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Hashirama charged toward the oppressive ball of chakra near the edge of the Land of Fire, the silhouette of the Kyubi getting larger and larger with each leap forward. His snarls echoed through the trees as his writhing sent shockwaves through the earth.
Hashirama steeled himself for the confrontation ahead. He needed to do what was best for the village. Even if it meant killing the one who he’d dreamt it up with.
He got close enough to make out Madara’s form beside the tailed beast standing patiently. Once he was only a leap away, the Kyubi stopped his movements all together before leaning down with a low growl to be eye level with Madara, whose lips moved to form words that Hashirama couldn’t hear.
The Kyubi’s eye no longer showed the sharingan.
When Madara finished, the beast stood up and bounded into the distance, rumbles sounding through the entire forest as he moved.
Making his presence known, Hashirama landed in front of his defected friend on the cliff face, silence passing between them where only the rustling of leaves and the thumping of the Kyubi’s steps were heard.
Chakra flared out from Madara. He felt different from before, like something fundamental about him had changed.
“Somewhere along the way,” Madara started. “That dream of ours had somehow turned into just yours.” His tone was different too. They lacked the sharp edge they always had in his decline before his defection.
“What are you doing with the Kyubi?” he asked as flatly as he could. Madara regarded him with a relaxed air, as if they weren’t meant to battle moments before. As if they wouldn’t battle moments later.
“I sent him off to hide from us meddling humans. I only needed him to get your attention, Hashirama,” Madara replied easily, his name said in that soft way that had always made his heart leap, but now only made it creak in ache.
“I won’t let you destroy the village, Madara,” he replied resolutely.
“...‘Even if it is a friend, a brother, or even my child. I will not allow anyone to harm the village.’ You said that to me once.”
“What?” he asked, taken aback. The mantra ran over and over in his head as he traveled from Konoha to the edge of the Land of Fire, but he’d never spoken the words aloud.
“In another life,” Madara elaborated, “you said those words to me in a valley you made. With a sword rammed through my chest as I fell into a growing river.” He turned and motioned for him to follow. “Come sit, I’ll tell you of this other life I’ve lived,” Madara said as if it was the simplest thing. Even so, he hesitated to follow, standing idle as he watched Madara sit by the cliff's edge, the moon lighting little tendrils of his hair that were blown by the wind. Leaves shedded from the trees and fell past their heads. It reminded him of when they stood over the newly built village, still deciding on a name for their settlement. It made him long to have that kind of proximity with his friend again.
Slowly, he made his way over to Madara, sandals scuffing against rock as he sat down. Madara had a soft smile on his face, and while wasn't facing him, Hashirama felt as if that smile was meant for him.
He heard a great many things, sitting next to his old friend under the moon and stars at the edge of fire country: How the village would fail their dream; how his “Will of Fire” would be spun into propaganda that sent children out to die in wars between nations rather than just skirmishes between clans; how, after him, no other hokage was voted into the position and that his brother’s ideals would slowly rot the village from deep within, leading to the slaughtering of Madara’s people by one of their own.
He listened as Madara explained, in detail that only the sharingan could capture, the happenings of the next hundred years: from being manipulated by the machinations of an ancient goddess’ will, to Mito’s village being destroyed and her people scattering across the globe.
“Why are you telling me all of this?” he eventually asked, after Madara had explained how all of the hokage were brought back with a forbidden jutsu Tobirama had made to reanimate the dead. Hashirama wasn’t sure why he believed him, just that something about Madara’s essence made everything sound right. If this future was true, he’ll need to speak to his brother about his dive into necromancy, or perhaps just burn the research if this other life was anything to go by.
“Perhaps a foolish part of me hopes you can take this knowledge and better the village; prevent that future from happening, or I just wanted to talk to my friend before I headed off.”
“Where are you going?” he asked quickly, leaning closer to him and grasping his elbow.
“Where I'm needed. There are many things that require my attention,” Madara replied vaguely.
“I need you, Madara. I can't fix the village without you!” he urged. His Madara was back. He was finally back and he didn't want to let him go. “Can’t you come back? I'm sure I can make everyone understand you've changed.” Madara only breathed out a chuckle before turning to him with a softly mourning look.
“You’ve done this before without me, Hashirama,” he said, arm pulling away from the hold at his elbow to run his hand through silky brown hair that trailed to a tanned cheek. “You didn't need me then, and you won't need me now.” Madara's eyes softened at what must've been a desperate look on his face. “You were going to kill me just earlier, Hashi. You were prepared to move forward without me when you walked past the gates of Konoha.” His gloved hand drifted to his neck and brought their foreheads together.
“But I'm not gone. Better the village. Protect my clan while I am away. I'll return in a few years. The people of the village won't listen to me like they do you.”
His eyes stung and his lip quivered as he wrapped his arms around his friend's lean form.
“You'll come back?”
Madara's arms wrapped around him.
“I'll be back.”
. . .
He'd convinced Madara to spend the rest of the night by the cliff's edge, talking about everything he could think of in the time he had before the sun rose. Like the garden he started growing, but never had the time to take care of, or how a new food stall opened up that he wished they could try out together. Madara talked too, about the things he left behind, the people he missed, and the aspects of the village that always pulled his mind back to it.
They might have talked for an eternity, but it still felt all too soon that the sky turned to an orange hue and the first rays of the day peaked over the horizon.
He all but tackled Madara when his gloved hand reached out to hold his face again, toppling him over so that he was under him. The quiet, accepting sigh Madara let out as his arms reached up and pulled him down to his chest made Hashirama ache all the more for just a few more hours before sunrise.
But as the sun slowly inched over the trees and warmed the day, they too had to rise.
“I’m not gone, so don't miss me too much. Many are counting you,” Madara said, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
Hashirama, in turn, angled his head to kiss his lips before he could retreat too far, fearing he'd regret never taking the opportunity. He felt a part of himself slot back into place when chapped lips firmly kissed back.
“I'll wait for you,” he said with a sniff when they finally leaned away from each other. Madara reached to his side and removed his kusarigama, holding it out to him.
“So I'm not too far.”
Hashirama clutched it to his chest like it was his new born child with a jerky nod. Madara held his cheek once more, thumbing the skin beside his eye. Hashirama placed his hand over his before he could take it back.
“I love you,” he said, as his vision blurred as tears spilled over from his eyes.
“I love you,” Madara repeated with a soft emphasis on “you.” “The village needs you now.”
“And you're needed wherever you're needed,” he said back with another sniff and a little laugh.
“Till we meet again, Hashirama.”
“Till we meet again…!”
Watching Madara walk off was akin to having his heart ripped in two. It was harder knowing that he’d have to wait for his return than knowing that he’d never be back.
He would be lying if he said he didn't shed a few more tears on the way back to Konoha.
. . .
The first person to see him upon his return was Tobirama, who spotted the kusarigama latched to his side and opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by Hashirama holding both his shoulders.
“Promise me you'll never be hokage, Tobirama.”
“What? Anija what are you–”
“Promise me, Tobirama.”
“What did he show you?” his brother asked sharply.
“He didn't show me anything. But I trust what he’s told me enough to know this is for the best.”
“How do you know he isn't manipulating you with ‘what's best?’” He was more than used to Tobirama’s distrust with anything related to Madara by now, but a part of him felt set off that his brother would dare insinuate it after he had done the same.
“Like you manipulated me with ‘what's best’ into accepting a democratic vote for hokage because you knew I'd win?”
Tobirama's mouth pressed into a thin line.
“Or how you spread hearsay about the Uchiha? That they're unpredictable. That they're eyes are fueled by hate.”
“You've seen for yourself how hate fuels them, Hashirama. They're cursed to love until they hate.”
“You're missing the forest for the trees, Tobirama,” he started with a softer tone. “Did you not feel the same thing when we lost our brothers? Did you not feel your love for them turn into hate for the people that killed them? That every time you got stronger, it was to hopefully avenge the love you'd lost?” He held his brother’s shoulders a little firmer. “We are all cursed by hatred, Tobi. This village was supposed to change that, but it won't happen if you let your distrust rule you.” Tobirama looked away.
“...What did you learn last night?” the younger finally said, his voice holding an air of resignation, and his eyes shifting back to look at him wearily.
“That we’ll still have children fighting our battles and dying in our wars. And down the line, policies you make have the Uchiha massacred with a single child left to bear the burden of revitalizing his clan.” He paused, clasping his brother's hands in his. “I can't trust you not to make this future come true if you were to be hokage, Tobirama. You only do what you think is necessary and they're not always what's right. Please, promise me you'll never be hokage.”
“...I promise,” he said, the words coming out in a single breath. Hashirama hugged him tight as he said them.
He then hoped his brother wouldn't be too upset with him when he found his necromancy research burnt to ashes.
. . .
When he entered the house he shared with Mito, she too spotted the weapon at his hip, only she instead looked at him with acquiescence.
“Imagine my surprise when I saw the Kyubi bound away from the village. I'd brought out all my sealing tools for nothing,” she said lightly. They sat down across from one another at the table, legs folded neatly underneath. “So what kept you so late into the morning?”
He explained then, everything he'd heard from Madara. Mito’s lips pressed to a firm line when he mentioned the fate of her home. Ever vigilant, she checked his claims with seals that offered temporary foresight. He felt slightly vindicated when the results pointed to the possibility of him being correct.
“It seems I’ll be needed back in Uzushio,” she said simply afterwards. “Our time together draws to a close.”
“I'm sorry I couldn't love you more.” Remorse colored his words as he said them. He truly wanted them to work, but his heart was elsewhere and they'd known that when they got together.
“You'd have made a wonderful partner,” she said as she stood, a rueful smile on her lips. “I'm glad we at least got to try.” Within the day, her items were packed and he traveled with her to the edge of the mainland. Before she departed in a boat, she pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. “I'm expecting an invite when you two tie the knot,” she teased.
He sputtered and she laughed that bright laugh that had made him want to give them a try in the first place.
“If you need any aid, Konoha is at your call,” he offered.
“Of course,” she answered with a final wave, standing steadily despite the rocking of the boat.
. . .
Reconnecting the Uchiha with the village when distrust of them was held by so many was hard. It was all the more harder when he was the brother of the man who had spread tales of their eyes and lies of how they loved. The elders were keenly interested in what had become of their former head, especially so when they eyed his kusarigama. He hoped they actually believed him when he said Madara had lived through a separate life and somehow sent himself back in time. He felt a little confident that they did when he heard in their murmurs to each other mentions of Madara’s unused Mangekyou ability.
Whether or not they genuinely believed in Madara's warnings of the future, the clan had at least warmed up to him when he proved he genuinely cared for their welfare. Later, when the academy opened up (after many debates on the ages in which students could enroll and when they'd be deemed fit for field work) a number of clan members had accepted the offer to take up a teaching position in the school.
The academy turned out to be how the Uchiha reformed inter-clan relationships. Teachers commiserated over students, and students commiserated over teachers.
Slowly, real friendships formed.
He felt a weight leave his shoulders when the weary looks sent to the Uchiha grew less and less at each passing festival and celebration.
He often doubted, in the quiet of his home, if his methods were right. If he was actually preventing that future or just aiding in it. He worried also–each time he saw a freshly of age genin leave for their first missions–if the village would ever live up to the dream he shared.
Whenever he worried, he took Madara’s kusarigama and spent time methodically maintaining the weapon: sharpening the blade, polishing the handle, and replacing rusting links in the chain. He never buffed out the scratches in the metal or the kicks in the blade, and even though only one link of the original chain remained, the fact that it was still there was all that mattered.
Tobirama had remarked once that if he kept at it, there’d eventually be nothing left to maintain. His brother very well may have been joking, but the fear wiggled itself into his brain and he saved the task to only for especially long nights, and instead held the weapon close when worries crowded his mind, remembering Madara’s advice in not being hasty in finding peace and to let the younger generations grow what they had planted.
Surprisingly, a missive came in from Iwa one day, requesting another attempt at forging peace between their villages, and that the transgression caused by Madara had been paid. He worried initially that it meant that his friend had been killed for his slight against The Rock, but was assured at the meeting with the tsuchikage that the payment was manual labor and any insight into the future useful to Iwa’s prosperity. The tsuchikage also explained that the beasts in their possession had escaped their confines and requested a refund of the money given to Konoha for the Yonbi and Gobi. They’d eventually settled on a percentage being returned, and after many more meetings, they had agreed to a peace treaty between Konoha and Iwa. When he’d asked what made them believe Madara, the tsuchikage’s grandson said that Madara had felt tangibly different from the man who attacked him years ago, saying it was as if a polished stone had embedded itself into uncut rock.
After that, more and more villages made treaties with one another. By the time a third village asked for a return of funds for their escaped tailed-beast, he’d begun allocating some of Konoha’s budget to be used for returns in the high likelihood another village asked for their money back. He was at least glad Tobirama had the foresight not to allow the funds gained from selling the beasts to be immediately used.
A while after all the profits had been returned, tales started to reach the village, most–if not all–about tailed beasts helping humans in disaster and conflict. It sprouted a new veneration for them that likely hadn’t been seen since ancient times. Shrines were erected in their honor that had people journeying to just to leave offerings. Some of the beasts enjoyed the human attention, accepting offerings and giving their aid in return, while others, like the Kyubi, were more indifferent to them and stayed away from human eyes in temples that were present before the formation of clans.
Hashirama wondered, every now and again, when he remembered Madara mentioning the tailed beasts being sealed into shinobi after his attack with the Kyubi, if he had anything to do with the change in attitude toward the beasts. He still considered sealing them away sometimes, on nights that he worried the Kyubi was too volatile to let wander the country, but he eventually tucked those fears away when he saw from a distance as the fox ate the offerings left at his shrine, his many tails twirling behind him.
He offered a smile when his presence was finally noticed, and the Kyubi returned it with as abashed of a face that his fox features could pull off.
. . .
Three years after she left Konoha, Mito sent him a missive.
Rather than being a call for aid, it was a treaty, stating that in exchange for some of Uzushio’s knowledge of seals, Konoha would defend them against any threat to their village. While a little confused on why Mito would send a treaty when he had already agreed to lend Konoha’s aid, he signed off on it when no one in the council opposed the idea. A few weeks later, a second missive arrived, this time it was an invitation to a celebration of Uzushio’s new connections.
He had a small chuckle to himself at Mito’s cunning when he arrived at the feast on a little island away from the actual village and saw the wary looks the other village heads were giving one another as they filled their plates, realization slowly donning on them that violating the treaty meant every other village present retaliating on Uzushio’s behalf.
He also silently prayed that nothing disastrous ever came of so many treaties.
Four years after that, Tobirama went on a mission with a team of former students that everyone but him returned from. He’d lost the most sleep over how Tobirama died in the future of the past: sacrificing himself for the prosperity of his students and posthumously passing on the mantle of hokage.
He had hoped that, with his brother barred from the position, it would never come to pass. He never anticipated that it’d somehow happen decades earlier than what was foretold. He tried to go out and at least locate his body, but didn’t make it past the gates when a giant hawk dropped Tobirama from the sky, flying off with a powerful flap of its wings. Hashirama had caught him in a cradle of branches before he could hit the ground, finding him battered and unconscious, but alive with a note pasted to the mantle of his armor, the words shaped in familiar handwriting.
One of us has to have a brother still.
Tobirama, outside of being disgruntled at a near death experience and being saved by Madara, recovered with steady improvements to his condition and health, much to Hashirama’s joy as he pulled his brother close, forgetting they were on slightly awkward terms after their argument about him burning his research for Edo Tensei. Tobirama hadn’t made it out of the theorizing stage when Hashirama brought a flame to his papers, and had otherwise agreed to not pursue the knowledge when explained the consequences of creating such a technique, but was still largely upset at his work being destroyed. Hashirama hoped, as Tobirama’s arms held him back, that they could begin to move past the small riff between them.
. . .
It was a random spring day that his patient waiting was rewarded.
A goshawk appeared on his window one morning and tapped at the glass until it was let in. Upon entering his office, its talons dug into his arm and tugged as it tried to fly off with him. Something in his heart urged him to follow, and he was seen being half dragged by a bird through the halls of Hokage Tower. He quickly realized he was being led toward the village gates and broke into a sprint when he understood what it meant.
Rushing past the guards before they could react to the figure walking toward them, Hashirama leaped to pull Madara into a tight hug as they toppled to the ground.
“Madara!” Hashirama cried, his face pressed against the faded coral yukata he now wore.
“Hello, Hashi,” he replied softly, hands roving over his back in a soothing manner as he pressed a kiss to his hairline. The guards gaped as he shot up slightly to kiss Madara on his lips who smiled delightedly as he gave a quick kiss back before rolling them over and standing, pulling him up along the way.
Hashirama finally got a proper look at him now that he was past the initial excitement of his friend’s return. Wiping tears from his eyes, he admired the shorter hair Madara now sported in a bun with an undercut in the back. A white bow held the bun in place and matched the geometric blooms on his yukata. The only thing that was the same was the fringe that still covered half his face. Brushing it away revealed a milky-white eye.
“What happened?” he asked in a hushed tone.
“I promised I'd come back, didn't I?” Madara squeezed his hand. “Let’s go, Hashirama. Show me the village you've built while I was away.”
Sucking in snot that threatened to fall down his face, he nodded and led Madara past guards that were suddenly rather interested in the trees that lined the path.
Many didn't recognize Madara when he walked through the village streets. It wasn't until they spotted the gunbai on his back that their faces morphed into shock. Whispers and murmurs followed them as they went, but Madara seemed to paid no mind as he was first led to the Uchiha compound by the heart of the village.
Clansmen by the entrance paused their activities to gawk at their former clan head. One of the elders Hashirama had spoken to when he first began reconnecting with the Uchiha poked her head out of her house and hobbled out upon spotting Madara.
“Hmph! So you've returned,” she said in a manner only someone her age could pull off. She gave him a stern once over that Madara seemed rather unperturbed by and placed her hands on her hips, her chin tilted up in appraisal. “And you used Izanagi too.”
“You know as well as I the lengths we’ll go to return to our loved ones,” Madara said, his voice calm but resolute, the elder seemed pleased by his words.
“Good to see you’ve returned to your senses! Now, what force was so great as to put you down, Madara?”
“That creature I'm sure Hashirama told you about.”
“Mhm, and what of the tablet?”
“Useless, its original message has long been altered. It's better off destroyed before someone else gets any big ideas,” Madara said with a shake of his head.
“Then I suppose you’d do the honors as its only victim,” she said with a little cackle that Madara indulged with a small sigh and a twitch at the corner of his mouth. The people who had stopped to watch their conversation slowly returned to their business at their elder's teasing, as if it was a seal of approval for his return.
“All these years hasn’t changed your wit at all, Elder Mio.”
“And it seems you’ve changed everything! I’d have hardly recognized you if it weren’t for that fan of yours. So plain compared to your mother’s” Mio huffed. “You better get settled in before the children catch wind of your return. The stories Hashirama spins about you have them thinking that you’re some gift from the divine,” she said, with a shake of her head before motioning for them to follow. While Madara was surprised at how easily he was being welcomed back into the clan, he looked at him with a bent brow at the notion that he was spinning tales to the children. Hashirama only answered his silent question with a shy smile.
They were led to Madara’s home, the one he’d abandoned when he first defected. Dust coated every surface of the house and nothing had been moved from where it was left. Madara walked further into the home, leaving Hashirama with Mio in the main room.
“What’s Izanagi exactly?” he asked as he turned to her.
“A kinjutsu,” she explained “it allows us to make illusion into reality, usually to escape death, but in exchange the eye that performs it closes forever.”
Escape death.
Madara had died and still came back to him. The revelation had him staring too long at Mio, and he noticed that she too had a milky-white eye under a similar fringe of hair.
“Why’d you use it?” he blurted.
“Did you not pay attention earlier?” she scolded with a yell. “The same reason that fool of yours did! To be by our loved ones! We’ll always have another eye, but they won’t always find another love.” Her voice was stern as she poked him in the chest with a nobly finger. Madara returned just then, covered in a layer of dust with rags and brooms in hand, looking rather amused at Hashirama’s predicament.
“I’m sure he gets your point, Elder Mio. Why don’t you return home and leave us to clean?”
“Hmph! I’ve kept Minori waiting long enough anyway.” With a toss of her white hair behind her, she left through the front door.
“If we finish quickly enough, I can show you everything I’ve brought home,” Madara bribed while passing him a broom, and though he was interested in what was brought, he was more taken with the fact that Madara had called Konoha home.
“Okay,” he easily agreed, his heart giddy and light.
. . .
Tobirama appeared the next day on Madara’s lawn as they were pulling weeds from the garden.
“Tobirama? What are you doing here?” Hashirama asked, wiping sweat from his brow with his wrist.
“I was going to ask Madara if he would let me examine him,” his brother said with an off kilter edge about him, like he was unsure of himself.
“What for?” asked Madara, not looking up from the weeds he was pulling up.
“You say you lived another life and returned here to fix the past. I want to see if you show any traces of that.”
“Tobirama,” he said warningly.
“Anija, I just want to be sure.”
Madara spoke before he could think of something to say back.
“I’ll consider it if you help pull the weeds and till the garden,” he said, angling his head towards the extra garden tools. Tobirama stared at them before visibly resigning himself to garden work for his pursuit of knowledge. It wasn’t until late afternoon when their hands were caked in dirt that they finished preparing the garden for crops. They washed their hands of earth, and he stood by as Madara sat in a chair for Tobirama to examine.
As he only agreed to his chakra being looked at, his brother merely placed a hand to his shoulder and shut his eyes for a few moments.
“Well?” Madara asked once Tobirama retreated, his face scrunched in thought.
“You’re not physically from the future, but some part of you is. It’s as if your chakra is from beyond this time,” Tobirama said with curiosity in his voice.
“Then I suppose you found what you were looking for. Don’t ask to examine me again,” Madara with finality. “You owe me bloodwit, and no amount of coin is going to cover it.”
“Right,” his brother said with what Hashirama hoped was regret or remorse. Tobirama then looked between them, eyeing him before speaking once more. “Keep him safe.”
“Some friend I’d be if I traveled through time only to let harm come to him once more,” replied Madara, causing a white brow to bend.
“I take my leave then…thank you for humoring me despite our circumstances,” he said with a bow.
“Eat when you get home, yeah? Don’t work until you do,” Hashirama said, waving his brother off, while Madara only hummed.
For the remainder of the day, Madara was quiet, moving like a ghost in his own home.
“You okay?” Hashirama eventually asked as they were intertwined on the futon.
“Just missing Izuna,” Madara replied softly. It was a hard topic to broach even now, and it was harder knowing his brother of all people was responsible for Madara’s pain. He felt guilty that he still loved Tobirama despite it.
“I'm sorry,” he whispered, pulling him closer. He didn’t bring up the tears he felt dampen his night clothes.
“It’s not your fault,” Madara said with understanding he didn’t deserve.
. . .
Weeks passed since Madara’s return. While some civilians were still wary of him, Konoha’s population was overall rather indifferent to the return of what was technically their greatest traitor.
These days, Hashirama observed, Madara held an unflappable attitude toward the things happening around him. He supposed such was bound to happen after experiencing so many lifetimes only to go back and start all over again, though the current moment didn't reflect that observation as their morning was interrupted by the current Uchiha clan head, a cousin of Madara’s, offering to return to position to him.
“...Are you sure?” Madara had asked after the initial shock passed and he remembered to lower his tea. The clan head, Hayabusa, gave a nod.
“The elders agreed on it, and the majority of the clan showed no opposition.”
“Majority,” he reiterated.
“The clan wouldn’t be at its place currently if not for you holding our best interest at heart when you asked Hashirama to better the village,” Hayabusa argued, before deflating slightly. “And, I’m not entirely fit for this role. I’d rather leave it in more capable hands.”
Madara looked thoughtful as he drank from his cup.
“You just want to push all that paperwork onto me, Busa,” he said drily. “I suppose I might as well if there’s a consensus. My garden can only keep me so occupied.” Hayabusa’s shoulders eased at the acceptance, and he clapped Madara on the shoulder.
“It’s a relief to have you back, Madara, truely,” he said. “I’ll make you a new set of equipment as celebration!”
Hayabusa left with an eager wave, and the two of them returned to their breakfast.
“Equipment?” Hashirama asked.
“Falconry equipment. Hayabusa has many hobbies, but combat was never one of them,” Madara said as he moved the dishes to the sink, beginning to rinse and cover them in soap.
“How come he was picked for head then?” he asked, holding his hand out for the washed plates and bowls to be dried.
“His leadership skills are good, and he would’ve been next in line after me anyway. He just wasn’t raised expecting to have to lead, so I suppose he found the work stifling when he had more freedom growing up than me and my brothers.”
“Yeah,” he said simply, understanding the feeling of being stifled by obligation. They finished the rest of the chore in silence before moving over to the couch.
“You’ve done well, Hashirama,” Madara eventually said, sitting beside him and pulling him against his side. “I’m sorry I was away for all of it.”
“It’s okay,” he replied. leaning his head on Madara’s warm shoulder. His conversation with Mio played back in his mind. “You had a lot of work too. I don’t imagine dying is easy.”
“Hm, you wouldn't believe the lengths I had to go to to just talk to some of the beasts,” Madara started lightly. “And the amount of houses I built in Iwa, but dying wasn’t easy, no. Three deaths I’ve had, each one no less painful, but returning isn't so hard when you're willing to spare an eye.”
Three deaths. Hashirama could still hardly believe that he was the cause of one of them. The thought of ramming his sword through Madara’s chest made him ill enough to vomit. It took many assurances before he believed that Madara didn’t resent him for it.
“Don’t make it four,” Hashirama said lightly.
“I don’t plan on leaving you anytime soon, don’t worry.”
“Together until death do us part then,” he declared.
“You make it sound like we’re married.”
“Can we?” he asked, sitting up from his spot at Madara’s shoulder and facing him, a hopeful look in his eyes. Madara poked him gently between them.
“Why not? Mio likely already has bets on it happening.” Madara said, speaking like he was talking about the weather, but Hashirama didn’t mind when he was excited enough for the both of them. He toppled Madara over onto the couch, the position no different from when he tackled him at the cliff edge all those years ago.
“Married! We’re going to get married!” he exclaimed over him, his brown hair falling in a curtain around his head. Madara’s face split into a warm smile, like his joy had leached into him, and he reached up to pull him into a kiss.
“Mhm. Married,” Madara repeated, his eyes crinkling in the corners into little crow’s feet that told Hashirama that he was happy too.
. . .
Their wedding ceremony was a simple affair between just the two of them. They’d spent the day preparing their meal and that night, after exchanging sake, eating in each other's company.
A grander celebration was held a few weeks later, with much of the village in attendance. Mito arrived with gifts in tow, most of which were garments from Uzushio, and was quite taken by Hashirama’s aide who was in attendance dressed in a glossy brown kimono.
As it turned out, Mio had betted on their marriage and sat smugly in a corner by her wife boasting about her new found riches. Hashirama wasn’t so sure how to feel that so many had betted on them not ever wedding. He was doubly unsure how to feel knowing that Tobirama was part of the pool.
By midnight, with many of them thoroughly inebriated, someone shouted for the musicians to play a song he didn’t recognize and soon he was pulled into a dance that had him spinning around and struggling to stay on his toes. He most definitely looked silly flailing about while Madara moved with the grace of a feather, but his giddy laugh as they twisted and twirled with his lips pulled back into a smile that was all teeth made the embarrassment worth it.
The night ended back at Madara’s home–their home–pressed against one another. He laid half on top of Madara, whose arms were wrapped securely around his lower back and face was pressed to his neck. He fought off sleep to just soak in the warmth.
“Sleep, Hashi,” Madara eventually murmured. “I’ll be here to hold you in the morning.”
“And the morning after that?” he whispered back.
“Every night and day until our faces are lined like cobwebs, and then after that in the Pure Lands for all of eternity.”
“Okay,” he said with a little smile, his eyes falling shut.
He felt so truly loved.