes relatively slowly and in silence. Both Tobiramas work in tandem, switching between washing, pouring liquid, and combing through Madara's hair and wings.
The water has to be changed once or twice, less and less filthy each time until Madara's plumage is clean enough to not stain the water anymore, and his wounds have temporarily closed and have started to scab over.
"You can wash yourself, right?" Tobirama, the clone, huffs from the side in an almost irritated manner, straightening his back, while the real Tobirama seems to be taking a minute off. He too straightens his back, wincing quietly at the leftover strain and dull ache of being bet over the tub for too long. Carefully, he lifts his arm and rotates his shoulder until it cracks and slots itself back into its socket.
He'll definitely demand a compensation after.