A Different River to Cross

by TitaniaFaerieQueen

Summary:

Written for Tobirama Week 2024

DAY 4 ∘ 02/16 ∘ UNHEALED / MOON / CONTRACT

The day at the river, when Madara and Hashirama's friendship came to light, what if Hashirama had prioritized saving Izuna, counting on Tobirama being good enough to save himself? What if he had been wrong? How would that change the future?

Notes:

• For FiyasGideon.

This prompt was tossed out by FiyasGideon over on Discord, and my muses threw themselves at it like a pack of ravenous dogs:

 

What if, hear me out, in that scene at the river when Butsuma and Tajima throw those weapons at Tobirama and Izuna, and Hashirama and Madara throw their own weapons to knock them off course, instead of Madara knocking Izuna's off and Hashirama knocking Tobirama's, Madara throw off Izuna's and Hashirama tries to throw off Izuna's (gotta protect my friend's little brother so I don't lose his friendship, surely Tobirama can protect himself) meaning that Tobirama's is still headed towards him.

 

Now, we have either him knocking it away and from that moment on he "knows" that Hashirama doesn't love him or something (why else would he save his friend's brother but not his own)
OR
Tobirama doesn't block it in time and it ends up severely hurting (maybe killing 🤔) him.

Chapter 1

Hashirama watched his rock, and Madara’s rock, hit at almost the same time, knocking the weapon out of its path. The single weapon. The one heading for Madara’s younger brother.

Then, as if in slow motion, he watched with horror as Tobirama tried to dodge the one sent for him. Tried. But ultimately failed. Instead of his neck, it buried itself into his bare shoulder, to the hilt. And Tobirama… just sank to his knees with an expression twisted in pain. There was a brief moment of silence where everyone took in what had happened, and then Hashirama was snatched up by his father under one arm, and he barely managed to notice that Tobirama hung under the other arm as they were moving at high speeds towards the Senju settlement, leaving the river behind them.

⁂

Madara stared at the empty spot where the pale kid had been. The one he was absolutely certain had been Hashirama’s younger brother. Whom Hashirama had not protected! Madara’s eyes hurt. Burned. What kind of brother would choose to save someone else’s brother over their own? What kind of brother would let their younger brother get hurt, just to save a stranger? No matter that that stranger was Madara’s brother, it didn’t sit right with him that Hashirama had made that choice. It… felt wrong somehow. And Madara realized he felt sorry for that pale kid. To think that he had thought Hashirama shared the same dream as him. Clearly that was not the case.

Eyes still burning, Madara turned away from the river, glancing up at his father. Who had a thoughtful expression on his face as he studied Madara. “Son, your eyes… Would you care to explain?”

It was only at that point that Madara became aware of just how… clear everything was. How he could see everything in such crisp detail that it was like he was holding it right in front of himself. And how everything had a faint red tint. He was an Uchiha. He knew what that meant. But he wasn’t sure why.

Closing his eyes to soothe the burning sensation, he thought it over, and started a bit hesitantly. “Hashirama… He wasn’t who I thought he was. He didn’t… We talked about having peace! About stopping this senseless war, and instead pool our resources and make a village. One where we could see children grow up without having a kunai pushed into their hand as soon as they could walk. One where we didn’t have to see children buried. Children like our brothers! I wanted this peace so that I wouldn’t have to lose Izuna-kun! And I thought… I thought… Hashirama said he wanted it for his brother as well! But then… Why would he choose to save Izuna-kun over his own brother?! I don’t… I don’t understand?”

Tajima shook his head. “He is still a child. You are still a child. There are things you do not know yet, about how the world works. Having peace with the Senju—while a lovely idea in theory—I do not see how it could happen. There are too many grievances on both sides. Too many horrors committed. Getting the whole clan to agree to it… I do not see how it could be done.”

He held a hand out to Madara, urging him, and Izuna, to come closer, and his expression turned stern. “That said, you do not know that the Senju boy was telling the truth. He could have been playing you. Luring you in with false promises, hoping to kill you. And maybe others.”
Madara frowned. “Who?”
Tajima gave him a look that was just slightly shy of judging. “What would your next step towards this peace have been? Who might you have brought in next, to build this peace?”

With dawning horror Madara’s eyes flickered to Izuna. “Oh!”
Tajima gave a tiny nod. “Yes. He might have urged you to bring your little brother, offering to bring his. And then… Well, do you think it was a coincidence that as soon as Izuna-kun brought me here, the Senju clan head and the brother showed up? They must have been waiting in the forest for the right time to strike.”

Madara felt like an idiot. Played by Hashirama, the idiot who would grow mushrooms at the slightest insult, then hop around like everything was fine in the world in the next moment. The idiot who had been ready to sacrifice his own brother to perpetuate the lie he had told Madara. That was cold.

As they were running back home, Izuna stuck close to him, and Madara grabbed his hand, giving it a small squeeze. To think that he might have lost Izuna-kun if this had not happened. The thought made something grow hard inside him. But then he thought of the pained grimace on the pale boy’s face, and that something turned into something almost like grief. Would Hashirama ever hold his brother’s hand? Would he even get the chance to? Madara had seen how the blade had gone straight through that tiny body. It was an injury that could kill. The boy might already be dead. And that just… didn’t sit right with Madara. Not at all.

⁂

Butsuma dumped Hashirama just inside the entrance to the healing halls with a barked order to “Stay!”, then he rushed over to the healers with Tobirama, and organized chaos erupted. Hashirama just stood frozen, staring, taking in the sight of his brother, his last little brother, propped up against one healer while they carefully removed the blade. One of the other healers tried to stem the blood-flow, while another still poked about inside the wound. Hashirama wanted to shout at them that they were hurting Tobirama, but… he couldn’t move. Besides, what right did he have? He was the one who had allowed Tobirama to be hurt. He was the one who had… He had failed.

And so Hashirama just stood there, staring, memorizing every single thing they put Tobirama through in an effort to save him. That was on him. That was his fault. That was his failing. He needed to do better. For Tobirama.

Once it had become clear that there was nothing he could assist with, Butsuma sat down in a chair off to the side, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands in a fist under his chin. His expression was closed off, but his eyes never left Tobirama. Hashirama briefly wondered what he was thinking. Then Tobirama made a noise around the leather strap the healers had him biting down on, and Hashirama’s attention was back on him. Each successive pained noise from Tobirama felt like a physical wound to Hashirama. But the worst was yet to come.

“We managed to save his arm, but… Senju-sama, he… I am sorry, but your second son will never regain the strength in his arm. It is damaged beyond what we can fix. At best, he might be able to clench his fingers into a fist, but he will probably not be able to lift anything with it again.”
Butsuma closed his eyes and gave a slow nod. “I see. Thank you for your hard work.”

He got up from the chair, and Hashirama wanted to shout 'what does that mean?' But he didn’t, because a part of him already knew. Tobirama couldn’t be a shinobi anymore. Maybe, if he had been a fully trained one, he could have managed to adapt. But as it was, who would spend all that extra time and energy training a shinobi that was effectively one-armed? Nobody, that was who. They didn’t have neither the time nor the resources to do that. So what did that mean for Tobirama’s future?

⁂

There had been a small celebration in the Uchiha settlement, for Madara gaining his Sharingan. And Madara knew he should be proud, yet… he couldn’t stop thinking about that pale boy. The pained expression as he fell to his knees was burned into his memory. As was the horrible feeling of betrayal. That Hashirama had betrayed their shared ideals.

Once he was safely back in his room, Madara attempted to stretch his senses out, wanting to know if the boy still lived. But he wasn’t good enough yet to even reach beyond the Uchiha territory border. Which meant he would have to work on that skill. For reasons he couldn’t explain he had a burning need to know if the boy was okay. And there was nobody he could ask. Not anymore. He would never go back to that bend in the river. Never.

⁂

Hashirama got another shock the day after the incident. He had barely managed to sleep, his consciousness churning with guilt and despair, and what little sleep he had gotten had been filled with nightmares where Tobirama died instantly, his blood coloring the river stones a dark red before flowing into the river, tainting it with the memory of Hashirama’s failure.

All these things meant that when he stepped out onto the training field, he was not prepared. Although, he might never have been truly prepared anyway, even if he had been warned ahead of time, because clearly he had missed a lot of things while he had been sneaking off to see Madara.

Butsuma stood there, feet spaced a shoulder-width apart. “Now that your brother will not be able to protect the clan, you will have to pick up the slack. You will complete both your own training, and his, starting today.”

Hashirama knew it was a punishment, but he had not been aware of just how bad until the end of the day, when he all but crawled into bed. Had Tobirama really been training that hard? The thought sat uncomfortably in his belly. If Tobirama actually had, then that must mean that he had been very eager to become a shinobi. And Hashirama’s idiocy had taken that chance from Tobirama. The guilt felt almost choking.

⁂

The first week in the healing halls had been a daze of pain and painkillers, but by the second week, Tobirama was lucid enough to understand what the bandages around his shoulder and torso meant. He had been injured. Badly. But he did not dare to ask the healers. It wasn’t until his father came to sit with him for a while that Tobirama learned the extent of the injury.

Butsuma had been quiet, just looking at Tobirama with an expression Tobirama had no idea how to interpret. When he reached out and took a hold of Tobirama’s good hand, something tied itself in knots in Tobirama’s stomach. For his father to display such sentiments in a public place, even one as quiet and halfway deserted as the healing wing… It meant it was bad.

He was right.
“The injury to your shoulder weakened your arm. Even with training it will never be what it was. Will never be as strong as it was. Tobi-kun, you… You can’t be a shinobi anymore. Do you understand?”
Tobirama gave a slow nod, desperately trying to swallow the lump stuck in his throat. Butsuma gave his hand a quick squeeze, then he continued. “That doesn’t mean you can’t be useful to the clan. We’ll just find something else for you to do. … Would you like to learn to be a healer?”

It took him a moment to process the question, busy as he was with fighting against that uncomfortable lump, but then he nodded. Yes, healing. He could do that. That would be a good thing. He could still keep his clan alive. Healthy. Strong. Even if he himself no longer was.

Knowing that his father expected a verbal response, Tobirama forced the words past the lump. “Yes, father.” He swallowed once more, and added. “I would like to become a healer.”
Butsuma released his hand and patted his head. “I know that you will excel at it. You always had more brains than the rest of the clan. Maybe you can revolutionize the healing profession, hmm?”
Tobirama managed a weak smile at that, and nodded. Yes, he would become the best healer ever, creating new jutsu that could cure anything. Maybe even regrow limbs. Or make useless limbs useful again. Mother always said that anything was possible. You just had to find the right way to do it.

⁂

Hashirama had been spying on Tobirama through a crack where the screen doors had not been closed properly. That’s where Tōka found him. And she just had this way of looking at him that made Hashirama spill everything. “Tobirama… He was supposed… I mean, I assumed… He’s always been so good when we sparred, and I just… I thought he would dodge it.” He winced. “I was so sure he would be fine. And he’s not. And it’s my fault.”
Tōka, who had briefly peered through the same crack, turned back to stare at Hashirama. “Tell me what happened.”

And Hashirama told her, about meeting Madara, and how good it had felt to finally get a friend that he could be sure was his friend for him, and not because he was clan heir or something. One he could share things with without worrying what the rest of the clan would think when those things inevitably were spread around. One he could dream together with, about peace, about building a village together, where everyone had their own homes, and enough food, and good clothes, and where they didn’t have to go out fighting so often, or even at all. A village where children didn’t have to fight. Where you could, if you wanted to, become something other than shinobi.

And Tōka listened. Sat him down on the engawa, turned to face him, and kept her expression free from judgment. She let him speak, let him pour out his heart, and then, once he had run out of words, she tilted her head a little. “Did you mean for Tobirama to be hurt?”
“Of course not!” Hashirama was aghast. As if he would do such a thing?
But Tōka just nodded. “And yet, he did get hurt. Yes, he would not have gotten hurt if you had not gone to the river to meet that Uchiha boy, but… You could not predict that it would happen. The blame does not solely rest on your shoulders. Most of it lies with the grownups, especially those that would target children.”

Hashirama squirmed a bit, remembering that his own father had thrown a weapon at Madara’s brother. Tōka's admonishment included their clan head. He didn’t know if that made her brave, or stupid. If the Elders caught wind of it… Tōka herself didn’t seem to care. She just carried on. “Take this as a lesson. You cannot predict everything, and it is better to err on the side of caution, than to make assumptions that can get you, or someone else you care for, injured, or even killed.”

Her expression shifted into a very serious one. “Meeting that strange boy by the river was foolish. Especially given all the warnings you have received about such things. How could you be sure that he didn’t wish you harm?”
Hashirama couldn’t help but protest. “But we’ve met several times, and he’s never hurt me.”
Tōka sighed. “Not all harm is immediately apparent. Are you sure you never told him anything that could have put our clan in danger? You never revealed something about our patrols, or about our trade with other clans, or mentioned agreements that had been reached? Nothing that, in enemy hands, could be used to sabotage us?”

He wanted to say no. He really did. But… He couldn’t remember everything they had talked about. Couldn’t remember if he had mentioned anything like the things Tōka had just listed. Or, come to think of it, anything else. Because now he finally understood, and it was a painful realization. He had been so happy. So elated, to finally meet someone whom he felt understood him. And that had made him put his guard down. Madara could have been an enemy under a henge. Could have been a trained infiltration specialist. Could still be one!

The incident at the river… How had the Uchiha clan head known to arrive just in time to stop Butsuma from killing Madara? Had Madara sent a signal? What had their plan been? To get whatever information they could out of Hashirama, and then… kill him? A chill crept down his spine. Oh, he had been so foolish. So idiotic. And… Tobirama had paid the price. Hashirama had to do better. For Tobirama.

⁂

The first time he saw Hashirama after the river incident, it was on a battlefield, the clans hired on opposing sides of a conflict between two nobles. Madara didn’t really want to face off against Hashirama—there were still some lingering feelings of fondness—but at the same time, if he didn’t, someone else would, and that meant that Madara would not get a chance to confront Hashirama. Would not get a chance to vent all his anger for the betrayal. So he headed straight for the boy when the clans clashed.

Madara knew he was good. He was praised by his trainers all the time. And yet, Hashirama met him blow for blow, keeping up. They were evenly matched. And Madara forgot what he had intended to do, all the things he had wanted to shout at Hashirama, instead losing himself in the focus of simply staying alive, dodging, striking, evading, parrying… Until the call for retreat rang out. By then it was too late. He had missed his chance. But, considering the hard look in Hashirama’s eyes when they parted, there would be other chances.

⁂

Tobirama had spent three weeks in the healing wing before he was finally allowed to move back to his room in the main house. And not once in that time had Hashirama come to visit him. His father had. Tōka had. And an assortment of other clan members had dropped by with baked goods or other treats. But not Hashirama.

Oh, Tobirama had sensed him lurking around the building. Had felt him sitting on the engawa of the healing halls for hours. But he had not entered the room. And Tobirama didn’t know why. Was Hashirama disappointed in Tobirama for bringing their father to the river? Or for getting injured? For becoming an invalid? Or was he angry because he could not see his friend anymore? Maybe he was angry because he had been punished with extra training for two full weeks after the incident, something Tobirama only knew about because Tōka had told him. Or maybe he was upset that he had been saddled with Tobirama as a brother instead of Uchiha Madara? Tobirama didn’t know. Because Hashirama didn’t come to see him, so he couldn’t ask him. And that hurt.

Moving back to his rooms had also hurt a bit. Both physically, because he was still healing and had to be careful with just about everything. But also because he saw his armor-pieces hung up on the stand, and the sword on the wall, and he knew that they were not truly his anymore. That Butsuma had only left them there so that Tobirama himself could choose who to pass them on to. They were far too useful, and far too valuable to be left on display.

Perhaps Mio-san. She was slim, but fast. And older than Tobirama. He didn’t want to give the items to someone younger than himself. Didn’t want to encourage the Elders. Yeah, Mio-san would put the items to good use, and Tobirama would feel good knowing that they were helping keep her safe. He just… couldn’t do it today. Maybe tomorrow. For now he left them alone. He had scrolls to read, lent to him by the head healer, as a start to his studies.

Unrolling the first one he found a diagram of the human body, with parts painstakingly labeled. Rolling the scroll further revealed another diagram, with other parts drawn in. And then another. And another. This would take time. But that was something Tobirama had plenty of now.

Chapter 2

Summary:

Madara and Hashirama work some things out, while Tobirama offers Tōka a little help with Izuna.

By the next time they clashed against the Senju, Madara had fallen into a funk, missing Hashirama despite everything. But seeing that angry look as the other boy lashed out, well, it knocked Madara out of the funk and right back into anger. What the hell did Hashirama have to be angry about? That his plans had fallen through? Madara gritted his teeth and dodged, doing his best to slice at Hashirama’s legs.

And if, at the back of his mind, a tiny part desperately wanted to ask if the younger brother still lived… Madara couldn’t. Could not show that kind of weakness. Not again. He lost himself in the push and pull of fighting, working his body to exhaustion to clear his mind.

And then, later, after he had cleaned his cuts and bruises, he sat down and made another attempt at stretching his senses. He could not explain why he was so desperate to know. He just knew that it was something he needed deep in his bones. And so he pushed. And pushed. Every day reaching a tiny bit further.

⁂

Tobirama kept track of his clan mates whenever they went out of the compound, for as long as he could follow them, so that he could warn the others in the healing hall if there were injured clanmates incoming. So far he was only allowed to assist with minor things, but as soon as it became apparent that he was not squeamish at all, Healer Tadaaki-san had him observe other, more advanced procedures as well.

Tadaaki-san, Wakusei-san, and Myojo-san were currently removing ceramic splinters from Tenpi-san’s thigh after he had been too close to an exploding tag when it went off. Tobirama was holding a lantern on a pole over their heads, to make sure they had enough light to see every tiny piece. It also allowed him to observe the careful way Myojo-san sponged away blood, and how Wakusei-san used a tiny stream of katon to repeatedly heat a needle, using it to cauterize bleeding from smaller blood-vessels, while Tadaaki-san used a pair of narrow bamboo needles to pick pieces of the shattered ceramic plate out of the flesh.

Tobirama shifted closer, wishing that he could use his other hand to take notes, but he couldn’t even curl his fingers properly, far less hold a brush or piece of charcoal. Although, maybe he could tie a piece of chalk to one of his fingers, and use a blackboard, just to take the most crucial notes? An idea to explore later, when he was alone in his room and nobody could see him fumble.

He adjusted the light and refocused on what the healers were doing. This was important. Hopefully it would be him doing those kinds of things within the year. He spared a brief thought of Itama. This was what his otouto had wanted to do. But he had not gotten the chance. So for him, and for any of his clan that Tobirama might save, he would do his very best. And if that wasn’t good enough, then he just had to invent ways to do even better.

⁂

The intense fighting between Hashirama and Madara kept on for months, at every clash between their clans, until one day Hashirama swiped away angry tears. “Why did you have to pretend to be my friend? Why did you have to be so nice!? It makes it so hard to hate you!”
Madara nearly stumbled. Then he snarled, “I didn’t pretend! Why would you think that?!”

They both at the same time realized they were drawing attention, and Madara quickly blew a fireball towards Hashirama. As soon as he was sure Hashirama had dodged it, he started moving sideways, pulling them further from the main fighting. Then, once he deemed them far enough away, he said in a lower tone “I never lied to you. I genuinely thought you were my friend.” His face scrunched up in disgust before he added, “But you are not like I thought you were.”

Hashirama blinked in surprise. “What do you mean? I never lied either!”
Shaking his head, Madara threw a kunai that Hashirama easily dodged. “Yes you did. You said you wanted peace for your brother, but then you were willing to sacrifice him!”
“Nooo! That’s not… I didn’t… I was sure he could dodge it! Tobirama is… He was…”

Madara’s heart fell. Was. Did that mean…? He couldn’t keep the question in. “Did he… die?”
Hashirama’s eyes turned round as saucers. “What? No. He… He’s training to be a healer now.”
There was no sense to or reason why Madara felt such relief upon hearing that. But he did. The boy, Hashirama’s brother, Tobirama… He was still alive. And as a healer he would not be on the battlefield. He would be safely back at the settlement, ready to treat any injured clan mates that made it back. As long as he didn’t become a field medic, he would be safe.

Giving Hashirama a slow nod, Madara moderated his attacks a bit. It was not an apology. But it was a concession. They would not go all out anymore, but they were not friends either. The possibility that they might find back there hung in the air, a tantalizing promise for the future. But it meant that they both needed to survive until such a time where something like that could come to pass.

⁂

“Ouch!”
“Sit still. And hold the thread there.”
“That little shit! I’m gonna shove my naginata up his ass the next time!” Tōka was glaring down at the cut on her thigh. Tobirama was focused on stitching it closed, so he couldn’t check her expression, but she sounded pissed.
Trying to keep her talking, to distract from the pain, Tobirama hummed and used his bad hand to try to push the wound closed. “You are talking about the second heir, Uchiha Izuna?”
“Yeah. We thought he would be a pushover, but clearly Tajima has been holding him back until he was good enough to survive. I had to leave that Hikaku guy to Koda-san, but it looked like he was holding up fine.”
“Koda-san only came by to have a finger splinted. Not a break, just a sprain. So yes, it looks like he held up fine.”
“Good. … Ouch.”

Tobirama hesitated, but Tōka was his favorite cousin. His favorite Senju really, now that Hashirama wasn’t talking to him. Although, to be fair, Tobirama had not sought out Hashirama after he left the hospital. He thought his brother had made his feelings abundantly clear, so there was no need for a confrontation. Which made Tōka all the more important to Tobirama. Which in turn was why he had to ask “Does Izuna have the Sharingan?”

“No. Not yet. But given how those Uchiha throw themselves into danger, it is only a matter of time.” Tōka reached down to help, pressing on her thigh to push the edges of the wound all the way together, making it easier for Tobirama to sew it shut. Nichirin-chan, Tobirama’s temporary assistant, leaned over and wiped away some blood, then she retreated out of the way.
Tobirama nodded at Tōka, his focus still on the wound, but his thoughts far away. “Would you mind if I tried to create a jutsu for you, to help you against the Uchiha?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I would not mind if you came up with something I could toss in their face.” She sounded almost gleeful at the thought.
Pulling the thread tight, Tobirama waited while Nichirin-chan cut it just above the closed stitch. Then he started a new one. “Have you attempted genjutsu against Izuna?”
“No. What’s the point?”
“If he does not yet have his Sharingan, he might still be vulnerable to it.”
“Hm, that is a good point.” Suddenly she cackled. “I’m gonna try! Imagine the embarrassment if the Uchiha spare gets caught in a genjutsu!”
Tobirama smiled. “Yes, that would be a strike against their pride.”

By the time he was done stitching up the wound, and Nichirin-chan took over the cleaning and application of a poultice, his mind was already running through possibilities. With only one working hand, he would have to rely on half-seals, but Tōka should be competent enough to make it work. And it meant she would have one hand free to still use her naginata. Sticking his almost useless arm back in the sling, Tobirama hurried over to his desk and flipped open his notebook, reaching for the brush even before he had seated himself. He had a lot of planning to do.

⁂

A full year passed after the river incident. A full year of Hashirama avoiding Tobirama, only speaking the bare minimum to him when they were forced to interact, like at home. Butsuma was not unaware, but he did not know the reason behind the strange behavior, and given that Tobirama apparently did not mind, he would not force them to spend time together. Hashirama still had his training to do every day, and Tobirama had a different kind of training to attend to. No, he would let them sort it out on their own. It wasn’t as if Butsuma didn’t have a whole lot more pressing problems to deal with. Problems that only seemed to multiply, and never diminished.

⁂

“What do you mean, he never told you?” Tōka sounded shocked, and Tobirama could not quite figure out why. Adjusting her posture, he moved her hand up a bit. Then he curled her fingers more.
“Try now. … And I meant just what I said. He never told me why he chose to save the Uchiha instead.”
“That…” Tōka devolved into incoherent muttering.
Tobirama prodded her side. “Try now?”
“Yes, yes, fine!”

He stepped away, and watched Tōka spit out several water needles at the small target they had set up. Her face lit up in a vicious grin and she pulled Tobirama into a one-armed hug. “Oh, I can’t wait to show the little weasel this! I’m gonna turn his ass into a pincushion!”
Tobirama couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. It was nice to feel appreciated.

⁂

Madara had been elated the day when he finally could sense all the way to the Senju settlement from the Uchiha town. That meant he no longer had to sneak close to the border to reach over to check on that cool suiton chakra. Now he could sit on his own futon and brush up against the edges of the current, trying to guess what Tobirama was up to.

As far as Madara had been able to make out, whenever he was healing, his chakra changed slightly, feeling more like spring rain than an ocean current. And when he was meditating it felt like mountain mist, spreading out around him. Madara suspected that Tobirama too was a sensor because of this. And that meant he was careful whenever he checked on the Senju, to avoid poking his chakra too much, or too forcefully. Just… light brushes. Enough to reassure himself that everything was fine. And right now, the chakra felt calm, a strong current.

Resisting the temptation to dive in, Madara pulled back and got ready for bed, a small secret smile on his lips.

⁂

Tobirama frowned. That feeling had been back. Like cobwebs against his chakra. Or smoke? Something intangible. He wasn’t even sure if he was imagining it, or if there really was something. But just to be sure, he hung up some charms by his window and the door. Nothing offensive, but more a type of ‘please go away’ wards.

A few days later the feeling was back. Or at least he thought so. He sighed, but left the charms up, just in case they needed time to work. Besides, the smell of cinnamon was nice.

By the time three months had passed, he had gotten used to the feeling. Whatever it was, it was clearly not hostile. There was no drain on his chakra. No sudden urges to do things that weren't normal for him. No disappearing items from his rooms. If it was a yōkai, it was probably benign. Still, he left the charms there, feeling a tiny bit better for it. Who was to say that they didn’t have an effect after all? Maybe they were all that prevented the yōkai from becoming more mischievous? Just because you could not prove an effect did not mean it was not there.

⁂

Hashirama watched through the crack where he had pushed the door slightly open. Tobirama was out in the garden, doing various exercises. He was still fast, and agile. Could probably hold his own for a while against an intruder, despite his disability. But he was not good enough to be a shinobi. Not with how he kept having to adjust for how one arm was weaker and slower than the rest of his body.

Feeling a draft, Hashirama quickly pushed the door closed and hurried over to a zabuton, seating himself just before Butsuma entered the room. He wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t want their father to know that he had been spying on Tobirama. Watching through a crack. It almost felt like that was all he was doing when it came to Tobirama these days—Watching him from afar. He didn’t know why, but the thought of speaking to him just became more and more difficult.

It was just… He didn’t know what to say. And even if he had known, he wouldn’t have known how to say it. Or when. Or what tone to use, or how to make his body-language cooperate. There were just so many things that could go wrong. That had gone wrong. And the guilt was eating at him.

Tōka's judging looks didn’t help either. She knew he was avoiding Tobirama, and she had repeatedly told him he was an idiot. Hashirama already knew that. He just didn’t know how to fix this. Wasn’t even sure if Tobirama wanted him to either. His brother appeared to have adjusted to his new role, and had made friends with everyone at the healing halls. Went there each morning, and only came home for dinner, then he disappeared into his rooms to read or meditate. Or out into the garden for a little training. Nothing at all like the hours-long training Hashirama went through every day. No, Tobirama, for all that his life had been thrown from the path he had chosen, appeared to be doing just fine without Hashirama. And that stung.

⁂

Tobirama was thirteen the first time he helped deliver a baby. A tiny boy, with a scrunched up face that looked almost grumpy. Wakusei-san had cleaned out his airways, and the boy let out a loud wail. Tobirama noted how the mother, who already had three children, smiled at that noise. Then he helped Myojo-san with catching the afterbirth into a bowl. She spent almost a minute explaining things about it, before they cut the umbilical cord, tying it off. Then the baby was whisked away to be cleaned, and Myojo-san made sure everything was fine with the mother.

By the time both mother and baby were sleeping, the father had been by with all the siblings, before he took them home again. And Tobirama was seated by his desk, having come to a realization. He kind of wanted kids. Just… How? Because, at thirteen he already knew that he didn’t find women attractive at all. Every dream he woke from where he needed to clean his sheets in secret had featured boys. Or men. There had been that one farmer he had seen before he was injured. And that trader that had come by to peddle his wares. And one that he had seen in another village when he had gone with Myojo-san to trade for healing herbs. Yeah, Tobirama absolutely had a preference that conflicted with his desire for kids.

He jotted down a note in his little book. Yet another thing to ponder. Maybe he should ask Myojo-san for more information on the reproductive system? It wouldn’t hurt to be more knowledgeable. And… he could ask Wakusei-san if there was any information about sexuality. The man was a closet pervert, so if anyone had that kind of information, it would be him.

⁂

Tōka was stressed. Izuna had finally gotten his Sharingan, and it made it three times as hard to keep up with him. Fortunately she could rely on Tobirama to invent something new for her every other month. He really was a genius. To the point where Butsuma had had a small building constructed that Tobirama could use as a laboratory. And the shinobi of the clan had taken to bringing scrolls for him back from missions. Random things they could get their hands on, but Tobirama appeared grateful for anything. The only things he had passed on to others had been a recipe for a spicy dish, and a collection of children’s tales. Although, Tōka had a suspicion that he had made copies before he gave them away. He really hoarded knowledge like a mouse would hoard food for the winter, stacking scrolls on his shelves until the wood creaked with the weight.

Right now she was seated on a counter inside the lab, watching Tobirama rummage through a pile of notes, muttering quietly to himself. Then he paused, jotted down a note on another paper, before he went back to the rummaging. She could make out a few words. Like ‘I know it was here’ and ‘need a better filing system’.

At long last he pulled out a sheet of paper with a triumphant “Aha!”
He handed the paper to her, and she read what was on it, but… “Clones? I can already do that. What makes these so special?”
His smirk widened. “These… are corporeal clones.”
“Huh?”
“Physical copies! They can interact with the world. They can touch things, pick them up, can punch, or stab, or kick. Basically, they are like having a twin that knows your mind in and out. With this, you can flank Izuna on your own!”
Tōka stared at the paper, eyes going wide. “Oooh! This is going to make such a difference! I’m going to hand that little weasel his ass, and punch him in the mouth for that comment about my tits!”

⁂

One of Tobirama’s eyebrows crept up, but Tōka was too busy memorizing the sequence of hand seals required for the new jutsu to notice, so he just shook his head and turned back to the newest idea, leaving Tōka to her own devices until she needed a demonstration.

The corporeal clones had been a stroke of genius, perhaps for Tobirama himself more than Tōka, because it meant that he could have two working arms available in his lab for more complex tasks. It also meant that he got, and gave his first blowjob. The latter was something he would never tell anyone. Ever. But… it also meant that he could experiment as much as he liked, and there would never be any rumors about him. Not like there was about Hashirama after he discovered girls.

It was not really that Hashirama had done much, beyond staring a bit too obviously. At least not as far as Tobirama knew. And it was likely that he would have known if it was the case. He was a sensor of unmatched skill after all, and he would regularly pulse his chakra out to check where all members of his clan were. Just to be sure they were safe.

Not that there was much he could have done if they weren’t. The attack on Itama had shown that. He had been too late. They all had. And Tobirama had been so angry after that. Had hated the Uchiha deeply. Had wanted them all to suffer as he did. But… working in the healing halls, he saw so much blood and pain and… he just didn’t want that to continue. It had taken him a while to get back there, but he had to concede that Hashirama had a point. Peace was the only tenable way forward. If only the adults could see that.

Chapter 3

Summary:

Madara pines. Izuna pines. In a way, Hashirama pines as well. And Tōka suffers. Only Tobirama is happily puttering away in his lab, oblivious to all the pining going on.

Madara had spent the past week listening to Izuna growl and whine about his rival. According to Izuna, Senju Tōka was aggravating, rude, crude, and, for one memorable slip-up on Izuna’s part, she had an amazing chest. Madara himself did not see the appeal, but then again, his dreams kept featuring a male presence. A faceless man. With white hair. Oh, Madara wasn’t stupid. He knew who it was he was dreaming of, even if he no longer was sure what he looked like.

It had been over four years since he saw him last. He was bound to have changed. Just… Madara couldn’t quite imagine how. Surely he would not be as tall as Hashirama? Nobody among the Senju were. Not quite. But they were tall. So, perhaps, while he wouldn’t be as tall as Hashirama, maybe he would be as tall as Madara? Certainly taller than Izuna. But Izuna was a short runt. And a brat. A brat who was utterly obsessed with Senju Tōka. Perhaps enough to rival Madara’s own obsession with Senju Tobirama. With a groan Madara tossed a cushion at Izuna, then frowned as it hit his annoying brother right in the face.

Izuna spluttered and gaped. “What was that for?!”
Madara on the other hand was more interested in “Why the hell didn’t you dodge?”
“I had my eyes closed!”
“Daydreaming about Senju Tōka no doubt.”
“What? No! Eew! No! Take that back!”

They were wrestling on the floor when Tajima entered together with Hikaku. Their father just stepped over them, but Hikaku moved around, giving them an exasperated stare. Given that Madara had trapped Izuna in a headlock, he was not eager to stop the fight just yet. Instead he grinned. “I won’t take it back, and unless you concede, I’ll tell Hikaku about it!”
With a pathetic whine, Izuna tapped out. “Fine. Be that way.”

⁂

“You want me to do what?” Tōka looked angry, so Hashirama took a careful step back, hands raised. She just followed, leaning closer. “Explain!”
“Please! I… Tobi listens to you! I… don’t know how to talk to him, but…” Tōka rolled her eyes and interrupted. “That’s because you don’t have any balls!”

Hashirama winced, but didn’t protest her judgment. Instead he gave her pleading eyes. “Please, just… ask him. You know I want peace. And I’m sure he still does as well. Despite… everything.”
Giving him a look that managed to combine just how fed up she was with him, and what a moron she thought he was, she nonetheless conceded. “Fine. I’ll ask.”
“I’ll wait here.” He wrung his hands. Tōka just sighed loudly and stomped off.

⁂

In his lab, Tobirama had a clone up to help him. Together they were drawing a large seal on a scroll big enough to cover his spare table where it was placed in the opening where the screen doors had been pushed all the way open. It was partially for the extra light, and partially because it would allow him to throw the scroll into the open space outside if something went wrong and it blew up.

Another thing that was good with having the doors open like that was that it allowed him to see Tōka heading in his direction, an annoyed expression on her face. He exchanged a look with his clone, and hurried to get to a point in the drawing of the seal where he could put the project on pause without all his work so far being ruined.

That meant that by the time Tōka stomped up on the small engawa, he could put the brushes away and dispel the clone, knowing that it made her slightly uncomfortable to not know which one to address. He shuffled around to face her, but didn’t rise. That meant she could either talk down to him, or she could accept the second zabuton, kneeling down in seiza to be on his level. She chose the latter, and he could see how sitting down made her shoulders drop subtly.

A little more relaxed, she still managed an impressive huff. “That oaf you call a brother wanted me to ask you this, although why he can’t grow a pair and just ask you himself I couldn’t tell…”
“Anija has a lot on his mind. I am sure this is just him learning to delegate, for when he becomes clan head someday.”
She gave him a flat look. They both knew this was not the reason. But she allowed him the illusion. “Yeah yeah, whatever. What he asked—” She rolled her eyes to emphasize how stupid she felt it was to be forced to play messenger. “—was, if you were going to try to prepare the clan to accept peace, how would you go about it?”

It was an interesting question. Not least because Tobirama had already thought about this, and to a lesser degree started to implement it. “Firstly I would not force the subject the way anija has done so far. I would be subtle about it. Drop small comments here and there to start to plant the idea in people’s minds. Things like… Hm… If only we could have traded with the Uchiha for metal tools instead of these bamboo things that break if you look at them wrong. Or maybe… Bah, if we could send our traders through the Uchiha territory that would cut a week off their travel time, and save them that horrible patch of road in the Shimura lands. We could have fruits from the Aburame orchards that weren’t bruised and brown by the time they got here.”

Tōka got a faraway look in her eyes and the tip of her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. Tobirama knew that the last one had gotten to her. The idea of fresh fruit. That was something they rarely got. Especially since in the past years, harvests had been bad. Anything growing within the settlement tended to sulk and droop, producing only bitter and small fruits, more or less inedible. Tobirama thought there was something poisoning the soil, but he had not been able to detect what just yet.

Then her eyes snapped back to him. “You’ve thought about this before.”
He didn’t even blink. “Of course I have. Peace is the ideal. Imagine what we could achieve if we did not have to waste so many resources on defenses, weapons, and armor. Imagine the things we could create. The things we could build.”
She tilted her head. “Hashirama’s village?”

With a small huff, Tobirama’s lips pinched. “I would not go that far. Peace is one thing, but convincing people to let go of their pain and hatred enough to live side by side with the very people who caused that pain and hatred…” His voice petered out, but Tōka was giving him a particular look. One that said she didn’t entirely believe him. With another huff he turned back to the seal, trying to indicate that the conversation was over. But Tōka didn’t listen to his silent communication. She never did.

“I bet you already have ideas.” She studied him, and despite his best efforts he must have done something, because suddenly her grin turned sly. “Oh, not only ideas. You have plans. Drawings?”
“They are called schematics.”
He knew as soon as he’d said it that he had made a mistake, because Tōka barked out a laugh. “Oh Tobi, you pretend to be so cynical, but really, you are just a softie! Hashirama might be an idiot, but I’m sure that as soon as his balls drop, he’ll come crawling, begging you to forgive him for being so daft.”

Tobirama was tempted to slam his head into the table, but he valued his brain far too much to actually do it. Instead he allowed himself to fall backwards onto the tatami, staring at the ceiling with a put upon expression. Tōka kept insisting that Hashirama would come around, but Tobirama did not share her optimism. It had been too long. The chasm was too wide by now. Besides, it was not as if Tobirama had anything in common with Hashirama anymore. Their paths had diverged. And he was fine with it. He was!

⁂

The ideas Tōka had brought back from Tobirama were good. Very good. He could build on that. And he could share the idea with Madara, the next time they met up, either during a battle, or when they could somehow coordinate it so they had a mission in the same area.

However, they also confirmed something that Hashirama had been a bit reluctant to think about—Tobirama would have been so much better at this. If he had been trained as a shinobi instead of a healer, then maybe he could have convinced people on the battlefield. Tobirama was so rational where Hashirama was emotional. He could come up with logical reasons, where all Hashirama could offer up was wouldn’t it be nice if we all were friends?

Well, it had worked with Madara, but they had been twelve at the time. He was nearly seventeen now. Almost an adult. In fact, in many of the Elder’s views, he was an adult. So why couldn’t he do better? A bit dejected, Hashirama pushed on the scroll he had been taking notes in, making the top edge roll back and forth. The initial ideas Tobirama had sat on top, and below it were other sentences that Hashirama had come up with afterwards. Little things that served to highlight the possible advantages to peace without making it obvious that that was what he was doing. It was such a simple concept really. So why had Hashirama not been able to think of it himself?

Putting the brush away, he turned to stare at the small shelf where he kept his scrolls. It wasn’t that he hated reading, just… His mind tended to wander, and he would lose his place, and re-reading the same thing over and over just made him bored, and the chances that he would zone out increased. But perhaps he needed to make more effort. If he had trouble reading it as it was, maybe making a copy would help. It was always easier to remember things he had written down after all.

Yeah, he would give that a try. If nothing else, then the clan would gain a copy, and those were usually expensive to procure.

⁂

Madara had been thrilled to learn that Tobirama had come up with the ideas that Hashirama shared with him. That boded well. A healer and a scholar. Madara could almost imagine it—Tobirama bent over a writing desk, scroll in front of him and brush in his hand, painting out delicate strokes as he pondered philosophical questions. Maybe the yukata would dip low in the back, exposing his neck. And Madara could lean down to plant a kiss there, seeing how the pale skin turned pink with a blush at the intimate gesture.

“Madara?” Hashirama’s voice jerked Madara out of his fantasies faster than few other things could have, and it was he who blushed now.
“Yes?”
“What did you think?”
“Huh, nothing! I was just… lost in thoughts.”
“Nothing? It wasn’t bad was it? I thought the idea was good…”
“Oh! Oh, no, the idea was good. Very good. I… I think maybe it can work. If we give it time, so that people don’t get suspicious.”

Hashirama sagged, expression falling a bit. “Yeah, I know. I just… This waiting… I hate to see people get hurt, and the longer we have to wait, the more people will be injured in skirmishes and on missions where we have to work against each other.”
Putting his elbow on the table, leaning his chin into his palm and tapping a finger against the stubble on his cheek, Madara mused out loud, “Perhaps we could find a way to communicate that would allow us to warn the other of which missions the clan had accepted? That way you and I might influence which missions our clans take, and lessen the chance that there will be conflict? Or, well, between our clans at least, that is…”
“That’s… Madara, you are brilliant!” Hashirama’s eyes were wide with joy. Only for him to sag down into a frown. “But how would we do it? A hawk would be far too obvious.”

Madara had to concede that. Besides, he would not have been eager to risk any of his hawks on a mission that would take them inside the Senju settlement. Although, given where his mind had been only minutes earlier… “Could you ask your brother to come up with something? Isn’t he something of a scholar?”

There was something queer in Hashirama’s expression, but Madara could not pinpoint just what without activating his Sharingan, and he didn’t want Hashirama to think he was becoming aggressive, or worse, distrusted the Senju heir, so he let it go. Given that Hashirama took to nodding, muttering to himself that “Yes, Tobirama should be able to come up with something clever. Maybe a seal?”, Madara chose to focus on that, urging Hashirama to ask him so that they might have it in place as soon as possible.

⁂

In the end it was not Hashirama who asked, but Tōka, who was again relegated to playing messenger. While she was wrinkling her nose and bemoaning what an utter coward Hashirama was, Tobirama’s mind was already running off in several directions, thinking of ways to allow for secret communication that could not be intercepted. It should probably be something that didn’t require a cipher, given that Hashirama had troubles enough reading through things that were not encrypted, so maybe something sealed to only be readable to certain chakra signatures? It would mean that he would need to get access to Madara’s signature as well, but perhaps his brother could arrange a meeting somehow?

It took him far longer than he had expected before he had a solution. As expected, the part where only certain people could read the missive had not been such a hurdle, but what had stumped him for the longest time was the method of delivery of said message. Twisting space around the scrolls had initially just condensed the paper into a tiny extremely compact bead that weighed as much as the original scroll.

It was not until he thought of adding seals for time that he had made progress. And now he could send scrolls back and forth between his lab and his bedroom. It was not quite that they moved through space, but that they, for a fraction of a moment, dipped into another dimension. That was what allowed for the movement, because during that fraction of a moment, the locking seal for the entry-exit shifted from the initial seal where it had been pushed through to the other dimension and to the other seal, the one located in another room.

And the brilliance of this was that there was absolutely no limit to how far away that second seal could be. It could be in a different country. Hells, it could be on the moon, and it would still work. All Madara and Hashirama would need was to carry the seals with them.

Tobirama even added a small fail-safe that would allow them to make the seal inert, in case they were somewhere where they could or should not receive correspondence, like in the middle of a council meeting, or during dinner with their families.

He inscribed the seals on small discs of bone, and threaded leather cord through, creating a bracelet for each. One with a red leather cord and one with a brown one, to differentiate which one belonged to whom. Then he carved the other seal on two pairs of beads which he then dyed black and white, for encoding and decoding, and threaded the beads on either side of the disc. Now all he needed was for them to pour their chakra into one bead each on both the bracelets. And to achieve that, he needed to meet Madara. Which meant he had to talk to Hashirama first.

Finding him was easy, as most of his brother’s time these days were spent on the training grounds, honing his skills. Or, rather, it should have been easy. But Hashirama was not where Tobirama had expected, and in the end he had to resort to his sensing to figure out where he was. Something which he, in hindsight, should have done right away.

Walking into their father’s office to find Hashirama bent over a scroll, painstakingly copying kanji from another scroll was not what Tobirama had expected. But then, they hardly spoke with each other these days, so perhaps he should cease expecting things, and just accept whatever happened? In either case, Hashirama was alone, and a quick seal for privacy ensured that they would not be overheard by anyone passing by outside.

By the time he had done that, Hashirama had put his brush away and was staring at him with wide eyes, looking almost comically shocked. “Otouto? What…?”
“I have the solution you needed. For communication. But it requires both you and… your friend, to push chakra into it, so that it can recognize you and allow you to read whatever you have sealed with it.”
“Oh. That’s… Great. But… I don’t know how to…”
“I assumed you wouldn’t. And that means… I have to meet your friend.”
“Uh, okay? I… How?”
“The easiest way would be if you could somehow get a message to him to meet us in one of the smaller towns, maybe one that is known to sell herbs and other goods for healing? It would make sense for me to go there to trade, and you could come with me as a bodyguard.”
“Oh! Yes, that… makes perfect sense! I’ll try to contact Madara…”

Tobirama sighed. He had been so careful to not mention names, even with the privacy seal up, just to be sure. Trust Hashirama to become overly eager and miss such things. “Let me know when you have gotten confirmation from your friend that he can meet us. And do try to avoid using his name while we are in the settlement. Even with my seals, someone could find a way to spy on us, and if word gets out, not even father can save you from accusations of treason.”

Hashirama blanched, but Tobirama couldn’t feel sad that he had upset his brother. His anija needed to learn subtlety if he was ever to make it as clan head when the time came. Tobirama certainly was not suited to take the job. Not with his crippled arm. And the next in line was Tōka… Nobody wanted that. Least of all her. So Hashirama had to do better.

Chapter 4

Summary:

Madara manages to not make a complete fool out of himself. Then misunderstandings pile up. And Tobirama's pout makes an appearance, but fortunately for him nobody is around to see it.

Madara was nervous. He had combed his hair, made sure his clothes were nice, and checked that he didn’t have soot or dirt smudged on his face. He had made an effort. If Izuna had known, he would have laughed at him, and mocked him mercilessly. So it was a good thing that his little brother was nowhere near the small town. Still, this was the first time in years that Madara would get to actually see Tobirama. To lay eyes on the young man whose chakra he had been spying on ever since he had been strong enough to reach it.

A part of Madara was terrified. What if Tobirama somehow knew? Or, what if he had grown up to be ugly? Or what if he took one look at Madara, and thought Madara was ugly? What if he wasn’t interested in men? What if…?

Madara caught himself pulling on his hair and quickly let go of the long locks he had been abusing. Shit, he needed to get himself together, or even Hashirama, dense as he could be in some areas, might catch on that Madara’s thoughts about Tobirama were less than pure.

Several deep breaths later, Madara managed to center himself and reached for the teacup in front of him. Only to nearly drop it halfway up to his lips when the light in the small tea-house dimmed as someone entered through the open doorway and Madara caught sight of pale hair.

He saved the cup, and the contents, but only by dint of his shinobi reflexes. If he’d been a civilian he would have had a lapful of tea by now. Quickly he put the cup back on the table, and tried to not look like he was staring. But it was difficult. Senju Tobirama—because even in the weak light inside the tea-house he recognized the young man—was breathtaking.

Every idea that Madara had had in the past years about how he would grow up was both correct, and wrong at the same time. Yes, Tobirama had grown tall. Very tall. At fifteen, he was as tall as Madara. Still slim, but Madara could tell that he would fill out more, similar to the way Hashirama had started to fill out. The little baby-fat that remained in his cheeks made him appear almost soft, but Madara could also tell that those cheekbones would become lethal once he reached his twenties. And there were lines of red ink on his face, one on each cheek, and one on his chin. Tattoos? Or seals? Hashirama said his brother was a genius when it came to sealwork. Madara itched to ask.

Fortunately, before he made a fool out of himself, Hashirama spied him and nudged Tobirama in his direction. The younger Senju was clearly wary, and bowed politely to him, but Hashirama just plonked his ass down on the cushion across from Madara, forcing Tobirama to take the one between them. And Madara drank in the sight of how elegantly he carefully folded himself down into a seated position, displaying every ounce of grace that Hashirama lacked.

He did not miss the fact that Tobirama only used one arm, the other hanging by his side, moving very little. Even though Madara had known, it was still strange to observe. If he had seen just a picture of Tobirama, or maybe had seen him asleep, not moving, then he might not have known about the injury. But he did, and the image of that young boy with the kunai sticking out of his shoulder had featured in many of Madara’s nightmares. To see him alive, and so relatively well… It eased a knot in Madara’s chest that he had not realized he had been carrying with him.

It wasn’t until Hashirama spoke that Madara snapped out of his mild daze. Oh, he had failed! He had told himself he would not stare, and then the first thing he did was look his fill of the pale Senju brother. Feeling the blush spread over his cheeks, Madara forced his attention to Hashirama, accepting his greetings and returning them. But in the corner of his eye, he paid close attention to every movement and expression Tobirama made. Fuck, he was beautiful. And Madara already knew he was in love.

⁂

Tobirama had not known what to expect of Madara. He knew Hashirama and Madara were friends, that they had not been able to keep away from each other for very long, so it stood to reason that they might be a bit similar, but… That had not really told Tobirama much. Especially not when it came to appearance. The chubby-cheeked boy from the fateful day at the river was gone, replaced by a young man with a very pretty face, and an impressive mane of hair. Most of his body was hidden in a large kimono, far too formal wear for what was supposed to be a clandestine meeting. All Tobirama could tell, given that Madara remained seated, was that his shoulders appeared to be wide. The rest… Guesswork.

What he could easily determine though, was that Madara was curious about him. Extremely so. To the point where he almost ignored Hashirama at times. Tobirama was not sure what to think of that. Should he worry that Hashirama might become jealous? Was it a sign that Madara distrusted him? Was that why he paid so much attention to everything Tobirama did? Should he get his reason for coming here over with quickly so he could leave, to browse the wares of the vendors while Hashirama and Madara caught up since the last time they had met?

All these questions stressed Tobirama out, making him feel uncomfortable and awkward. He dared not order any tea, afraid that it would draw attention to his disability if he were to drink it with one hand.

The relief he felt when Hashirama, blunt as always, broached the reason for the meeting almost as soon as the initial formalities were out of the way, was nearly embarrassing. Quickly, he grasped the opportunity presented, and dug out the two bracelets from his pocket, handing the one with the red cord to Madara, and the one with the brown cord to Hashirama. Since Hashirama had already done his part, Tobirama leaned slightly towards Madara, pointing towards the black bead. “Now, you will need to channel a bit of chakra into the seal here, to allow you to use it to obscure any text you intend to send to Hashirama. Then, you channel a bit of your chakra into the white bead on his bracelet, and that will allow him to reveal the text on his end.”

“How?” Madara had moved his fingers along the bracelet until he held the black bead between his thumb and index finger.
Assuming that Madara was asking how to channel the chakra correctly, Tobirama hesitated briefly, using the reflection in the glaze on the teapot to gauge the other customers in the tea-house. Then he licked his lips, taking a chance. “Ah, if you activate your dōjutsu, can you see how my chakra flows, or is that just a myth?”

He felt Madara’s assessing stare bore into him, then the Uchiha gave him a tiny nod. “Yes. I can see it. Will you demonstrate?”
It was Tobirama’s turn to nod. Fishing a loose bead out of a pocket, he held it up, waited until he could see the red glow of Madara’s eyes in the corner of his own vision, and then he channeled his chakra into the seal on the bead.

“Did you get that?”
“Yes.” Madara held his hand out, and without thinking, Tobirama dropped the bead into the open palm. The Uchiha lifted it, studying it closely. Then he held it out again. When Tobirama opened his hand to accept it, Madara didn’t drop it, but rather placed it carefully, tips of his fingers brushing the skin of Tobirama’s hand. It sent a shiver down his spine.
To cover for how flustered he felt, Tobirama pocketed the bead quickly before pointing to the bracelet Madara still held in the other hand. “You do the same for that one, and the white one on Hashirama’s bracelet, and then I’ll show you how you activate them, and the transportation seal.”

With a nod, Madara did as instructed.

⁂

Hashirama wasn’t sure, but there was something about the way Madara kept looking at Tobirama that made him feel uneasy. He just could not pinpoint why. It wasn’t like an enemy, he didn’t think that. No, there wasn’t anything that appeared hostile in the way Madara looked. But it was far too intense. Almost a little too interested. Like he was studying him, memorizing the way he looked. Why? What for?

Clearly his interest was making Tobirama feel awkward as well, because his brother hurried through his explanation, then had them do a small test, hidden from the view of the other occupants of the tea-house, and, as soon as he was sure that they had understood how to use it, Tobirama made his excuses and started to rise. Only for the edge of his hanten jacket to snag on something, nearly making him overbalance. Both Hashirama and Madara moved at the same time, catching him.

Embarrassed, Tobirama pulled back, his face delicately tinted pink, unlike the bright red Hashirama’s face would turn whenever he blushed. He apologized for his clumsiness, and pulled away from them both, more or less fleeing the house.

As soon as he was gone, Hashirama turned to Madara, staring at him with a stern look. “What was that?!”
Fortunately, Madara didn’t even try to play dumb. Instead he seated himself back on the cushion and curled his fingers around the teacup there, making it clear he was not interested in a fight.

To Hashirama’s surprise, Madara would not meet his eyes, instead keeping his fixed on the cup in his hands. “Ah, that was… I apologize… I just… I wasn’t prepared. To see your brother…”
“But you knew he was coming with me?” Madara was not making any sense, and Hashirama felt like he had missed something big.
Then Madara drew in a sharp breath, and turned Hashirama’s world upside down for a moment. “Hashi, I wasn’t prepared… Your brother is beautiful. I… It was distracting, okay? I…”

Madara hung his head forward, clearly unhappy, and possibly… Was he worried? Did he fear that Hashirama would be angry? Why? That Madara found Tobirama pretty was weird, okay, but… Oh… OH! He had not said pretty, he had said beautiful. Did Madara… “Wait, do you fancy my brother?!”

The wince told him everything he needed to know. And Hashirama had no idea how to feel about that. It was Madara, his best friend. And Tobirama, his brother. Which, well, he knew there were people who preferred the company of their own gender. He just had never thought about Madara being one of them. Wait, did Tobirama even like men like that? Come to think of it, did Tobirama like anyone like that? Hashirama had no idea. Perhaps Tōka would know?

Distracted as he had been, too long had passed without comment, and Madara had grown impatient. “Well? Aren’t you going to say something?!”
“Like what?” Hashirama genuinely had no idea. What did one say in situations like this? It wasn’t really as if it was a bad thing, was it? After all… “If you marry him, you’ll become my brother for real.”

Madara had been about to pick up his teacup. Whatever he had done, whichever way he had somehow fumbled it, it went sailing, spilling the lukewarm liquid in a neat arch. And Madara was staring at Hashirama, as if he could not believe what he had heard. A little defensively, Hashirama asked, “What? It’s true.”

Then Hashirama stared at the spreading tea-stains. “Tobi, if he had not been so quick to leave, could have fixed that for you. He’s a genius with suiton. Well, he’s a genius with many things.”
The idea of Madara and Tobirama getting together was growing on him, so he wanted to make sure that Madara kept having a good impression of Tobirama, which was probably the reason he kept blabbing on. “Tobirama is also really good at healing, and that’s what he went to do now. Not heal, but buy herbs and stuff. Things he needs to do his job. He’s so conscientious. And nice. Even if he sometimes gets annoyed at me. But then so does Tōka, and she’s even less nice about it when she does. At least Tobirama tells me what I did wrong so I can do better. Tōka just stares at me like I’m a worm. And… Uh… Madara? Are you listening?”

But Madara was staring towards the doorway Tobirama had disappeared through just minutes earlier, almost like he was trying to will Hashirama’s brother to reappear. It was kind of sweet actually, and Madara was clearly smitten. Still, Hashirama wasn’t about to make Tobirama marry Madara, so… “If you can make Tobirama fall in love with you, I’ll support a marriage between you two.”

Madara’s eyes snapped towards him, looking briefly confused, then he nodded eagerly.

⁂

Outside the tea-house, Tobirama was leaning against the wall. Not trusting his brother entirely, and certainly not trusting Uchiha Madara, Tobirama had left behind an eavesdropping seal. Now he kind of regretted that. Hashirama wanted to marry him off to Madara! So that his anija and Madara could become brothers for real! And the only stipulation Hashirama had set was that Madara had to do the work of convincing Tobirama. That was… Fuck! If he had not heard, he might have… Madara… was not unattractive. At least not physically.

Then Tobirama relaxed. Of course, now that he knew, he would be prepared for Madara’s schemes. Could perhaps even turn them back on the Uchiha. Yes, Tobirama might not be a real shinobi anymore, but certain skills of the trade were still firmly within his grasp, and if he could not twist this to his advantage then he would eat Madara’s hair.

He pretended nothing was wrong when Hashirama came to find him later, only handing some of his purchases over for his brother to carry. Perhaps a seal to store things should be his next project? The Uzumaki had some, but they would not share them, so he would have to come up with his own. Though, the transport seal could be a nice starting point. After all, it already did sort of what he wanted it to.

Lost in thoughts surrounding seal theory, Tobirama missed the wistful way Hashirama kept glancing in his direction as they walked home.

⁂

Tajima noticed that Madara was increasingly distracted these days. Prone to stopping mid-task to stare out into the air. Oh, he had his suspicions about what it was that ailed his son, but he could never catch him staring at any of the Uchiha girls, so it had to be someone outside the clan. Just… Who?

Obviously, whoever it was, they had captured Madara’s interest in a very serious way. To the point where he caught his oldest actually trying to compose poems. And that’s where Tajima got the first clue. With his Sharingan active, because with his failing eyesight there was no way for him to read anything these days without it, he had caught sight of four words on a discarded piece of paper before Madara realized he was there and scooped it out of the way. ‘His eyes are like…’

His. Whoever it was that had captured Madara’s heart, it was a boy.

Careful questioning of Izuna didn’t yield any results. Neither did more overt questioning of Hikaku. Madara held his cards close to his chest, which in itself told Tajima a lot.

Then, during the spring session in the daimyō's palace, Tajima connected the dots. The new bracelet he had seen Madara wear… Senju Hashirama had a matching one. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

Suddenly a lot of things from the past year made sense. The way there had suddenly been a very distinct drop in confrontations between the Uchiha and the Senju. Madara, in preparation for taking over as clan head when Tajima’s sight became too bad for him to continue, had been taking over a lot of the paperwork. Including going over and accepting missions. If he had a direct line to knowing which missions the Senju had accepted…

It was clever. Far more clever than Tajima would have given the two of them credit for when they were younger. But Madara was seventeen now. Nearing eighteen. By shinobi standards, he was an adult. Had been for a while. And this… Clearly he had not given up on his ideas from when he was a child. It was obvious he still hoped for peace.

Tajima found himself thinking that perhaps it was not such a far-fetched dream after all. Perhaps he should let this play out, to see where it might go.

Of course, while the daimyō might approve of same-sex marriages, it would not be feasible for Madara to marry out, and Tajima doubted that Butsuma would allow Hashirama to do so either. But there were many such affairs that had been carried out even as the partners married someone else, someone who could give them heirs. And Tajima knew that if he tried to force Madara to go against his heart, he would only be alienating his own son.

No, all Tajima could do at this point was to find ways to subtly support Madara’s efforts. And keep an eye on how things developed. Perhaps, if Izuna’s infatuation with the Senju kunoichi persisted—something that seemed likely given how much sighing and pouting Tajima was subjected to daily now that it could be weeks between every time Izuna caught as much as a glance of his self-proclaimed rival—a different marriage could be arranged in time, to tie the clans together?

Not that Izuna was willing to admit to any feelings on his part. But he was young. He would learn. Life was short, and you should grasp any happiness that came your way, and hold onto it with both hands. If you did not, it would pass you by, and any chance to regain it would be gone.

⁂

Madara rolled the bead between his fingers. The one he had pickpocketed from Tobirama. The one that even now contained traces of that lovely cool refreshing chakra. Like iced mint tea. It had been months since that meeting, and he had yet to find any chances to woo the younger man. It was not as if Tobirama left the Senju settlement often, and the few times he had done so since, Madara had been otherwise occupied and unable to find an excuse to depart.

It was driving him up the walls. His dreams vacillated between utterly lewd and downright sappy. Madara didn’t think he had ever had to sneak away as often before, even when he was in the worst throes of his hormones during puberty. No, having actually seen Senju Tobirama, and with his Sharingan active at that, the image snuck up on him at the most inopportune times.

That pale face, with the still unexplained lines in red ink, and those amazing eyes, a different shade of red from the Sharingan, but no less beautiful for that.

With a small groan, Madara pressed the bead against his forehead, right between his eyes. Fuck, he should be focusing on the paperwork in front of him, but his concentration was utterly shot. Using the chakra in the bead as a focus, he sought out Tobirama’s chakra in the Senju settlement, finding the young man in the healing halls again, his chakra dancing like droplets of rain upon a leaf. Mesmerized, Madara brushed against it, soaking in the soothing feeling. His paperwork was completely forgotten.

⁂

The presence was back. Had been back far more often lately. And Tobirama was not stupid. Even if he had felt a bit like an idiot when he realized. He had stood right next to Madara when he used chakra. He should have felt it then. Should have recognized the feeling. But he had not. Not until later that same evening, when the presence was back.

With the thought that Hashirama wanted to marry him off to Madara bouncing around in his mind, the leap from thinking it was a yōkai to thinking it was Madara that was keeping a metaphorical eye on him… Well, once the brain had made that connection, everything slotted into place. Except one thing—Tobirama could not figure out just what he had done to draw Madara’s attention in the first place. They had met exactly twice, and the first meeting had been anything but an impressive showing on his part. Getting injured like that… It should have disgusted someone of Madara’s caliber. Unless… Did Madara see Tobirama as some sort of weak and delicate flower? A hime in need of saving?

Slamming the palm of his good hand onto his desk, Tobirama gritted his teeth. He might not be a shinobi, but he was not weak! And if Madara thought that… Well, Tobirama just had to convince him otherwise.

Notes:

I'm now caught up to the notes and snippets I already had for this fic, and as I have a lot of other works, among them a fic with a deadline, it might be a while before I can update this. Though, my muses are erratic and might dump new inspiration on me at any time, so... No promises though.

Notes:

orphicswanart made fanart for this! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️