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Chapter Text

Madara gazed dully into the lifeless eyes of his reflection, his face completely devoid of any expression.

The only outward sign that could cue someone of his emotional distress was the way his fingers' brutal grip tightened dangerously on the sink's edge, the ominous cracking audibly growing in volume. He forcefully maneuvered his stiff joints into releasing their grip in favor of forming the tiger hand seal.

"Release."

His iris, the morbid color of blood with three black commas, distractedly traced his reflection's soft, cherubic cheeks and lack of wrinkles on his skin. It was the face of an innocent five-year-old with eyes far too old, too worn, too jaded. His pasty complexion didn't help, making him look sickly, ill, and on the verge of death.

"Release."

They soon morphed and swirled into the familiar and unique pattern of his Eternal Mangekyou Sharingan, his sclera being the color of fresh snow more disturbing than the actual fact that a child of five winters has awakened the evolved form of his clan's famed dojutsu.

Madara could feel his feeble chakra reserves plummet to dangerous levels, this body too young to actually activate the Sharingan, much less the Mangekyou. However, he has always been a stubborn man - but always in the wrong and fallacious sense.

"Release."

We're both going to die. Right now, we can drink together. As war buddies.

War buddies, huh? Aa... I guess... that's fine... by...

"RELEASE!"

A pudgy fist full of frustration (denial) and anger (sorrow) went flying, breaking the mirror and tearing his skin in the process. A hiccough slipped passed his lips as involuntary tears rolled down his face. The pain originated more from his sternum than his fist, and Madara could not help but grasp his chest, cloth bunching up as he held them in a white-knuckle grip.

"R-Release... re... lea-"

He dropped to his knees as his chakra flickered incongruously until only a small flame remained, just enough to survive, yet not anywhere near enough to do anything else. His body had forcefully cut off his routes of supply as an act of self-preservation, too deeply engraved in his soul to voluntarily control the fight.

His airway spasmed in his uncontrollable rage at being denied a peaceful demise, and despite the air still trapped inside his lungs, he continued to inhale; as if he has lost all abilities to properly exhale. His forehead planted itself onto the ground with undignified stiffness as he continued to gasp for air, beads of cold sweat rolling down his nape and saliva dribbling down his chin.

Clawing uselessly at his chest, Madara fell sideways, his eyes jerking desperately all over the place in search for some kind of respite. He gave up a few seconds after, feeling that it was pointless. The dead should remain as such - and the world, he thought bitterly, would be much safer without him.

Mind made up, his body went limp and his jaws locked tightly in place. He closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable, apathetic to how his lungs burned with the need to circulate oxygenated air into his system. Madara slipped away, welcoming the darkness with a small yet blissful smile playing on his lips.

Maybe now he could have that drink with Hashirama...

He woke up to his long-dead clan's medics fretting over him.

Chapter Text

Time travel. Dimensional travel. Alternate universes.

Those words kept repeating like a broken tape recorder in his head, theories upon theories forming within the speed of light, yet easily discarded not a second later. Denial and Madara often went hand in hand, their perpetual bond developed from an early age until he was all but married to that foul mistress.

He wished that it was Hashirama who had been granted this second chance and not him. His war buddy, his best friend, his comrade, deserved it more than Madara, who was and still am a broken and delusional man who failed spectacularly throughout his entire life.

With so many useless and pointless thoughts circling in his head, Madara cut himself off by hugging Izuna, a toddler no older than three winters, tighter to his chest, rocking and humming the child to sleep.

Madara knew he was a failure of an older brother, but this time, despite the lack of will to live (his body was constantly tired, his soul far too old to accommodate), he would do his best to protect his younger brother(s). If he needed to remove Tajima early in order to take his rightful place as clan head, just to shield his brothers from entering the battlefield too early, he would do so in a heartbeat.

With intimate knowledge of the future in his hands, he knew how exactly to bring an end to the feud with the Senju, to bring forth an era of peace. This time, however, it would not be at the cost of Izuna's life or eyes. Madara swore that he would see all of his little brothers grow old - or as old as Madara could live with his borderline suicidal mentality. He would be the first of his family to perish, never them. Not again.

But before his demise, he would rid the world of that abnormality. Never again will Dokuzetsu, that parasitic bastard, tempt and manipulate another human to do its bidding. At this point in time, that literal backstabber would be easier to seal away as it did not have Hashirama's cells to disappear swiftly via Mayfly.

Carefully tucking the sleeping toddler until his brother was warm and comfortable underneath the blankets, he turned his head slightly to stare out the window. He knew it was all in his head, but his eyes refused to see the moon as any other color than blood red. Idly, Madara wondered if he was ill in the head. Or if there was something wrong with his optic nerves.

What if everything was but an illusion?

His eyes darted to the sleeping Izuna, compulsively burning into his brain the sight of those soft features and pure innocence exuding from his baby brother. With hesitant fingers - bloodied hands that only brought forth unimaginable terror and misery to others - he stroked Izuna's cheeks and eyes, before leaning to kiss his brother's forehead, his lips lingering as he breathes in Izuna's nostalgic and poignant scent.

If this was an illusion, he wouldn't mind being trapped inside for all eternity. Ultimately, reality consisted only of pain and suffering; a futility to someone as old as him.

Chapter Text

Madara accepted the mission scroll Tajima gave him, skimming over the contents until he nodded his understanding. Tajima may be a shite excuse for a father, but he was a splendid shinobi with a discerning eye, knowing exactly what sort of missions Madara could excel with his physical age in consideration.

Unlike his first childhood, Madara was by far too skilled to be kept out of missions and battles despite only being physically five-years-old. Furthermore, with how sombre and ruthless he was, taking lives left to right without an ounce of hesitation - his 'first' kill had been swift and unsympathetic - he knew his clansmen whispered about him being a disturbing child.

It stung, but he has always been good at compartmentalization. If he could not inspire love, he would cause fear.

He coped by ignoring every judgemental whispers until it all became background noises, their words unintelligible to his ears. Even now, he doubted that his parents noticed his selective mutism and withdrawn behavior; his father's only concern was to build him into a perfect war general-slash-leader in their battles against the other clans whilst his mother diligently continued to reproduce replacements if Madara were to ever be KIA.

Frankly, he had forgotten how people felt about gender in this time period. Especially for those who were born into a clan that prides in bloodline limits. There were no women in their army, for fear of others capturing them and using them to breed.

To the people born and bred in this era laden by countless clan wars, women were little more than child-birthing machines unless they were insanely strong. Children were little more than cannon fodder or a purpose to strengthen their numbers. Clanless ninjas roaming the place with no other than reason than to kill for food on their table.

Madara loathed the Warring States Period. It was nothing but aimless pandemonium, and as a man who had once fought against the entire shinobi world, he only did so with a purpose in mind; for peace, as misguided as it was.

Madara tucked the mission scroll into his drawstring pouch and waited silently until the man dismissed him, looking directly into his father's dark, narrowed eyes and having no fear of the man's Sharingan prowess. Genjutsu was an ability gained from one's superior will, unbending mind, and precise chakra control. His physical body played no factor as he could easily counter any man-made illusions thrown his way. The only issue he has was with his stamina and small reserves.

Although he was trusted to complete missions that only children twice his physical age were given, proving to Tajima that he was a prodigy, the man looked as if he was contemplating something. Tajima ended up saying nothing after five minutes ticked by.

As soon as he was sent out of the man's study, he grabbed his oversized (to a child) mission bag, kissed Izuna on the forehead, and left the compound immediately.

After gaining a fair distance, he set his bag down and retrieved a senbon and a pigmented ink pot. Having sterilized his senbon with a small fire jutsu, Madara, with meticulous care, inked a seal - white in color - on his right tricep. It took him many months to smuggle the materials to handmake his own ink, but it was worth it.

In this period, only the Uzumaki were masters in fuuinjutsu - and even then, tattooed seals were never thought of before Tobirama came about creating the ANBU tattoo. Jinchuuriki seals were a different branch altogether, and Mito was the one who invented it and became the first ever Jinchuuriki (technically, since nobody knew Ōtsutsuki Hagoromo was the Juubi's Jinchuuriki).

Hence, if he were to unluckily enough to be caught, no one would suspect a child from the Uchiha clan to know anything about seals, much less use it in such a risky way.

Seals tattooed on the skin, if inked incorrectly or made by someone without a mastery in the art - as the people decades later had come to learn after trying to imitate Tobirama's ANBU tattoo design blindly without understanding its concept - could result in a painful death as their chakra would rebel; similar to how white blood cells fight an infection.

(Madara had been so bored, his elderly life spent in a dark cave, siphoning chakra from the Gedo Statue, with no company other than the White Zetsu clones. He had ordered them to sneakily bring him fuuinjutsu scrolls from the Uzumaki over the decades he was alive so that he would be able to understand the sealing arts better. As for why he mastered them; he was a perfectionist, always will be. When Uzushiogakure fell, he had Zetsu salvage what they could, before moving onto other hobbies when he had read all that he could read.)

After he was done, making sure that the items stored inside could only be released once specific conditions were met, he sealed his mission bag, leaving only his makeshift shuriken holster strapped around his left thigh and an adult-sized sheathed katana slung across his back.

All in all, he looked like a child who stole their father's weapon and ran away from home. Not that Madara cared. If others underestimated him, it was their own funeral.

Patting down his navy blue mantle sans Uchiwa fan on the back, he continued on his journey and entered Senju territory. His mission wasn't in any way related to the Senju. However, he would be able to complete it quicker if he cut through their territory to reach his destination.

Madara loathes having Izuna out of his sight for prolong periods of time. And with Ryouta due to be born soon, Madara desires to not miss his second younger brother's birth.

With the help of his chakra sensing abilities - although his range was in no way comparable to Tobirama's - he artfully avoided the Senju patrols for the whole day and camped high in the trees, hiding inside hollowed trunks during the night to avoid detection.

It took Madara a total of two weeks to reach the small fishing hamlet belonging to the Hagoromo clan, what with his pitiful stamina and short limbs.

His mission was to blend in and investigate if the Hagoromo clan were 'worthy' enough to be allied with. Madara already knew that their clans had once been allies against the Senju back in his first life, but if possible, he would rather they not ally themselves with such scum.

He recalled - thanks to his perfect memory - that that clan made a sport of hunting children from opposition clans ("My little brother was killed. Madara, right? Have you any younger siblings...?"). To nip the bud before they could grow. It was distasteful to Madara, who had once upon a time dreamed of building a sanctuary for his younger brothers, for children to grow naturally rather than be forced to mature and die prematurely.

And yes, he knew he was being hypocritical.

He had manipulated many children in his old age - and Obito was his biggest mistake as of yet. Madara knew that if he ever lived long enough to meet Obito once more, he would train the boy properly this time. Not as a stooge, but as a direct disciple. He owed the other Uchiha for all he has done to the young lad. How unforgiving he had been to tear all that young Obito loved and made him grow into such a twisted man.

(... Obito, that endearing brat, had made the loneliness he accumulated throughout the decades dissipate, gradually, ever so slightly, but he had been too stubborn in his quest for peace to cherish those moments. He had been such an old fool, too obtuse to realize that he had already adopted Obito into his family and yet, still used the younger Uchiha like a disposable tool. He regrets. Oh, how he regrets and feels such shame...)

Madara couldn't help but stare at his pudgy hands, currently free of blood but heavy with stolen lives and burden. Despite this body's young age, his body count was plenty, enough to put even some adults to shame. He truly was someone who brings nothing but pain and misery onto others.

He physically shook himself out of his self-hatred and changed his clothing to blend in better with the homeless orphans and street rats.

The mission lasted a total of three months if he counted his travel time.

Whilst his father stoically read Madara's mission report back in the clan head's office, he sat outside his birthing mother's bedchamber with Izuna tucked under his chin, the two brothers eager to meet the latest addition to their family.

What he didn't write in the report was that in the process of observing the Hagoromo clan, Madara had accidentally pushed and prodded a few holes in their meager defenses which then allowed their enemies to spit on them whilst they were down. Oops. Well, they have nobody to blame but themselves. Thus, proving that they were not worthy to ally themselves with the Uchiha.

Despite having no urge to retry his Eye of the Moon plan, Madara has always been a master puppeteer, stringing those along without their knowledge and making others dance to his tune - he worked best in the shadows than the light, after all.

Chapter Text

"Aniki!"

At Izuna's childish call, Madara looked up from bottle-feeding Ryouta, his eyes instantaneously zooming to the running toddler. He shifted his hold on the infant for better security and bodily turned from Izuna just as the latter crashed into his side.

Thankfully, he was well prepared and had glued his feet to the ground with chakra, knowing how energetic Izuna's usual greetings were.

"Careful," he whispered, voice cracking slightly from how seldom he uses his voicebox nowadays.

"Sorry, aniki, Ryouta-chan!" Izuna smiled sheepishly, the four missing front teeth and tangled hair making him twice as adorable.

Madara shook his head slightly with a small smile, showing his little brother that all was good. Without conscious thought, he balanced the bottle and baby with one arm whilst his free hand started to groom Izuna's hair, plucking out leaves and twigs whilst detangling the strands with his fingers.

He hummed slightly in question when Izuna continued to fidget in place, his eyes looking at Madara with blatant adoration. He returned the look with his own besotted one.

In this life, Madara felt more like Izuna and Ryouta's parent rather than eldest brother due to the difference in age, and with how their biological parents acted, parental affection was something Madara has never experienced. Still, he tries his hardest for Izuna and Ryouta, not wanting them to feel neglected.

"Can aniki teach me how throw shur'ken now?" His little brother peered from his lashes, lower lips jutting out in an adorable pout. Madara chuckled endearingly at the butchered pronunciation and a rather obvious attempt at manipulation.

Regardless, he nodded his consent and guided Izuna to the wooden targets at their backyard, but not before correcting his word and sentence structure. Although a commendable effort for a three, going four-year-old, their father was not a patient man and would punish them if they did something wrong. Even if that something was as an inane as grammar mistakes.

As he went about correcting Izuna's form, he didn't neglect the babe in his arm. Gently burping Ryouta after the infant was done with his milk, Madara set aside the bottle and rocked his baby brother whilst paying close attention to Izuna, not wanting the toddler to injure himself whilst training.

It was strange, Madara mused, to be training someone so young.

The first time, Izuna had been trained by the clan elders alongside the other kids in their clan. Madara had only started to spar with Izuna after the latter had reached seven, at least, due to how far they were in strength. He had to first learn how to soften his blows to avoid giving any unintentional injuries to his brother.

Now, during his second childhood, it was Madara who took the initiative to train his little brother. Others might think he was heartless for pushing someone so young to become a shinobi, but Madara knew that this was the best course of action to protect his younger siblings. The stronger they were, the fewer people that could kill them.

It was also better for him to be the one who trained them. Tajima and the clan elders were merciless, always dishing out corporal punishment and only giving the barest amount of praises (or none at all). Although effective on a whole with competitiveness as a measure of strength, Madara didn't want that for his brothers. He would rather they not be hurt unnecessarily, be it physically or emotionally. He wanted them to enjoy as much of their childhood as possible whilst also training to become child soldiers.

Besides, he had once turned Obito, a dead-last fool, into a powerhouse that could fight on par with an S-Rank shinobi, a master puppeteer who pulled far too many strings to count, and someone who could control a Bijuu all within a limited span of two years.

Hashirama's cells might have played an important part in speeding the process, but if it came down to it, Madara was confident that any student he trained would become a legend in their own right.

"Aniki! Did yous see that?! I hits bullseye ten time in' row!" Izuna squealed with laughter, arms in the air as he celebrated his victory of nailing all ten shurikens on the wooden target.

Ryouta jolted awake from his light doze due to the loud exclamation, causing Izuna to physically cover his jaw with his tiny hands, although his gleeful giggles slipped through his fingers once in a while. Madara only rolled his eyes fondly, automatically bouncing the infant in an attempt to comfort him.

"Yes. I saw. Well done, Izuna."

Madara lifted Ryouta higher just in time to avoid the little one from being squashed by Izuna. The toddler having wrapped two skinny arms around Madara's middle and rested his chin on Madara's abdomen, a goofy and wide grin playing on his lips.

"Un! Thank you, aniki. Fo' teachin' me and be patient with me!"

"Always, otouto."

Chapter Text

Blood splattered across his face as Madara plunged his blade into the kneeling shinobi's neck, causing the arterial blood to gush out and paint him red as he jerked his weapon free. His fully matured Sharingan spun in place as he took in the battleground, his eyes purposefully skimming past the bodies of his fallen clansmen.

They had been returning from border patrol when they were suddenly ambushed by the Kurama clan. Madara had managed to escape their AOE genjutsu trap almost immediately, but a few slow ones had been outright killed in their moment of delay.

The Kurama clan, after all, were masters in genjutsu even without the Sharingan to aid them. Truly a fearsome clan of illusionists.

Now, after a full hour of intense battles, apart from Madara, only one more of his kin remained alive. The Kurama clan didn't pull any punches, having brought two dozens against them seven.

Sensing a disturbance in the air behind him, he spun on his heels, sword raised to block the blade that had almost skewered him like a plump dango. The shinobi snarled, expression filled with an intense hunger for his flesh as he glared at Madara, teeth bared.

Madara impassively scanned the man's form for any holes, his lethargic body moving slower than expected when he moved to dodge and redirect the attacks he was receiving. With the aid of his Sharingan, he avoided a few backstabs, jutsu, and shurikens that had been thrown his way - but it wasn't enough. He was bleeding from the many cuts and stabs littering his little body.

As soon as his eyes captured a blind spot, however, he unhesitatingly dived in. Madara slotted his katana into the man's ribs and kicked the shinobi's midriff to gain distance.

Whilst his opponent was distracted by the pain, stumbling backwards as he tightened his hand over Madara's katana's hilt to prevent further blood loss, Madara's fingers moved rapidly.

"Katon: Great Fireball Technique."

The flames ate the man up - along with the corpses near him - burning him alive as he howled in pure agony, the smell of burnt flesh and grilled meat invading his nostrils. If Madara had not been so used to it, he would've vomited. Some of the other shinobi did. It allowed for the last of his clansman to take advantage of their momentary weakness.

Knowing that the enemy's goal was to study the Sharingan to strengthen their genjutsu formidability, Madara made sure to burn his clansmen's corpse or throw shuriken at their eyes whenever he has a chance to.

Madara grunted when his side was kicked, his small body hurled into the air as he felt some of his ribs creak under the force. As he was airborne, he saw the last of his clansman fall, causing the enemies to roar in victory - thinking they have already won.

As soon as he landed in a roll, he pushed himself to his feet and positioned himself into a defensive stance. He had fought against thousands once upon a time, but now, in the body of a bloody six-year-old, he felt weak and powerless. His chest was heaving heavily for air whilst the wounds scattered around his body throbbed, some of his organs bruised and his bones fractured from the many fits of abuse he took.

He gritted his teeth, glaring poisonously at the ten remaining Kurama men left. They all wisely avoided making eye contact with him (fuck!), but he could tell from their body language and expression that they were confident. Madara did, after all, make a sorry sight right now.

"You guys take care of the brat. I'll take this one back first," One of them cockily said as he pointed at the fresh corpse of Madara's kin.

The only one not badly burnt or mutilated by him. The other Kurama clansmen agreed as they slowly inched closer to Madara from all sides whilst that one bodily picked the dead Uchiha up, carrying the corpse much like one did a sack of potatoes.

Taking a deep breath in, Madara decided that if he were to be taken out, he would only go with an explosion. And if he survived this, he refuses to hold back his trump cards from now on. Some secrets weren't worth the lives of his kin.

"What's wrong, baby Uchiha? Hoping for someone to save you?" A man jeered.

"Why don't you start crying for your papa? That'll be a sight - and maybe, just maybe, we'll spare you," Another mocked.

"Hmm... Didn't Akira say she needed someone to donate their sperm to her daughter? I bet having a half-Uchiha in our clan would bring us many benefits," One other pondered, chatting amongst themselves as they continued to close in on him.

He truly was being underestimated.

"The concept of hope is nothing more than giving up. A word that holds no true meaning," he responded to their taunting, a thin smile playing on his lips as his commas swirled into their evolved form, "I would rather not use this before my chakra pathways mature, but beggars can't be choosers, right?"

Before any of them could react to his words, whatever was left of his chakra flooded out in waves, constructing a humongous blue skeletal figure that wrapped him safely inside its ribs. Knowing that he was on the verge of collapse, he had only summoned the bare bones, and even then, it took a great toll on him, his insides felt as if a few somethings had just burst open.

The chakra construction roared, and if Madara weren't so exhausted, he would have sadistically laughed at how pale the Kurama clansmen had turned, their knees shaking from something never before seen in this time period. Even the one carrying his kin had frozen, pupils dilated to massive proportions.

Not waiting for any of them to recover from their terror, his Susanoo slashed at them with its undulating blades, cutting half their numbers with a single move. That, however, caused them all to return to their senses.

All of them separated and began throwing ninjutsu after ninjutsu, genjutsu after genjutsu, their desperate attempts at bringing him down. And it was working. The ribs of his Susanoo had cracked under pressure due to how brittle his restricted and immature chakra had made them. He was also having a hard time grasping reality from illusions, making it harder for him to dispell them.

The silver lining was that they were all chuunin with C-rank jutsus at best.

With a haggard exhale, Madara wiped his sweaty forehead as he focused on them, tears of blood rolling down his cheeks as his young eyes strained from using such immense power. Back then, he didn't require to activate his Mangekyou Sharingan to use Susanoo, but now, he was forced to.

If only they had waited for him to reach his teen years, at the very least, before ambushing him - he would've crushed them within minutes, if not seconds.

It took longer than he intended, but as soon as the last of his enemies were killed and his clansmen's head smashed like watermelons, Madara collapsed to his knees, Susanoo breaking down as it disappeared.

Every cell in his body felt as if it was tearing itself apart; a horrible sensation that was so painful it made him queasy. His body trembled from the agony, the biting cold, and the blood loss.

Falling face first into the dirt, he closed his eyes and did his best to meditate. He needed to push past all the discomfort and concentrate on refilling his chakra pools. That was the only way for him to use iryō jutsu to heal himself. His only chance of survival.

If he was lucky, nobody would pass by this area. He needed to retrieve all their armor due to the Uchiha's rock-bottom financial status. Tajima was truly a horrible accountant.

Just before he entered a meditative trance, he mentally apologized to Izuna for missing his little brother's birthday.

Chapter Text

Madara allowed his fingers to be used as chew toys by his teething baby twin brothers as he seated himself at the engawa on a floor cushion, under the shade with a pot of green tea next to him and a lap full of two squirming infants whilst he verbally instructed his two other younger brothers on their kata.

"Bend your knees more, Izuna. Use the momentum of your core to flow through your movements, Ryouta. That was sloppy at best. Again from the very beginning."

Izuna and Ryouta both whined out complaints but complied, anyway. The two boys were covered in a light sheen of sweat as the afternoon sun tanned their skins a healthy color. Madara himself was far too pale with dark circles and stress lines under his eyes, most of his time spent taking care of his siblings whilst he trained his body indoors - never too far away from the twins.

It has been seven years since his arrival in the past. All of his little brothers were well and alive, Madara having foiled the latest two assassination attempts at Takumi and Yakumi's life - the exact same ones that had claimed them the first time around. His mother, on the other hand, had not been so lucky. It made Madara too paranoid to leave them alone, and even on missions, he would leave a shadow clone behind despite the massive drain on his reserves.

Currently, Madara was twelve, Izuna ten, Ryouta seven, and the twins, Takumi and Yakumi, still newborns at only four months of age. His father, Tajima, only visited them to assign missions or to check on their progress. The nannies were all but frightened away by Madara's impressive glares.

If he were to be sent by the clan head's orders on missions, patrols, or the field with his brothers-in-arms, either Izuna or Ryouta would take care of the twins on his behalf (his clone did a magnificent job of hiding in the shadows). He didn't trust strangers to care for his two vulnerable baby brothers - disregarding the fact that almost all Uchiha were connected one way or another.

When Madara finally called for a break, Izuna and Ryouta all but fell gracelessly to the grassy ground, groaning and moaning about Madara being an 'oni-sensei'. The wordplay always made him smirk discreetly into his high collar whilst pretending to not hear a thing.

Fixing a cloth sling on his front, he adjusted the two newborns and stood up soundlessly. Madara made his way to the kitchen, grabbed a few healthy snacks and drinks, and made his way back to the engawa.

"Wash your hands first," Madara drawled as he slapped Ryouta's itchy fingers away from the tray. The latter stuck his tongue out cheekily whilst running into the house, eager for treats as always. Izuna followed at a more sedated pace, before taking off in a sprint not a second later. The ten-year-old had always tried to be more mature when in front of Madara, but failed spectacularly as always, much to Madara's open amusement.

He could only fondly shake his head at the two brats.

As he settled down, he arranged the cubed fruits and vegetables to be divided into equal portions so that the two would not bicker about him playing favorites 'again'. It greatly amuses and confuses him how competitive they were for his... favor(?).

Izuna, as he slowly came to learn, was different compared to his first life. More outgoing. More childish. More lively -happier. And has a friendly rivalry going with Ryouta, always trying to one-up the other in training or day-to-day activities.

Frankly, it made his heart swell in (parental? Brotherly?) pride. Not that he loved his brothers any less back then, it was... Hm, even in his own head, he was not quite sure how to put it into appropriate words without mucking up the emotion he felt whenever he sees them so vibrant. Perhaps it could be elation? Contentment? Jubilation?

Whatever it was, he just knows that it was a positive emotion.

And Madara, with how protective he was over his brothers' emotional and mental state, had made sure that Tajima's bad influence would not spread to them. He knew that hatred bred for more hatred. And the Uchiha-Senju feud had long lost its purpose. The only reason why they continued this meaningless vendetta was due to their bitter elders passing down their animosity to the younger generation, and when they grow old, they would continue to follow the tradition.

Although not naive like Hashirama with hi- their dream, Madara understood the concept of spilling less blood. To refrain from killing unnecessarily. However, they live in an era when wars were common. There would be casualties. And sacrifices needed to be made if one wanted to protect.

For Madara, it was his life. He would sacrifice whatever he needed to sacrifice to protect his brothers and clan. Even if his future methods would have him bear the brunt of his clan's aversion and hostility.

When the squabbling pair came back, they huddled against his sides as they snatched each other's snack, trying to one-up the other with their rivalry.

Madara sat quietly on his zabuton, enjoying the serene atmosphere as he allowed Yakumi to tug roughly on his long mane and Takumi to continue gumming on his index finger, which was at a cooling temperature thanks to a handy baby-related jutsu.

"Anija?" Madara tilted his head slightly towards Ryouta to show that he was listening, "Are you getting enough sleep?"

Blinking at the unexpected question, Madara tried to remember when exactly he had last slept. The blank he came up with was slightly concerning, but he waved the question away with a murmured, "You need not concern yourself over my sleeping habits. I am well."

"He wasn't asking if you're fine or not, aniki," Izuna rolled his eyes so hard Madara was afraid it would be stuck that way, "Ryouta's asking if you're getting enough sleep. Your eyebags have eyebags and those eyebags have even bigger eyebags."

... Cheeky brat. Madara self-consciously poked at his eye bags.

Izuna was not wrong on that part. Madara did, in fact, notice that the stress lines underneath his eyes were more conspicuous this time around. A reason why he decided to grow out his hair early; his fringe proving to be excellent coverage to shadow his exhausted and sickly features. To hide that he was slowly wilting away, how tired his body constantly felt.

"I sleep enough to function," he ended up saying as he smoothened his fringe down to better cover his eyes.

His answer, apparently, wasn't what Izuna wanted to hear. The latter threw his hands in the air, beyond exasperated.

"Are Yakumi and Takumi keeping you up at night? We can always alternate," Ryouta said tentatively.

"Their closeness brings forth my peace of mind," He intoned.

"Kami, aniki! Can't you just say yes or no? You're speaking like an old man who only knows how to answer without actually answering! It's making my head spin!" Izuna whined.

Madara gave Izuna an unimpressed look, which only made the boy cross his arms with a pout. Cute. In turn, it made Madara drop a surprise kiss to Izuna's forehead, causing the boy to petulantly scowl at him.

"Looking after two babies on your own is tough. They're always making noise at night," Ryouta tried again, which made Madara sigh under his breath.

"As I said before, Ryouta, I am not troubled with my own sleeping habits. Rest assured, otouto, I am not sacrificing sleep for our two youngest." He merely avoided sleeping whenever possible due to paranoia and never-ending night terrors. If that made him spend more time watching his baby twin brothers sleep, then all was good.

"Argh! I can't take it anymore! Aniki you idiot! What Ryouta means to say is that we can look after Taku and Yaku while you nap. You look like you really need one right now. Like, reeeeeeeally need one," Izuna tugged on Madara's sleeve with a put-off look on his face, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed.

Ah.

Now he understood. They were worried. About him. For him.

Madara bent his head and used his birdnest of a hair to cover the small smile playing on his lips and the slight flush he could feel forming on his cheeks. Having his family care for him felt... heavenly. He knew that Ryouta and Izuna both loved him, but to actively see how much they care was... pleasantly shocking to say the least.

"Ohh?" he raised his head with a smile, but this time, it was more sadistic than sweet, "You're not getting out of training, you insufferable brats. Break's over. Run laps around the compound until I tell you to stop. Your stamina is contemptuous."

The jaws of his two adorable little brothers dropped in shock before their features turned to despair.

Despite how touched he felt, he wasn't good with expressing his emotions. Hence, he decided to show his affections by training them till the brink of collapse. His own version of love. This would keep them safer in the long run, better than any verbal declaration of adoration.

As they dragged their feet, whining and complaining about oni-senseis, Madara ducked his head and patted his cheeks, thoroughly embarrassed by their show of kindness. He truly didn't deserve to have such sweet brothers. But despite that, contradictorily, he was a selfish creature that would never let them go.

His smile turned into a frown at that, his chest twinging painfully. He wondered when exactly he should start to distance himself from them. He has not the will to live past the creation of Konohagakure and the erasure of Dokuzetsu, his soul too worn and tired to actually picture himself enjoying his retirement alone, his brother having married with their own families to look after.

Perhaps he should do them all the favor and take himself out of the picture early in their life. The only memories they would have of him would be that of a protective older brother and strict teacher - not the broken and foolish man who only thought that to achieve peace, he needed to bring war into play.

But then, who else would take care of them on his behalf when they were still young and vulnerable? To guarantee their safety? Not Tajima. The man proved himself useless the first time around.

When Yakumi tugged harder at his hair, gurgling for attention, he pushed those dark thoughts to the back of his mind (to submerse and steep) and tickled his baby brother's stomach, loving the way he was cooed and giggled at in return.

Chapter Text

Perhaps Madara should have reflected more about the inevitable consequences his actions and inactions would bring into the past. One of them was even staring vigilantly at him in the eye. Rather than Hashirama, Madara was looking at the rather boyish features of one Senju Tobirama, the shinobi who would one day become the boogieman to all Uchiha children.

The boy looked as young as ten-years-old, maybe younger even, with a black sleeveless shirt tucked into unfashionable hakama pants, followed by a pair of wooden flip-flops. His arms, without any armor to pad it, looked skinny and frail. It made Madara soften ever so slightly, but he kept his distance, knowing that despite his young age, Tobirama was not to be underestimated.

What the future 'White Demon of the Senju' was doing at this particular creek when Madara had been - and still was - eagerly expecting for one Senju Hashirama's appearance was something that was of little interest to him. His only desire was to re-acquaint himself with his former best friend... if he was even allowed to call then-Hashirama as such after the cringe-worthy stunt he pulled in the future-that-wouldn't-occur.

Knowing that it would take a miracle for this younger version of his adversary to catch Madara unaware, he returned to skipping rocks on the waters' surface, already having put the baby Senju out of mind, but still aware of his movements. Funnily enough, after so long of throwing nothing but weapons, he has all but forgotten the technique required to make rocks skip further than twice.

As predicted, on its third skip, the rock sunk depressingly into the waters.

Unexpectedly, however, was the disdainful scoff heard from behind him, causing his muscles to loosen in preparation for any imminent attacks.

The sound reminded him far too much of that grouchy Senju who constantly threw barbs at him during his time in Konohagakure, whispering ridiculous Uchiha conspiracies into Hashirama's ears. Madara instantly became enraged (mortified), mind clouded with the many memories of them antagonizing each other to hell and back.

Madara would not be Madara if he allowed this insult to go unpunished. Moreover, he could never tolerate anyone standing behind him, paranoia and 'what ifs' always clawing insistently at his whole being.

"Don't stand behind me!" Madara screeched, "Arsehole! You're obviously trying to distract me, you damn git!"

And without his say so, his body acted on engraved habit; he swirled and shot a pebble at the younger male, before readying himself for Tobirama to avoid his projectile with infuriating ease and insult Madra's 'lack of' accuracy afterward. However, his action must have been wholly unforeseen - weirdly enough - if he judged the look correctly.

The pebble bounced off Tobirama's forehead innocently, leaving a circular red dot in place as proof of what had occurred not two seconds ago.

...

..

.

"Pfft-!" Madara snorted unattractively at the completely nonplussed expression the albino was wearing before losing all restraint. He threw his head back and roared with laughter, hands on his stomach as he fought to keep the mirthful tears at bay.

His brazen sniggering, unfortunate, snapped the befuddled Senju back to reality. With an absolutely livid glare (which Madara secretly found adorable, not that he would ever verbalize that out loud), the Senju swung an angry fist towards Madara in retaliation.

Having expected as much from the short-fused savant, he easily side-stepped the younger shinobi's punch. Madara then goaded Tobirama as per routine - similar to how they would often squabble over every little matter, which they, strangely enough, covertly appreciated due to it being quite the stress-reliever.

They might have had an antagonistic and strictly professional relationship, but dealing with butting clan heads, elders, and paperwork was mentally taxing. It just so happens that their schedules tend to overlap until they were all but tearing each other's throats to get some reprieve.

"Really, snowflake? My falcons could throw a better punch - and they're still eyasses. Shame on you. Tsk. How disappointing."

Tobirama didn't respond to his taunts immediately, though his expression did turn colder; if that was even humanly possible. The Senju continued to throw punches and kicks, and all the while, Madara was dancing around whilst snickering at the reddening face of one angry iceberg.

Maybe Madara could make the other shinobi hit the boiling point and melt to his death this time! He mentally crooned at the possibility.

As this was in play, Madara continued to spur the Senju on by trash talking. Tobirama wasn't one to disappoint. He gave as good as he got.

"As if you're one to talk Mr. I-can't-skip-rocks-to-save-my-life," Tobirama growled as Madara jumped, causing the boy's leg sweep to become entirely ineffective.

"I was out of practice!... And far too busy for such infantile activities," He sneered defensively even as he grabbed the Senju by the wrist and, unthinkingly, tucked him slightly to the right into a better stance before letting go, too used to correcting his two little brothers' pathetic forms during their daily sparring sessions.

"Keep making excuses, you uncultured swine. Maybe one day they'll even come true," Tobirama sneered right back, teeth bared in a mocking manner. Madara easily deflected all of his strikes, using his fingers to jab at the areas that required more work.

"Who are you calling an uncultured swine?!"

He screeched in offense, which then caused his next choice of insults to be astonishingly juvenile even to his own ears. Thankfully, he did not degrade to childish hair-pulling. Yet. There was just something about Tobirama that made Madara want to poke and prod until the two of them exploded into petty name-calling that would make even toddlers cringe at their lack of maturity.

"Well, you have a big forehead! Hmph!"

Madra then ungenerously jabbed his toes extra hard into Tobirama's right hip, pushing the boy into a better defensive posture, and producing a grunt of in pain from the albino.

"Means I'm intelligent," Was the petulant respond whilst aiming for a backhand to Madara's face. Madara easily deflected, "All that's sizeable about you is your hair and ego. Can't even skip stones all the way to the other side of the creek. Hmph! Pig."

"You're such an insufferable brat...! At least I don't have two left feet. I recommend that you take your dance lessons more seriously. It'll do you no good to play truant just to skip rocks," he jeered, smirking when Tobirama overextended and stumbled, proving to Madara that he did, in fact, have two left feet.

"I don't dance," Tobirama deadpanned with narrowed eyes, spinning in for a wheel kick.

"I can see that," Madara ridiculed whilst sliding forward with his back bent, one hand striking out to raise the other shinobi's ankle higher before retreating, "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Sloppy footwork."

"Fuck you!" Tobirama spat angrily, his brain caught up on the insult of his taijutsu skills.

Using the core of his muscles, the albino changed his leg path into an ax kick, fluent and deadly. Madara grinned dementedly, eyes full of hunger as he raised his forearms and crossed it above his head. His ulna and radius creaked at the strain, which only made him hum in approval.

"No thank you. Although I applaud you for your stellar taste in men. Ultimately, I am humanity's finest specimen, thus I cannot blame you in your wicked desires," He blew a raspberry, making sure to look as smug as possible after that.

"AAAARGH!" Tobirama suddenly stopped moving entirely, pulling at his hair in frustration.

At such an unexpectedly childish tantrum, Madara abruptly took a few steps back, finally noticing that he had been visualizing the then-Tobirama in place of the now-Tobirama; the adult figure dissipating, replaced by the younger and boyish one.

Madara felt as if he had been slapped in the face with that realization.

It dampened the gleeful high he felt for winning one of their petty arguments which had caused the uptight albino to cuss out loud. No, it was not their arguments; he was in the past, not there. This was a version of Tobirama, not the version he was most familiar with (Izuna's murderer, Hashirama's advisor, Madara's adversary).

Not knowing why he felt so betrayed and heavy by such a thought, he slipped away unnoticed whilst the sweaty and haggard albino continued to mutter angrily to himself.

He needed a moment with his mistress named denial.

For the following visits, Madara had been fully expecting to see a boy with a ridiculous bowl cut hairstyle and poor fashion sense grinning goofily at him from the other side of the creek, but much to his initial disappointment, he only saw an albino with an almost Sharingan-red eyes and a petulant scowl etched permanently on his cherubic face. Never has he encountered the one he used to call a best friend.

Now, he only met with Senju Tobirama.

Shockingly enough, he had to reluctantly admit that he enjoys their time spent together. It had, however, taken them approximately thirteen meetings altogether before Tobirama gave out his name, and Madara to give a shortened version - Dara - of his in return.

Unlike back then, in this life, the name Madara was too well known on the battlefield. A healthy dose of paranoia never hurt anybody; and intrinsically, he wasn't lying.

As soon as he pushed out those thoughts about meeting Hashirama in the near future, he started to wait for the dreaded day when Izuna would follow him on the orders of his father. It proved to be wasted time spent as his father did not notice his absence, too used to how Madara often fades into the background until called upon.

(Uchiha Tajima was truly a foolish man - too blind to truly see his heir's many strings that stretched from the shadows, binding the limbs of many of his clansmen and making them dance to his tune.)

Tobirama has no tails as well, seeing that he was one of the best sensor-nins around despite his young age. He would never come to the creek if followed, lest he risks both their lives in unnecessary combat.

The brat, as much as Madara loathes to admit it, was by far smarter than him intellectually, having an IQ count that would make even a Nara feel dumb. Madara suspects that Tobirama did, in fact, investigate 'Dara' and came up with Uchiha Madara; the murderer capable of horrendous monstrosity, the Uchiha Devil, the one with wild hair, jaded abyss-gazing eyes, and gloved hands that were constantly caked in the blood of his foes.

But it was to Madara's unexpected pleasure that the younger shinobi did not bring reinforcements to cut him down. The albino only stared at him for long periods of time before grunting and returning to his usual behavior of being an utterly obnoxious brat with a stick too high up his arse that even the Sage of Six Paths could not pull out.

With Tobirama, there were no talks about dreamful peace times. There were only perpetual bickerings, spars that would often lead to Madara teasing and correcting Tobirama's taijutsu form, ninjutsu training, and quiet days when Tobirama would bring a few books for the occasional reading time and Madara imposing on them shamelessly.

Yet, whenever he saw the flash of white hair rather than the expected chestnut brown, he would feel his chest constrict tightly for a few short moments, where his breathing would pick up and his heart would start pounding loudly in his ears, before he all but shove those feelings aside to greet the Senju with a taunting smirk, masking all of those useless emotions and enervation with confidence he did not have.

He knew what he had been feeling as of late; loss. At the fact that he has lost Hashirama so early in his second life without his knowledge.

He knew subconsciously, however, whenever he saw Tobirama on the other side of the creek, that the only encounters he would have with the dorky man were on a warring battlefront. And that made Madara despondent. Fighting against a Hashirama who dreamt of peace without Madara inside was heartbreaking. There would assumingly be no persuasion of peace talks or the desperate calling of Madara's name to beat the sense into him. Only a battle cry for his head. It was not something he was looking forward to if he were being honest.

There was also the potential that in this timeline, Tobirama could be the one to fight Madara in his brother's place, but those chances were slim and unlikely. Only Hashirama could outmatch Madara in the future, and Batsuma would most definitely pit the Mokuton user against him once that became a clear fact.

Even then, however, Madara would have decades upon decades worth of experience fighting a Hashirama - be they friendly spars or death battles. An unfair advantage... until the Mokuton user grew into his utterly monstrous power levels that dwarfed Madara's own baseline. Hashirama was considered the strongest shinobi of all time for a reason, after all, and Hashirama, as loathed as Madara was to admit it, outclassed him badly.

On the other hand, he obtained a tentative friendship with a boy with a permanently scowling face. It gradually eased his disappointment and their meetings always gave him a peace of mind. He slept better nowadays, some of his dreams filled with positive feelings rather than his usual damaging night terrors.

With a sigh, Madara shook his head to free himself from his thoughts.

His eyelids were heavy with lethargy, but his mind raced with one too many thoughts. His body was downright exhausted, however. Turning slightly towards the windows, he peered at the full moon outside, his stare full of longing for some kind of sign that he was on the right path.

It was still red.

Chapter Text

The darkness of the night played little to no importance to his senses as Madara stalked through the forest, footsteps inaudible even as he stepped on twigs and dry leaves. He was a man on a mission; a mission that he could not afford to fail.

A shadow clone was, on his behalf, protecting his four little brothers as they slept, and in this manner, Madara would not be distracted, his full focal point on the task at hand.

Madara has, for the past few months, been scouting the Senju borders and stalking the Senju patrols whenever his target was with them, and if not, he would return to his compound and guard his siblings whilst they were at their most vulnerable.

At the present time, his target was with four adults, surrounded and within the center of their team's formation. The four shinobi were at least jounin in their chakra reserves, which was highly unusual since, during the Warring States Period, elite ninjas were all but hoarded into the front lines.

He assumes that his target's young age and lineage played an important role in this particular placement. Madara reckons that they were on orders to teach, as well as to guard, his target - somewhat similar to how the Uchiha train their rookies.

His pitch-black eyes scrutinized them from head to toe, digesting their trim woven clothing, variant weapons, and well-cut armor. In times like these, he envies how minted the Senju were compared to the Uchiha. Custom-fitted child armor was an extravagant expense that their clan could never afford despite how keen Madara desired them for his little brothers.

Discounting their children-sized warriors, even the majority of his more mature clansmen wore only their high-collared mantles to battle. It was no wonder they often came back with grievous injuries or in a body bag.

Madara's fists clenched. Despite his best efforts, resources were ridiculously hard to obtain and easy to use up. Although Madara has discreetly guided their farmers on agronomics - thus decreasing his clan's chances of starvation - the crops they painstakingly grew were mostly traded to fund their future battles.

Tajima would often disregard their budgetary and purchase worthless consumables such as explosive tags or shuriken - using up what little investment Madara has painstakingly assembled. The man was like a bloodhound, sniffing around their home until he discovers Madara's hidden stashes. It was only thanks to his storage seal that Madara was able to inconspicuously ration his clans' livelihood, minimizing their chances of dying due to the lack of sustenance.

Just as he was about to continue his inner tirade and anti-Tajima remarks, his intuition screamed that something was up.

It was then he sensed it; a dozen chakra signatures incoming, and fast. Knowing that it would be difficult to keep his identity a secret if he were to intercept and engage them in combat, he snatched up a rock and threw it at the general direction of the incoming signatures.

That got the Senjus' attention. They communicated with their own version of hand signs and cautiously increased their vigilance. Thankfully, one of them seemed to be a sensor type (although quite lacking by Madara's standards). The sensor gestured quickly to the direction of the signatures and they retreated the other way.

Madara situated himself near to his target's group, his own chakra compressed to barely-there levels. Keeping his sensing ability open, he tracked the movements of the dozen non-Senju chakra behind him. They seemed to be entirely unaware that the Senju had changed course, their movements neither increasing nor decreasing.

Madara could only assume that the interlopers were either passing through the Senju clan's land... or on a deliberate hunt to weed out their numbers.

But judging by the size of the interlopers' group, the latter seemed more likely. And before Madara could ponder more on their identity or which clan they hail from, they suddenly surged forward with incredible momentum, their chakra flaring almost eagerly, thrilled at having found their prey, as they gave chase.

He would have stopped in his tracks, turned around, and assassinated them one by one to lessen the risk of his failing his mission, but with how often he scouted the Senju territory, he knew that the Senju guards were leading the interlopers to one of the more nastier traps.

Madara approves and decided to be a bystander for now.

Everything ended without Madara needing to intervene.

All in all, his self-appointed mission was a blooming success.

He had kept Senju Kawarama alive for the duration of this year - the exact same year the seven-year-old had been KIA during Madara's first childhood - before Madara went back to his regular nightly schedule. Hopefully, the lines under his eyes would return back to its primary size and stop growing now.

And if he played the fool whenever Tobirama asks why he has been creepily skulking about Senju lands for the whole of this year, Madara would simply raise a condescending brow whilst stating factually that he has no time for such inane things. And he wasn't one to skulk nor was he creepy. Thank you very much. 

Chapter Text

Madara felt his pupils dilate, his breathing hitched ever so slightly when he finally saw Hashirama, the bowl cut somehow a sight for sore eyes.

The man (teenager, not yet a man) stood to his father's right whilst his younger brother was to Butsuma's left, the both of them wearing fitted yet bulky green plated armor. The metal coverings ate at their scrawny stature, providing them with excellent protection against stray projectiles and blades.

Hashirama has on an expression of sombreness; lips pursed, brows furrowed, and chocolate brown eyes determined.

It made Madara feel bittersweet nostalgia; a tsunami of regrets and self-disappointment at having that look directed at him. He saw that countenance one too many times during their clan wars back then, the man too stubborn and optimistic to take Madara's no for an answer.

("Madara, please!" Hashirama stretched out a hand, palm upwards as he pleaded for Madara to consider his offer of a ceasefire, "An alliance between Hi no Kuni's two strongest clans will bring forth a new era of peace for us. Think about our future children, old friend - our clans' union has only benefits!"

The Uchiha clan head bit the inside of his cheek, heart thumping loudly in his chest as he considered his options. Madara has always dreamt of peace; where his little brother, as well as all his clan's children, would be safe and protected. The Senju clan head must have seen his indecision, for Hashirama suddenly beamed, reminding the wild-haired man about their time spent together as children.

He took half a step forward but was stopped by an almost painful grip on his bicep. Izuna leaned against his side, eyes shadowed by his fringe as his lips thinned into a straight line.

"Don't be fooled, aniki. We can't trust them. What if this is all a ploy to loosen our guard? This Hashirama is not your friend, aniki. He's our enemy; the Senju clan head - the clan that slaughtered Ryouta in cold blood."

At those words, Madara violently recalled the body of his second younger brother; desecrated and in pieces, the Senju symbol engraved arrogantly onto the decapitated forehead. He retreated two steps back, activated his Sharingan, and brought up his gunbai.

He saw Hashirama's smile falter, but he blocked the tsunami of emotions he was experiencing to the back of his mind and cooly stared at his former friend. The silence seemed to last for an eternity before Madara roared for his men to charge. The Senju clan head had his shoulders drooped in disappointment, but his eyes were blazing with determination. It made Madara tremble, whether it be with expectation or dread, he felt no desire to figure out.

Then-Madara never did see the disturbing smile playing on Izuna's lips. Only when this memory was replayed by now-Madara in his earlier years did he notice.

Thus it got him thinking; when had Izuna been possessed? Had Madara been manipulated his entire life? How many deaths had Dokuzetsu orchestrated? Had all his little brothers' passing been Madara's fault? If Dokuzetsu had done it once, what stopped it from doing so again without Madara noticing a thing?

The never-ending questions only brought a sense of foreboding and unease upon him.)

He shook his head and focused on the present. He shouldn't be distracted during such a time. After all, a momentary mistake could lead to fatal outcomes.

The Senju were tensed and ready on the other side of the grassy field, close enough to engage in a glaring contest, yet far enough to defend or attack, whichever action more appropriate. His friend - Tobirama, not Hashirama, his mind sullenly reminded him - stared impassively at him, frosty red orbs not once moving away from his visage.

Madara bent his head slightly in a greeting, smiling slightly when his greeting was returned by the icy Senju, albeit more stiffly.

His body felt oddly warm at Tobirama's uncomplicated acceptance of Madara's background, which in turn made Madara frown. If he were to get sick now, it would be most unfortunate. Leaving the fate of his health to mother nature, he pushed those useless observations aside to ponder on other more important matters.

Knowing about Madara's bloodstained horror stories and seeing it live were two entirely different concepts. Madara was a war genius, his battlefield persona more heinous than the average shinobi. The Uchiha did not accept that side of him, what say Tobirama, an overly cautious Senju who was also too young - malleable by outside forces?

With his head tilted slightly forward, his fringe ominously shadowed his features as he idly fingered the handle of his gunbai uchiwa. He needed to stop thinking too much. This was, again, hardly a good time to ponder on such issues. Sighing inaudibly, he propped his weapon of choice on his shoulder, the weight of his gunbai reassuring.

He knew he made for a ridiculous picture, however; a thirteen-year-old wielding an oversized fan that was as large as he was tall, if not larger. He hadn't had the chance to use his favorite weapon this early in the timeline before, even Tajima had looked at him weirdly when he brought a gunbai with him to this skirmish.

Izuna stood at Madara's left, wearing only their standard mantle without armored protection (Madara strongly wished Tajima would gather more clients and fix their financial situation already), an impressive scowl engraved on his cherubic features and dual-wielding two unsheathed tanto swords.

Madara's hand fell on his tensed, slender shoulder, squeezing it gently in comfort. His little brother's muscles relaxed, albeit slightly, at the assurance that Madara would look after him.

This would be Izuna's first time fighting against an army in one of their wars. It was also Madara's first time seeing both Hashirama and Tobirama on the opposite side of the battlefield despite the many times he has crossed blades against the Senju army - most of the time engaged with Butsuma's second-in-command.

It was a little amusing that the three were virgins in the Uchiha vs Senju war despite how skilled they were. But Madara should not compare himself to them. It would be otherwise unfair. Everyone else would only enter the major clan wars when conditions were met to avoid useless deaths. Hence, Madara knew the Senju's elites by face alone as their clans always clashed, and vice versa, almost always resulting in a stalemate.

He had been drafted into this playing field as soon as Tajima saw his fully matured Sharingan; which was at the tender age of seven when he had been careless. His first time had been hectic and messy, with many Senju twice his size trying to cut down the 'tiny and vulnerable' baby Uchiha. They were probably rolling in their graves with regret right now.

Madara had done his best to keep his little brothers out of any major clan battles, and it had worked, most of the time Izuna and Ryouta would coincidentally be out on mission runs when they were preparing a strike force. Until now, that was.

There was no more delaying for Izuna since he has awakened his Sharingan a few months back. Madara did his best to train his eldest baby brother in mastering his one-comma Sharingan with the limited time given in order to prepare him for the worst.

And his predictions always came true as of late. Izuna was drafted into their army by the clan elders.

"It seems Butsuma has brought his two eldest sons with him this time," Tajima stated the obvious, voice an imposing baritone, "Madara, they are your targets. I expect for you to bring me their heads. Failure is not an option. Izuna, you are to remain close to Hikaku and assist whenever required."

Both Izuna and Hikaku - a teen older than Madara's physical body by a good few years - gave a verbal affirmative whilst Madara simply nodded, his mane bouncing at his movement. He has never once spoken out loud to his father in this life, and he would continue to uphold his silence whenever in the man's presence.

Then, as if there was an invisible signal, both clan heads raised their right arm in complete sync, glaring at one another with venom in their eyes, before slashing their hand forward. The two armies ran, battle cries taking over the grassy field as blades clashed, shuriken flew, and jutsus run wild.

Madara kept his senses open, constantly aware of Izuna's movements even as he ducked the incoming projectiles and swung his gunbai, producing a huge gust that blew back a portion of the Senju forces as if they were mere paper dolls. Their surprised exclamations made his ego swell.

When one overly eager Senju shinobi he has never seen before blocked his way, Madara didn't stop in his tracks. He raised his gunbai and slammed it into the Senju's side, batting the man away like a fly with a strength that did not proportionate to his young body.

The shinobi went flying, some of his ribs probably broken, only for another unfamiliar face to step forward in his place. The newcomer, however, was too near for Madara to swing his gunbai in a wide arc. At the gall, Madara could only sigh, knowing that he was yet again being underestimated due to his body's young age. It grew tiring after a while.

He dodged the soldier's enthusiastic thrust and grabbed ahold of the man's front armor. Seeing that he was shorter, he swiftly tugged, his unexpected action having caused the Senju to stumble down to his height. Madara reckons his opponent was only chuunin in skill just by that alone.

As soon as they were on eye level, his dark eyes turned crimson. His opponent did not have any time to react as he was instantly pulled into a genjutsu. Madara released his hold on the armor and sidestepped the frothing man as he fell to his knees.

Making his way through downed bodies and trained killers was a headache.

It was only half an hour later - after he had been thoroughly soaked in the blood of his foes u and his own wounds - did he reach one of his two intended targets. He had done his best to disable, but when fighting for one's life, the easier option was always to kill. A moment of hesitation would, in turn, bring his downfall.

Madara self-consciously wiped his cheek with one billowing sleeve when Tobirama paused to take in the state of him, not noticing how it had just increased the mess on his face due to how soiled and singed his clothes were. He was sure he looked messier than he felt, with blood soaking through his mantle and hair, and his gunbai stained almost completely red.

He frowned unhappily when he saw the wounds inflicted on his friend, the grip on his gunbai's handle tightening. Knowing that he could not do anything about it, he angrily exhaled from his nose and raised his weapon. That made Tobirama wary, his muscles bunching up in preparation to dodge.

After a few moments of deliberation, he thought better of it. He strapped his gunbai to his back and engaged Tobirama in a taijutsu battle as the albino somehow seemed to have lost his sword. Newbies would only learn to keep their weapons close after they have gained more experience (if they were still breathing).

His lips quirked upwards, his smile hidden by the high collar of his mantle when he noticed the improvement in Tobirama's form. His strikes were precise and his footsteps steady. Madara's lessons seemed to stick, but he had expected no less from the Senju genius.

"Outstanding muscle memory, Tobira," he whispered his praise, startling the albino slightly, "Your dance has improved tremendously. I'm glad."

To show how happy he was with Tobirama's progress, he planted a foot into the younger male's solar plexus, causing the albino to gag as he fell to his knees, hands on his abdomen. Not even thinking of stopping his advances, Madara grabbed the Senju by his white strands and mercilessly tugged on it, forcing the tween to bare his neck.

The coercion of the Sharingan, when mixed with his skills in genjutsu, was a fearsome combination. Even then-Tobirama would have done everything to avoid it. This younger and more inexperienced Tobirama, however, reacted one second too late.

Of course, Madara would not hurt his friend too badly. The petulant brat would nag his ears off otherwise.

"Demonic Illusion: Hell Viewing Technique," he murmured, his Sharingan spinning in a hypnotic manner.

Tobirama's red eyes glazed over and his face turned slack, a trail of saliva leaking down his chin. However, just as Madara was pulling out a kunai to temporarily disable Tobirama - a few non-serious wounds that would leave him debilitated for a month or two - he was knocked skywards by thick, wooden branches that sprouted from the earth.

He grunted as he landed in a safety roll, a hand on his bruised abdomen and an annoyed glare at the Mokuton user who had foiled his plans at keeping Tobirama temporarily safe and away from the brutal war.

"Tobirama!" Hashirama yelled in panic as he cradled his younger brother's limp form to his chest, "Stay with me, Tobi! W-What did you do to him?!"

Before he could decide on his next course of action... or rather, whilst he had been thoroughly distracted by Hashirama's distressful agitation, Butsuma's second-in-command appeared next to him, a slash aimed at his eyes and killing intent leaking from the man in spades.

If Madara had actually been a thirteen-year-old kid, his body would've undoubtedly started to tremble uncontrollably due to the heavy pressure exerted by the Senju. It would've been the prime opportunity to forever blind the Uchiha heir and give his clan a moral down.

Alas, Madara was decades older in mind and had faced down Bijuus in his spare time.

He performed an awkward back handspring just in the nick of time - the sword had cut an ugly gash under his right eye - and used the momentum in his hands to push himself off of the ground rather than going along with the retreating motion, a foot aimed at the elder shinobi's wrist.

Crack.

To have his ankle cleanly broken in half with a portion of his tibia sticking out of his skin hadn't been his intention. It was a miscalculation on his part to have not added his lighter body weight into account.

The sword went flying, indeed, but Butsuma's second-in-command was uncaring to that fact, more eager to slow Madara's speed than anything else. He allowed Madara's foot to connect to his wrist, releasing his weapon without worries, and captured the Uchiha's ankle in his hands. It took less than a second for Madara to realize the error of his judgment (he should've retreated), and that split second had cost him.

Madara didn't react to the pain. He had endured worse than just a useless foot to stand on. Using the tight muscles of his core, he curled his upper body upwards whilst taking a deep breath in, his fingers locked in a tiger hand seal.

The man, with alarm in his eyes, released Madara's ankle hurriedly, but it was far too late.

"Katon: Phoenix Sage Fire Technique," he exhaled directly into the man's face before landing on a handstand, cartwheeling away towards the direction of the closest Uchiha signature until he was all but leaning against one of his kin, his breathes coming out in puffs, chest heaving for oxygen.

Madara felt relief when he looked up and saw it was Hikaku. The other teen was neutral, he neither likes nor dislikes Madara. Hikaku looked bruised and beaten, but he still kept an arm wrapped protectively around Madara's waist, expression contemplating; as if he was debating if he should lift Madara altogether.

"Izuna?" Madara panted, not up to talking in full sentence just yet, and winced slightly when his ribs were jolted by their high-speed movements.

"With Tajima-sama."

Dizzy as he was from the blood loss and fatigue, Madara almost demanded Hikaku to rush him to their clan head. He did not trust Tajima to keep Izuna safe at all. Before Madara could do so, however, a loud shout was heard.

"Retreat!"

With blood and adrenaline pounding in his ears, he didn't know who was the one who actually called for a retreat, but retreat they all did. Both the Senju and Uchiha rushed back to their respective sides, picking up injured, unconscious, or dead comrades along the way.

The first thing Madara did when he saw Izuna was to head directly to his younger brother, his gloved hands immediately flying to pat Izuna's body. At the moment, he ignored how blank Izuna's expression was - more keen on searching for any life-threatening wounds - and sighed in relief when they were at most superficial.

He then nodded at Hikaku, showing his gratitude for protecting Izuna and supporting Madara, and mentally taking note of their interactions for future purposes. The teen smiled grimly in return, head bowed slightly in a show of respect to their clan's heir.

"A... Aniki," Izuna whispered, too pale, too expressionless, too lost. It caused an ache in his chest, dread and protectiveness pooling in his gut.

Without caring that they were still on the battlefield, he pulled his little brother (young, still so young, too young) into a hug.

Izuna, unlike how he often yells in embarrassment at being treated like a kid, did nothing to stop him. Skinny arms wrapped themselves around Madara as trembling fingers dug bruises into his back, hiccoughs and hitched breathing being smothered against Madara's chest.

"S-Satoshi-san d-d-died. Akinari-san. Hi-Hideo-s-s-san. All. T-they're all-"

[The metallic and rusty smell of both fresh and flaking blood on aniki was thick, clashing horribly with his more soothing scent of pine needles and ashes. But it was the better alternative to the stench of burnt meat, piss, and shit. More horrendous than any abattoir and made him violently ill from just a whiff.

Izuna wanted nothing but to flee and never look back at such carnage ever again, no matter how unrealistic that may be thanks to the recall ability of the Sharingan and his duties to his clan. He knew he was already part of their army - and only in old age, permanent disability, or death will he be allowed out.

When he had been younger, the prospect of being selected would've made him a very happy child. Izuna has envied aniki (and he felt disgusted by his own feelings. How could he betray the one who protects him by allowing such things to fester inside him?) for his older brother's talent.

But... This?

This... Madness. Insanity.

Death, more death, a never-ending plague-

Never before has Izuna felt such dismay and sadness for his aniki, all feelings of envy having left him as soon as he had been flanked by the bulkier and taller Senju warriors. If not for Hikaku, Izuna would've been a goner. And this was aniki's day to day life. It scared Izuna.

What if Madara-ani was KIA one day?

What if Madara-ani had been KIA when he was younger?

It chilled Izuna to the bone.

He had been such a foolish child. How could he have once upon a time envied Madara-ani for such a brutal life? He would do anything to remain ignorant of this war of theirs with the Senju - the hatred in their enemies' eyes were intense, and it burnt.

He could feel resentfulness build up inside of him, all directed at his father, elders, Senju, whoever else he didn't know - the ones who had once upon a time forced a seven-year-old Madara-ani (from the whispers he heard from his clansmen, much to his horror) to this type of madness one too many times, causing his aniki to become so desensitized to human life that he even disregards his own.

He was not blind to his older brother's faults and weaknesses.

Izuna tightened his hold on his brother, not wanting to let go in fear that his brother would lose the last of his rationality and end it.

Had it been Izuna in aniki's shoes, he knew he would not have survived such inhumanity and madness shoved at him from such an age. Now he understood why aniki did not want him on the front lines - he feared for Izuna's safety. Even Izuna feared for his own safety. But what other options did he have?

Were they born to die at the hands of Senju, and vice versa? So many of his uncles and cousins have already perished just now-

No, he shouldn't think about it. Or else he would vomit all over aniki and infected wounds were the last thing he wanted Madara-ani to have.

How aniki can still remain kind and gentle after experiencing such monstrous things, he did not know. But he knew he would have to grow stronger so that he could protect his aniki in return from now on (protect aniki from himself, even) . And he wouldn't care if aniki continues to smother him with overprotective affection anymore - he needed all the comfort he could get after this  devastating experience. ]

"-they're all dead. What if Hikaku-san had been a second slower? I would've also-" Izuna keened.

"Izuna, hey. I'm here. Aniki is here. Listen, we can't stay here any longer. I'm going to carry you. Everything's going to be-" Madara bit his own tongue to physically halt his next choice of words. 'Fine' didn't seem to be applicable nor appropriate at this circumstance, "You'll cope with this, I promise."

Knowing that this was not a safe place for Madara to continue reassuring his brother nor permit Izuna a breakdown just yet, he bodily lifted and repositioned Izuna until the little one has his arms over Madara's shoulders and legs wrapped around his hips.

He whispered for the younger Uchiha to hold onto tightly before he shot off towards his fellow clansmen, purposefully ignoring the way his body protested with every painful step he took, his ankle making awful crunching sounds.

Unlike the Senju, Uchiha medics weren't permitted onto the battlefield by the elders' and clan head's law - or to even leave their compound. They were too few in numbers. The Uchiha, after all, were literally born for aggressive assaults, not healing.

For even a stubborn bastard like Madara, it had taken him almost all of his lifespan to master it. Hence, those few gifted Uchiha medic-nins were cherished, never to be left without someone to guard them. And Madara would rather die than remain a prisoner in his own home - which was why he omitted many of his capabilities.

(If Madara had not the aptitude for perfecting whatever he learns, be they fuuinjutsu, iryō jutsu, or rock skipping, Obito - someone who had had half their head and upper body smashed into mush - would've undoubtedly died before Madara could successfully implement Hashirama's cells into him. It wasn't luck that kept the boy alive. And it wasn't by chance that the younger Uchiha was barely able to lift a finger without feeling pure agony, neither crippled or lively, just debilitated and compliant until Madara's words were able to seep deeply into his head and -)

Madara tightened his grip on Izuna and entered the center of the protective formation of his clansmen, running alongside those that were too injured to defend themselves from outside forces. His fellow veterans politely turned away to give Izuna and the other new recruits a semblance of privacy even as they continued to retreat.

Everyone here knew exactly what a new recruit was going through. They had, after all, been in the exact same shoe once upon a time; when all of them were still far too young to be brought into the frontier - now damaged and jaded despite only being in their late teens to early twenties. Not many exceeded the age of thirty in these violent times.

Mental breakdowns were painfully common for first-time youngsters that fought in one of their major battles. Some vomited immediately upon reaching the compound, some couldn't sleep for days to come, some would hide in their rooms to cry for their dead relatives and friends, completely traumatized by the event, and others came back in body bags.

Child soldiers were pitiful little things, fighting for reasons unknown whilst their leaders continued to draft more and more of them into the army. Madara, despite not an actual child, felt that adults were silly in their conquest for peace (he had been silly). Seeking amity whilst at the same time spilling blood... It was antithetical yet factual. Two sides of the same coin.

They had lost so many good men to it. Their fallen kin, many of them currently being carried back to the compound for a bonfire funeral, perished due to their ancestor's feud. Tajima's second-in-command would then go around to inform their parents or spouse or children that they have fallen in battle.

It made him wonder if anyone had given him a proper, traditional Uchiha funeral after the Fourth Shinobi World War had ended. Ah, probably not. There were no Uchiha but Sasuke left alive, after all.

As soon as they reached the compound, Izuna was violently snatched from his protesting arms and thrown to Hikaku, before Tajima all but dragged Madara to the clan head's office by his hair. When he finally came out an hour later, it was with twice the bruisings he had already gotten from the battle.

Punishment for failure, his father had intoned, striking Madara again and again and again and again until he finally lost all rage and barked for Madara to leave his sight.

Izuna, with tears running down his reddish cheeks, rushed to Madara's side the second he enters his bedchamber. His younger brother bandaged and stitched what he could, then began soothing the fresh bruises with gentle head pats and peppered kisses, imitating what Madara had done when Izuna had been younger and more prone to accidental falls.

It helped ease the fatigue away.

Chapter Text

Was it Lady Fate or Madam Destiny that insisted Madara run left and right into someone of Senju origin? He could only shake his head at the bizarre string of coincidences.

He had only wanted to remove himself from the unexpected blizzard during his run back from a successful mission. This cave he was currently standing inside of had been his first choice; hidden in plain sight and narrow enough to block out the cold weather.

But, unfortunately, it came with unwanted company.

"You alive, kid?" Madara toed the clammy looking nine-year-old boy, who was leaning bonelessly against one part of the wall, a small puddle of blood pooling underneath him.

Whilst his eyes carefully assessed the young shinobi for potential ambushes or trickery, he simultaneously compared the child's measurements with Ryouta's. His second younger brother currently lacked any protective gear, and if this kid wasn't going to make it out of here alive, Madara would rather the boy donate his armor to someone who needed it more.

The only eyesore would be the Senju crests engraved on the neck guard. But Madara was always efficient and handy - ridding them would not be an issue in the long run.

He crouched down to one knee, squinting his eyes suspiciously at the barely breathing and severely Senju. The kid didn't look at all familiar to Madara, which meant that the child must have died long before Konohagakure was founded.

He felt pity and sorrow that someone so young was dying from such terrible injuries (purposeful wounds that inflicted unnecessary pain rather than a swift death), but he wasn't a saint who would attempt to save every single wounded individual he came across, he was a shinobi, a damn good one too.

Even a toddler wielding a kunai was an enemy, what say this lad? Madara could be putting the lives of his kin at risk if he were to heal someone who was clearly from a hostile clan. Cold, indeed, but Madara has always known himself to be cruel and heartless.

The boy's hair, however, pulled at Madara's gut to investigate and not leave the child to his fate.

Didn't Hashirama once say that he has a younger brother with skunk-colored hair?

"Itama, was it?" He pondered out loud, fingers drumming idly against his chin.

The name caused the boy to twitch - and that was enough for Madara to consider his options. A short moment of contemplation later, he decided that he would rather be safe than sorry. If this was indeed Senju Itama... Madara not healing him would have added yet another column to his already long list of regrets.

He didn't want the now-Tobirama and now-Hashirama to know the pain of losing a sibling.

It was a dreadful experience Madara wished to never repeat; an echo of nothing but hopelessness, helplessness, and bitterness in his heart - easily malleable to outside manipulations due to the unyielding hurt and loss he constantly felt. Those ugly emotions of despair had driven him, once a protective guardian who dreamt of building a settlement for the future generation, into the madman seeking an illusionary world without caring about the repercussions or fatality.

Even then-Tobirama had fallen prey to that brand of insanity; loneliness and desperation having driven Edo Tensei into creation.

They were not that different, Tobirama and Madara, both wanting their brothers alive again one way or another. It was only that the former knew when to stop and move on, whilst the latter allowed his grief to consume and drive him into a broken mess of hatred and instability.

If he could prevent a bad ending from happening, why should he not? He had already changed his little brothers' and Kawarama's fate, anyway. Besides, he owed then-Hashirama too much to turn a blind eye.

Acting on the presumption that this was Hashirama's and Tobirama's youngest brother, Madara lifted one glowy green hand and placed it atop the boy's armored chest, doing an initial scan. If he was wrong in his assumption, he could always brush this action of his into his soul's extremely tiny 'good deeds' bin.

When his chakra feedbacked that Itama had internal bleeding due to the many stab wounds on his abdomen and a shite ton of broken bones, Madara had almost declared him a lost cause.

These kinds of injuries were similar to death sentences in this period. Nobody in this era, apart from Hashirama with his innate Renegeration Ability, could survive such wounds - what with their lack of advance iryo jutsu and treatment plans, many of which Tsunade created.

"You're quite the lucky boy, Senju; for I have actually taken the time to study her arsenal," He grumped at the skunk-haired boy, "Being all alone in that underground cave was boring."

After putting maybe-Itama into a supine position, Madara started a small fire before sitting in seiza by the boy's side. With pinched eyebrows, he used ninja wires to half-heartedly bunch up his mane into a messy bun, freeing his face from the bird's nest he called his hair.

Subsequently, he relieved the boy of all possession except his clothes and placed two glowing blue hands on the boy's heavily injured abdomen. Madara did not bother with anesthesia and went straight into surgery with the help of Chakra Scapels.

The procedure took hours, and thankfully, the snowstorm kept people away. There was no need for Madara to waste time or energy by halting his treatment in order to take care of uninvited guests.

Sitting on the back of his heels, Madara wiped the perspiration on his forehead. Manipulating his large chakra pool with such precision has always given Madara a headache. It drained him mentally more than physically, the memories of healing Obito playing like a broken record within his mind's eye. His tongue tasted oddly like ash at the reminder.

Knowing that the boy was now out of danger, Madara shrugged off the haori he was wearing over his mission-yukata and wrapped the boy into a burrito, not wanting his hard work to be wasted if maybe-Itama died due to hypothermia.

Madara then made himself as comfortable as he could get on his side of the wall, huddled into a ball, and waited impatiently for the blizzard to wane. He must have gone into a meditative trance, as his limbs were stiff and his neck aching when he moved into another position.

Madara yawned as he stretched his muscles, groaning blissfully when his spine popped at all the right places.

"W-where...?" A childish voice suddenly croaked, maybe-Itama's head peeking out from the clothes-burrito, skin pale and clammy.

"The borders of Hi no Kuni. Near Ame no Kuni," He grunted, rubbing a heavy-lidded eye. The cold has always made him lethargic. However, that was no excuse to drop his guard. A kunai in his sleeve was ready to be used at a moment's notice.

Maybe-Itama sluggishly sat up, Madara's haori flopping down his lap. In a daze, his eyes passed Madara's form unseeingly as he stretched, only to snap out of his drowsy state not a second later. His chocolate brown eyes were filled with awe as he dazedly patted his healed abdomen.

"I... I'm healed? How? Did you... Did you heal me?" The Senju asked, sounding overwhelmed as his fingers traced over the expanse of healthy skin on his stomach. The younger shinobi then shifted slightly, glancing about and grimacing when he saw the terrible weather.

The Uchiha heir shrugged nonchalantly, "I did."

"Why?"

The Senju's eyes were wary, fingers twitching rather noticeable over his shuriken pouch. Madara wasn't worried - seeing that all of the boy's weapons and armor were inside his storage seal tattoo.

"I'd rather not share a cave with a dead body for an undetermined amount of time," Rather than telling the boy that Madara was friends with his maybe-older brother Tobirama, Madara casually drawled in a bored manner.

"You could have just thrown me out. I wasn't in any condition to fight back either way," Maybe-Itama pointed out rather stupidly, in Madara's opinion. He could not help but roll his eyes at the younger shinobi. Senjus and their honesty.

"I'll be sure to do that the next time I see you painting the ground red."

"I would rather you not," All of a sudden, the two-toned Senju slumped, expression changing into something softer and less guarded, "I appreciate your kindness, mister. Truly. Not many would do something like this. I'm- My name is Itama. If... If we ever meet again, I swear I'll repay this debt back to you. Please tell me your name!"

Madara turned away, uncomfortable with the grateful stare he was receiving. It seems Hashirama was not the only one in his family to have such weird mood swings.

"... You may call me Dara, little one," He paused for a split second before bulldozing shamelessly, eager to change the topic, "And I'm taking your armor as compensation for my humanitarian aid."

Chapter Text

Madara yelped when Izuna yanked too roughly, the abrupt pull of the comb causing him to collapse backwards into Izuna's lap. He directed a glare at the thirteen-year-old, mumbling inaudible profanities even as he returned to his floor cushion, automatically falling into seiza.

"Sorry, 'Dara-ani," Izuna apologized half-heartedly, more focused on having his fingers dig through Madara's monster of a hair for the missing comb.

"If you truly wish to apologize, you will cease and desist this pointless endeavor-" Madara cut himself off to bite the insides of his cheek when Izuna made a sound of triumph and proceeded to try and extract the comb, tangled hair and all, from his mane with all the finesse of a raging Bijuu.

"When was the last time you actually combed? It's full of knots... even if it's floofy - which is completely unfair, by the way - like the fur of a wild Siberian cat! Or maybe a highland cow. Oh, oh! A duster budgie! Yep, definitely that. Both the birds and aniki have three-quarters of the face covered, after all! But then there's the-"

Madara prayed to Sage for endless patience (I will not kill my little brother, I will not kill my little brother, I will not kill my little brother-) as he mentally counted backwards from sixty.

Despite how slowly he went from number to number, Izuna was still trying - and failing, he might add - to detangle his tresses from the teeth of the comb.

And. He. Would. Not. Stop. Comparing. Madara. To. Fluffy. Animals! Which part of him looks anything like them?!

... Maybe the duster budgie, Madara grudgingly admits.

"Well?" Izuna grumped expectantly, his expression a mix of amusement and frustration at his brother's ongoing silence.

Madara's lips parted, ready to snap out an answer... before falling into deep contemplation. When exactly has Madara taken the time to groom his hair? He shuffled through a decade worth of memories, starting from his unanticipated arrival into this second life of his.

When he couldn't find such impressions, he dived deeper into memory lane.

It took a few moments, but his perfect recall helped greatly. Madara had been... about fourteen when he last used a comb on his own. After that, he simply forwent grooming altogether. Even during his old age, he only cut his mane with a kunai when it grew too long and dragged all over the ground.

It used to be Izuna who -

Madara returned back to the present when he felt a finger poke at his cheek. Just in time, too, for he was feeling bittersweet longing at the memories of his past.

"What?" He snapped, feigning annoyance as he batted the offending digit away.

"This might be farfetched, but I'm just gonna assume you've never touched a comb in your life," Izuna stated dryly, sighing as if he had expected as much from him, "In retrospective, I should've known better than to ask you anything about your personal care. Aniki, you're hopeless."

Madara bristled, offended.

What did Izuna mean by hopeless? He made sure he was as healthy as any other shinobi (he meticulously rationed his own food so that he ate the minimum required to stay fit, his brothers needed more than him as they were growing boys)! It wasn't completely his fault his body was constantly tired. And that was due to the age of his soul, and appearance wasn't important to him. He had more urgent matters to attend to than waste time sitting in front of a mirror and fight a futile battle against his wild mane.

"I am not," He ended up saying firmly (he wasn't sulking, really), "We're shinobi - there's no purpose in vanity."

"It's not vanity, aniki. It's self-care. Learn the difference! Alright, you know what? I've decided - we're taking the rest of the day off to pamper ourselves," Izuna announced in mock solemnity, looking ridiculous whilst at it, "Now turn around and sit still so I can tame this bad boy into submission!"

Madara gave a blank look over his shoulder. Izuna returned it with one raised, unimpressed brow. Their stare-off lasted for about a split second before Madara grunted, looking away with a scoff (it wasn't a pout, really, dammit!). It made Izuna smirk in victory.

What a conceited brat, Madara groused inwardly with a harumphed.

Sometimes, he wondered if he was spoiling them rotten. He was always too tolerant of them, and they know to take advantage of that weakness of his. It was also only them that Madara allowed positioned at his back, too mistrustful and insecure to permit anyone else.

It was many hours and broken combs later, with Madara's temper close to snapping and Izuna thoroughly exhausted by the workout, did they finally manage to tame his mane into a high ponytail, the ends still long enough to touch the small of his back.

It made him shiver when his bare neck was caressed by the wind.

"There we go! All done. Now we can all finally see more than a quarter of your face. I almost forgot what you look like, aniki!" Izuna sounded proud and pleased, which in turn made Madara's bad mood disappear. If his brother was happy, Madara was happy.

"Hm? What's this...?"

Madara shuddered and jolted forwards when a finger suddenly traced his nape, where one of his inked seals rested at. It was just his luck that today, of all days, Izuna had guilt-tripped him into grooming his hair whilst he was not wearing his usual high collared mantle.

It had slipped his mind that his long and tangled mess of a hair actually helped cover some of his tattoo seals.

"Aniki..." Izuna's careful voice made Madara wrap his ponytail around his neck in a bashful manner as if it were a scarf, "Is that a tattoo?"

Knowing that it would be pointless to deny, he nodded, "Yes." Technically.

"It's... Nice, I guess...?" Izuna spoke slowly as if his brain had short-circuited, moving to sit in front of Madara so that they could talk face-to-face, "Looks painful."

"It was," He grimaced in remembrance.

It had taken him a whole day to meticulously ink his nape using two mirrors, almost killing his arms with such dreadful positioning. He had no choice but to place the seal there, however. That was the only place, apart from his heart (which he would not be placing any seals on, thank you very much) and throat, that he would guard diligently.

The seal was triangular in shape with intricate lines and circles inside, stretching from the base of his skull to the top of his scapulas. He didn't have an official name for this creation of his since he wasn't all too good at naming anything, but he called it the EBC Seal, short for Energy Balance and Combine Seal.

It was basically a seal that automatically stores, combines, and balances natural energy with his own chakra reserves upon activation. A replacement for one of his past life's skill set.

It allows for Madara to enter Sage Mode whenever he desires - the only downside was that it takes up to five whole years for the natural energy to synchronize enough for him to use it without turning into a statue. Hence, it was more of a last-effort attempt at turning the tables or a limited power-up boost when he battles Dokuzetsu, rather than something casual.

The seal was also extremely dangerous.

The only reason why Madara felt confident enough at having this EBC Seal on his skin was because he knew how to properly employ it without turning to stone; what with having been a Sage with the help of Hashirama's cells once upon a time. Furthermore, any damage on the seal (skin) could potentially bring harm to him once the senjutsu chakra begins to leak out in dystopian spades.

Ultimately, this seal was useless in the hands of both normal shinobi and senjutsu practitioners. Madara didn't even bother to keep a hard copy of it, the soft copy already burnt into his mind's library thanks to his Sharingan's recall ability.

"Huh. Look at that. I'm actually glad you've picked up something else to enjoy without our prompting, anija - even if it's to cover your whole body in ink. You've never actively shown interest in anything outside of training and knitting. And you avoid going outdoors in the daylight, which is why some of the kids call you a vampire," Izuna pointed out rudely as if Madara was a reticent, blood-drinking bastard who was also socially inept.

He denies everything with crossed arms, "Just because I do not broadcast my interests does not mean I have none other. I find crocheting to be just as alluring as knitting."

"Uhm, that kinda makes no difference...?"

"Blasphemy," he sneered, "Do you not see and feel the differences in stitching techniques between your handmade scarves?"

"No," Izuna deadpanned, and when Madara's lips parted to vocalize a passionate lecture about his side-craft, Izuna quickly changed the topic, "What's that on your forehead?"

His little brother blinked deviously innocent large eyes at him. His fingers automatically flew up to align his fringe as a curtain, but awkwardly fell back to his sides when he felt all of his hair already tied neatly behind his head.

"A rhombus," He snarked.

Whilst not his own creation, Madara wasn't unashamed to say that he would, in a heartbeat, steal another person's signature jutsu if it would benefit him in the long run.

The Strength of a Hundred Seal that Hashirama's granddaughter created was a masterpiece. Madara would be a fool to not utilize it to his convenience. Especially with his superb chakra control abilities despite his large reserves.

Tsunade had proven how astonishing this jutsu was during the Fourth Shinobi War. It also came with the bonus of shortening the lifespan of the user if used to heal fatal and extreme wounds. Perfect for someone who did not desire a long life.

... Although the shape did make him feel self-conscious enough to want to keep it hidden at all times. It reminded him too much of Mito. In spite of their similar design, however, he doubted hers functioned similar to his, or if hers were even a seal/iryo jutsu-based ink in the first place. It might just be for beauty purposes.

"Alright, whatever. I know when to take a hint, geez. Let's go to the onsen next! Maybe that can cure your eyebags - even if slightly," Izuna grinned cheekily, always the tactful one between them both. Madara deadpanned.

"No."

"Ehh?! Why not?!" Izuna tugged on Madara's sleeve with a whine, eyes wide and shining with crocodile tears, "Skinship is the key to making friends, aniki!"

Madara, with a blank face, stood up from his cushion and briskly walked out of Izuna's bedchamber, dutifully turning a deaf ear to his brother's guilt-trips - the brat had all but attached himself to Madara's thigh in his haste to act cute. Madara wasn't going to get tortured by his brother's attempts at making him more sociable.

Brotherly bonding in private? Sure. Outings with strangers whilst naked? Fuck no. Without turning to look at Izuna, Madara drawled with noticeably twitching fingers, "Pond?"

His baby brother promptly released him, a hushed 'demonic carps are demonic' leaving Izuna's lips as he bolted back into his bedchamber, shoji doors audibly sliding shut in his haste to be out of Madara's immediate vicinity.

Madara idly wondered if he should pick some blueberries along the way for Tobirama the next time his schedule was open to visit their creek.

"Tobi-nii?"

Tobirama lifted his gaze from the book in his hands to Itama, his youngest brother, who was standing at the entrance of his room-turned-lab.

He had sensed the other Senju standing outside his door long enough for it to be distracting, but due to Tobirama being an awkward teenager who was allergic to feelings in general, he waited for the dual-haired boy to reach out to him first.

"Come in, Itama," he drawled, patiently waiting until his youngest brother had seated himself near him before he continued, "Is there something you need that requires my attention?"

Itama fidgeted, bitting his lower lip in nervousness.

"I... I would like to be a healer," Was said in a whisper, cheeks flushed and radiating intense heat. Tobirama wondered if the boy had caught a fever, the sickness playing with his head.

"That is a women's job," He stated factually, but not unkindly, "Chichi-ue would never approve."

"Then help me convince chichi-ue," Itama latched almost desperately onto Tobirama's wrist, heterochromatic eyes pleading for his help, "Please, Tobi-nii! I, I think my talents lie in being a healer. My chakra reserves are the smallest in our family and I have the necessary control - and if Touka can become a frontliner in our army despite being a girl, I can be a healer even if I'm a boy."

Tobirama fell into a contemplative silence, his mind calculating the odds.

Indeed, if Touka, a woman (frightening, powerful, and more masculine than even Hashirama), could raise through their ranks and become an elite warrior, what say Itama (soft, kind, and too gentle in nature to hurt others)? Tobirama would feel more at ease if his youngest brother was kept out of the clan wars and brutal missions.

Besides, it was true enough that Itama's chakra control was better than even Tobirama's, whose control was almost legendary within their clan despite his young age.

"I am not opposed to the idea of you becoming a healer, Itama. However, it will take more than talent to have chichi-ue's blessing. We have a lot of planning to do..."

Itama beamed, tackled Tobirama into a hug, and giggled almost giddily. The older Senju could only stiffly pat the younger in the back, not knowing how else to react. If this was Hashirama, he would have just thrown his elder brother over his shoulder and be done with it.

But with Kawarama and Itama, he felt uncomfortable to treat them with such obtuseness. Little brothers took delicate maneuvering and finesse, he had come to learn over the years, lest he be the one on the end of yet another prank of theirs - Kawarama, especially.

The last time Tobirama had misjudged a situation and got involved, his hair had shined a putrid shade of neon green for a whole week. He was just glad that Madara had not had the time to visit the creek that month.

Once more, Tobirama could not help but lament his awkwardness in human interaction and social cues. He took note to gather books and scrolls on human psychology the next time he leaves the compound for a mission.

"Thank you, nii-san! I knew I could always count on you! I love you, Tobirama-nii."

Tobirama shrugged, cheeks slightly tinged in pink, and looked away. Such gratitude and love directed at him was yet another matter he was unused to.

His father would only nod in acknowledgment whenever Tobirama handed a new jutsu he had created whilst Hashirama and Kawarama took everything he did in stride (sometimes the former would even compare him to their father, which made Tobirama look away for entirely different reasons he could not truly figure out).

Only Itama would thank Tobirama and say 'i love you' to him at random times. And it would always make his chest flutter, his blood race to his cheeks, and the need to look at anything but Itama more pronounced.

Maybe this was why he was closest to Itama than any of his other family members. If the war lost him Itama, he knew he would do anything in his power to bring the gentle and kind boy back. He hid a shudder at the thought.

Wanting to direct the conversation away from feelings, he stiffly questioned, "What made you choose to become a healer?"

Much too alike to their eldest brother, Itama suddenly slumped, lips jutting out in a pout, a depressed air hung around him. Tobirama could only sigh at his brother's mood changes. Hopefully, Itama would grow out of it and not follow in Hashirama's footsteps.

"I was ambushed by the Fuma clan in my last mission."

Tobirama immediately had his hands on Itama, physically checking for wounds and the likes, heart thudding wildly as fear washed over his person. When he found none, he cupped his youngest brother's cheeks, brows furrowed worriedly.

"Why was I not informed? It has been a week, Itama. You know that they coat their weapons in poison; precautions must be adhered-"

"I met a brusque but kind healer during the snowstorm," Itama cut in hurriedly, face flushed with embarrassment and something else he did not recognize, "he taught me the art of healing while we waited for the storm to pass. Grumpily. He taught me grumpily. Very grumpily."

It made Tobirama frown all the more, his thumbs circling idly over the colored cheeks.

"He? A man as a healer? Peculiar... But you should know better than to interact with other unknown shinobi - an ill-tempered one at that."

"He saved my life, Tobi-nii!"

"An ulterior motive."

"I'm a nobody!"

"You are not a nobody, Senju Itama. You're the clan head's son... and my little brother."

"Dara-san didn't know that-"

"'Dara'-san?!"

The name made Tobirama stutter, fingers tightening their hold on his brother's face. When Itama made a small noise of distress, he quickly softens his grip and rubs apologetically.

"Do you know Dara-san, nii-san?" Itama titled his head to the side as he circled his small hands around Tobirama's wrists, his eyes eager as they shined brightly. Tobirama shifted uncomfortably in place, not knowing whether to deny such a thing or play ignorance.

But he was curious if this person Itama was talking about was Tobirama's friend. The Uchiha did primarily introduce himself as 'Dara' at the creek, after all.

"I... may know of someone with that name. Can you describe his appearance?"

"Mmm... I think he has long hair, but it was in a messy top-knot so I'm not sure. But it's black in color. His eyes are equally black. He's very pale, too, and it seems to be his natural skin tone rather than sickness. He does have lines underneath his eyes - quite deep; like he lacks sleep or is overly stressed.

"Dara-san's body type is slender and looks about Hashi-nii or your age, nii-san. He doesn't have any clan markings or a crest to indicate where he hailed from. Oh! And he also has a small, violet diamond tattoo on the center of his forehead. His features are all sharp... and pretty."

Tobirama nodded, deep in thought as he tried to form the 'Dara-san' Itama described into a picture in his mind. The image overlapped with a crassly smug Uchiha with messy and wild hair, and if Tobirama were to put his friend's hair into a top-knot, it would be a near perfect match.

The only difference would be the tattoo and him being a healer.

But Tobirama's ignorance of the former could be excused due to Madara's curtain of a bird's nest that covered three-quarters of the Uchiha's face. He was used to looking into Madara's left eye at all times, or rather, he has never once seen the Uchiha heir with both his eyes thanks to the way the other shinobi styled his hair (or perhaps Madara simply didn't brush his hair and allowed for it to grow as wild as it wanted).

As for the latter, all smart shinobi kept their skills to themselves. Tobirama himself didn't inform his family or Madara of his aptitude in fuuinjutsu.

He was brought back to the present when he felt a finger poking his forehead. He slapped the annoying digit and scowled at the overly eager Itama, who was impatiently waiting for his answer. He sighed, fighting back the urge to roll his eyes.

"I may be familiar with the person you've described. Although not a hundred percent certain as my 'Dara' did not present to me his skills in healing."

"Nii-san... A simple yes or no, please," Itama whined.

"Yes," This time, he did roll his eyes skyward.

"Really?!" Before Tobirama could respond, Itama whooped and danced around his bedroom-turned-lab before he all but latched onto Tobirama's shoulders, "Please, please, please tell me where I can find Dara-san! I want to learn more iryo-jutsu from him!"

"No."

Itama reeled back, slumped to the ground, and hugged his knees to his chest, an air of depression causing the air to grow heavy around him.

"I know he's pretty and you want to keep him to yourself, but that's unfair, nii-san."

Tobirama spluttered, cheeks staining red as he all but denied such a thing. Sure, Madara's features were not bad looking and Tobirama wouldn't mind staring at the Uchiha for a long duration of time- NO! He was not thinking about Madara, his first ever friend, being a potential life partner.

Firstly, Madara was from the Uchiha clan. Secondly, the older shinobi was aggravating. Thirdly, the crass asshole treated him more like a younger brother than a potential lover.

At the last thought, he pushed the dull aching in his chest into the deepest corner of his mind and took a deep breath to compose himself.

"No; as in his family background is complicated. You'll be taken out before you can reach his clan's compound."

"Then you must meet somewhere else that's safe, right?"

Itama suddenly pushed his face into Tobirama's personal space, their noses brushing. The albino narrowed his red eyes and leaned back as discreetly as possible.

"That's none of your business."

"Please?"

"No."

"Pretty please with a cherry on top?"

"No."

"What if I protect you from Kawarama's pranks in the future?"

"Tempting, but still a no."

"Pleeeeeeasseeeeee, Tobi-nii...! I'll do anything!"

"I'm leaving."

...

..

.

In the end, during Tobirama's next visit to the creek, it was with a tag along. Itama had promised to never tell anyone of their meeting.

When Madara and Itama officially met, the latter all but tackled the former to the ground, which made Tobirama have a clear view of the violet diamond tattoo on the Uchiha's forehead. He dutifully ignored the ache in his chest when Madara fondly ruffled his youngest brother's hair and laughed when Itama's bubbly chatter became a spluttered mess, cheeks colored red as freshly plucked tomatoes.

He looked away, staring blankly into the waters, not knowing what to make of the mess of swirling emotions he was currently experiencing. He decided not to think too much about it, lest he came up with an answer he disliked. 

It was only when Madara brushed gentle fingers against his bicep did he feel the tension in his muscles loosen. The Uchiha smirked, mouthing a challenge at him. Tobirama could only chuckle at the other's childishness, finally joining the dark-haired shinobi in teasing the embarrassed Itama by telling Madara about the youngest's childhood mishaps.

Chapter Text

Tobirama did his best to ignore the Uchiha bastard's blatant eyeballing as he performed his katas, a light sheen of sweat plastered on his skin as his muscles flexed and contracted with every movement he made. After another few more minutes, however, the Senju gave an aggravated huff, dropped his form, and swirled towards Madara with furrowed brows.

"What?" He deadpanned.

"'What' what?" Was the half-hearted response from the still staring Madara. Tobirama was not impressed.

"For Sage's sake, Madara. What do you want? You've been gawking at me for the past half an hour."

"I've not been, as you so eloquently put it, gawking at you, Senju! You're simply being egoistic and self-conscious."

"Please use that organ between your ears and remember that I am a sensor," Tobirama stressed the last word as he crouched down to grab his canteen, "And any shinobi worth their salt would be able to feel your eyes on them as soon as you've stopped blinking after the five-minute mark in your staring, Uchiha. So, spill. Or I'm leaving. I did not come here to be ogled at."

Madara, although the Uchiha heir would never admit to it if it was pointed out, was openly pouting. Tobirama could feel his heart pounding faster for all the wrong reasons and damn Madara and his good looks! And that meant nothing. Anybody would have their heart race if a beauty of Madara's standard were to show such an expression! 

"I wasn't," Madara petulantly repeated, but when Tobirama pretended to leave, he quickly stood up from his seat on the boulder and crossed his arms, "Okay, fine. I admit that I've been staring. There, happy?"

"Ecstatic," Tobirama deadpanned, "And why have you been staring?"

"It's just that... you're barefaced," The albino felt like Madara's voice was tinged with something akin to disturbed when he said the last word, causing Tobirama to inwardly gawk in confusion.

Well, of course, his face was bared. He has no reason whatsoever to hide his identity with a mask whilst with Madara. Outwardly, however, he rolled his eyes skyward.

"Your observation astounds me. It is no wonder they call you a genius."

"I meant your skin, idiot Senju! It's unblemished!"

"... Thank you?"

"It wasn't a compliment!"

"Then what is it?"

"A complaint!"

"About what?"

"Your skin!"

"And what's wrong with my skin, Uchiha?!"

"It's flawless!"

"And what's wrong with that?!"

"Everything!"

"Make some sense!"

"I am...!"

"I assure you there is no semblance of sense whatsoever in your words!"

"But, but... You're barefaced!"

"Repeating yourself with the same words would not make my understanding of it better."

"Idiot Senju!"

"Imbecilic Uchiha!" 

"Your brother's hair is stupid!"

"Your hair is stupid!"

By now, Madara has long thrown his arms in the air in sheer frustration whilst Tobirama pinched the bridge of his nose for the very same reason.

Sometimes, the Uchiha would say random things that made him look insane whilst at other times, the messy-haired teen would speak of words that were full of wisdom. Madara always has a few odd moments, and this, the albino reckons, was definitely one of them.

They traded childish insults until Madara had all but tackled him to the ground when he tried to walk away. Tobirama growled, elbowing the maddening Uchiha to try and dislodge the exasperating fool from his back. After what seems to be hours, but was in fact minutes, they both laid on their back, chest heaving as they stared at the clouds.

"Have you ever thought about getting inked, Tobira?" Madara turned his head to look at the albino, the unexpected question making Tobirama roll to his side with furrowed brows. He contemplated whilst staring into the Uchiha's black eyes.

"No. I see no purpose in making myself more identifiable than I already am."

"Would you consider inking a red line on each cheek and on your chin if I recommend it?"

Tobirama's lips parted, a refusal on the tip of his tongue, but the words halted in their tracks at the expression on the Uchiha's face. Madara's eyes were soft, almost pleading when he asked his question. It was a vulnerability that Tobirama has seen only a handful of times. And at such a look, he simply could not refuse the Uchiha no matter how insane his requests were.

With a sigh, he reluctantly nodded.

His agreement instantly made the Uchiha's lips curl upwards into an absolutely beautiful smile, and it made Tobirama's breath hitch, heart beating a mile a minute. He eagerly burnt this into his memory, as he knew that Madara's genuine smile (not a smirk or a leer) was not one to be given so easily.

He allowed it when Madara reached out to remove his happuri for him, the teen's fingers leaving a trail of heat on his otherwise icy skin.

When the Uchiha happily brought out a kit of professional-looking needles, a variety of colorful inkpots, and disinfectant, all the whilst smiling so radiantly, Tobirama felt that getting a few tattoos was worth it. Tobirama would do anything to see that smile playing on Madara's face.

Anything... That was within reason, of course. He wasn't dumb enough to be taken advantage of.

Or, at least, that was what he repeated in his mind as his head was positioned to rest on Madara's lap, his neck bared and in a vulnerable position as the latter carefully wielded a sharp needle that could puncture his carotid artery at any given moment.

Tobirama's eyelids fluttered when his friend began inking three permanent marks on his alabaster pale skin. It felt like a claim of some sorts, he self-consciously thought, satisfaction thrumming through his veins.

Chapter Text

Seated straight back and in a seiza on his floor cushion next to Tajima, Madara showed no outward signs of his turmoil as the elders placed proposals after proposals atop the low table in front of them. His long mane helped to curtain most of his features, shadowing his expression as he silently observes the proceedings of their clan's monthly meetings.

This month, the discussion was about his potential marriage partners - as he was already of age to start his own family.

In his first life, Madara had made a huge ruckus, all but denying them by spitting profanities (undiluted terror clouding his judgment and he couldn't help but lash out). And to further nail his point, he went on unapproved solo missions that were borderline suicidal.

It worked, somewhat, as the council had dropped the matter in fear that he would perish during one of his reckless endeavor, which would then make the Uchiha lose their strongest warrior against the Senju.

He had, however, not taken their stubborn pride into account until it was far too late to intervene. His little brother's happiness had been stolen by an arranged marriage with one of the elders' granddaughter.

Up to his death, Madara could never forget the betrayal in Izuna's eyes as he sat with his soon-to-be wife and drank the ceremonial sake in Madara's place.

But he was a coward, too engrossed in his own self-pity to own up to his mistakes. And that only made the guilt all the more heavier and unbearable.

This time, however, Madara would be compliant, not wanting anyone to bear the consequences of his tantrums again. Madara's feelings held no significance, all that mattered was his little brothers' happiness.

He would wed whoever they wanted him to wed, but as soon as Tajima was dead, Madara would petition for an annulment. And as unlikely as it was for people of this time to agree to a divorce, Madara would prefer to start a family of his own choosing. A loveless marriage was a pointless marriage.

Furthermore, he did not want the poor woman who was unlucky enough to be chosen as Madara's partner to be labeled as the wife of a madman and a tyrant.

After all, at times, sacrifices must be made, and to bring an era of peace much earlier than his first life, Madara had already steeled himself to become the main villain of this story (and oh, how easy it was to fall back into old habits).

He had already fore-planned how he would dictate the Uchiha clan as soon as he became its head, and admittingly, it would not paint a pretty picture. The resentment and terror his kin would undoubtedly feel towards him would forever haunt his nights, but if it was at the cost of cutting years of pointless fighting and deaths, he would make them believe that Madara was not a kind man.

Konohagakure no Sato will be built ahead of its time if Madara has anything to say about it - fuck all those warmongers and vengeful ones. Anyone who opposed him would learn how unwise their decision was. And this was when the Forbidden Individual Curse Tag would come into play.

Madara was not Hashirama, and nor was he Naruto. Violence and war were all he knew. And if he wanted to make a point, it would be with his gunbai and cursed seals rather than his words. He would be a leader who controls and dominates his people; a vile dictator, waiting patiently until someone decrowns him forcefully.

Then-Hashirama would weep if he was here and had access to his innermost thoughts, and if Madara had not prepared his heart and mind from the getgo, he would have wept alongside his then-best friend.

"Very well. It has been decided. My son and heir, Madara, will wed Akio-dono's granddaughter, Hikari-san. The ceremony will take place at the end of this week. I expect everything to be ready, prepared, and perfected by then."

"Understood, Tajima-sama."

At Tajima's final say, the five elders bowed their heads in unison, their faces stoic yet their eyes gleeful. Their clan heir was strong and unbeatable despite only being seventeen-years-old, and any child born from him, they rightfully assume, would be a powerhouse in the making.

Madara, on the other hand, bent his head for an entirely different reason, lustreless eyes staring blankly at his lap. There were no outward tells of his inner bitterness or fear, only a stoic detachment in place. They believed he would accept anything they say, as his disposition was no different than usual.

In their eyes, Madara has always been a tool that obeys all orders from his clan head and elders. He would not be breaking that image anytime soon. No, not yet, even if he desperately desires it.

"Okaerinasai, anija."

Madara didn't turn to face Ryouta, single-mindedly untying his sandals at the entryway. He did, however, try to make his voice as even as possible, not wanting to clue his little brother that he was feeling out of sorts.

"Tadaima kaerimashita, Ryouta. Where are the rest of our brothers?"

"Backyard. Zuna-nii is helping Taku and Yaku improve on their shurikenjutsu. How did the meeting go?"

His fingers trembled for a split second before he stubbornly clenched them into fists, glad that he was already seated since his knees were in a similar state. Taking a deep, calming breath, he made sure to respond within the appropriate time gap.

"It went well."

"Mm, that's good to hear. Our honorable elders seemed to be in a terribly good mood when they left the shrine, so I had assumed the worst. I'm glad I was wrong. Does anija want me to set up a bath?"

"Please."

"Okay."

When Ryouta retreated to prepare a bath, the pitter-patter of feet gradually growing softer as he climbed the stairs, Madara covered his face with his palms and just breathed.

He would be alright. Everything would be alright. Just because he would be a husband soon did not mean he was required to copulate. He was fine.

(Revolting, small, calloused covered hands slid across the expanse of his pale skin, leaving goosebumps in their trail as eleven-year-old Madara growled in anger, his head throbbing from the lack of chakra in his system-)

Everything would work out in the end. There was no need to panic unnecessarily.

(The muffled screams he let loose went unheard, the gag preventing him from spewing profanities to cover up the fear that was clawing up his throat. He felt dirty. Why was she doing this to him? He didn't understand. Her touches were repulsive, yet his traitorous body enjoyed her caresses-)

He was a powerful shinobi now, not that naive and gullible child - haven't been so for a long, long time.

("What a beautiful boy you are," The brunette murmured, fingers pinching at his chest and making him arch with a mortifying sob, "You'll cum for me, won't you? You'll impregnate me, won't you? Such a good, good boy you are-")

"The bath's ready, anija," Ryouta announced from the top of the stairs, his high-pitched voice bringing Madara back to the land of the living.

"I appreciate it, Ryouta." Madara kissed his brother's forehead when he passed by, his mind already pushing all of those unpleasant memories to the back of his mind. It was not a healthy way to cope, but it was the easiest.

When his engagement was announced later that night, only Takumi and Yakumi congratulated him - as they were too young and did not know any better. He patted their heads, a bitter smile hidden behind his mantle's high collar.

Izuna and Ryouta clearly weren't happy with it (they believed in a loveful marriage), but they learned from Madara to keep their lips sealed and their heads down whenever they were in Tajima's presence, as rare as it was for the clan head to dine with them.

Madara could only continue eating as if nothing was wrong, the mantra of everything would be ok still repeating in his head the entire time. Unexpectedly, he pondered what Tobirama would think of this arrangement - and then he almost slapped himself for having such stupid thoughts.

Why would Tobirama even care about the Uchiha clan's politics, anyway? Arranged and political marriages were common for clan heirs in this age.

By the end of that week, Madara stiffly brought a cup of sake to his lips, lifeless eyes gazing at the face of his wife, who had her joyous face painted with thick powders of makeup and red lips that reminded him so much of his best friend's beautiful eyes.

Idly, as Madara tipped his cup and swallowed the sake in one go, he wondered why his chest hurt all of the sudden.

Chapter Text

Madara gave a greeting smirk at his ever-scowling Senju from his seat on an outdoors picnic blanket, patiently waiting for the sullen albino to cross over to the Uchiha's side of the creek.

The three, sharp and distinct red lines inked onto the Senju's alabaster complexion caught the sun's rays, contrasting beautifully against pale skin and drawing Madara's piercing eyes to them. A small burst of laughter bubbled up his throat at the memory of how the younger shinobi had acquired them.

It had been odd, seeing Tobirama without his trademark tattoos which made Tobirama Tobirama over the years. Now, he could not even picture the younger shinobi without them. After that memorable event, Madara felt that they had somehow grown even closer.

The Senju, after being acquainted with the devious hormones which made up puberty, had shot up like bamboo sprouts, easily overtaking Madara in height and muscle mass. The now sixteen-year-old impassive bastard had grown into a fine young man with broad shoulders, lithe body, and an almost unbreakable poker face.

It made the smartarse more than a little overbearing - until Madara literally tore him a new hole during a spar. That had taught the cheeky brat to never again tease Madara about his shorter stature. It wasn't his fault that the majority of the Uchiha were late bloomers and that the Senju practically have the blood of giants in them.

Furthermore, the younger shinobi has not only grown in body, but in mind as well. He had eased up considerably, was more confident, and self-assured. No more thinking himself an emotionless 'perfect soldier' for his father's use. Shinobi endure, yes, but they were only human no matter how hard they try to expunge their emotions.

Conceal? Yes. Erase? No. Even Madara could not completely remove his emotions, only compartmentalize.

Madara worked extra hard in making sure to beat those stupid ideals out of that pretty little white head of his. He didn't need Tobirama influencing such ideas into Danzo's demented and crooked head, which would then tempt his future student into creating Root; which would one day bring the end of the Uchiha clan.

Every action and decision he made, as of late, felt as if there was an ulterior motive behind of them - his mind always weighing the cost versus benefits, responsibilities versus feelings. And sometimes, those measures made him distrustful over his own accomplishments, but that was just how he was, he supposes.

It has always been easier for Madara to manipulate and strategize for an eventuality and plan for a contingency for his contingencies than to live life with irrational and reckless abandonment.

"You look perkier than usual," Madara stated as soon as the Senju reached his side. The other paused, eyes slightly wide when he looked at Madara's hands. That made him tilt his head in askance, which the Senju blatantly ignored as he made to remove his fur collar.

"Why hello, Uchiha. Good afternoon to you as well. How was your day? Mine was shit. Thank you for asking," Tobirama drawled sarcastically, causing Madara's lips to quirk upwards in mirth.

"Alright. I'll bite. What's got your panties in a twist? If there's a solution, I'll help straighten it out."

"For once in your life, Madara, could you not sound like such a juvenile scoundrel?" The albino scrunched up his nose before rubbing his temples tiredly, "Chichi-ue has fallen ill and the elders are pushing for me to lead the next raid. Anija is too soft - hence they are expecting that I be the one who assumed the mantle of general."

"Isn't that great news?" He patted the spot next to him as an invitation whilst rolling his eyes, "That Butsuma is bedridden, I mean."

"Despite his lack of involvement in our upbringing, I do not wish ill upon him. Stop bringing your daddy issues into my life," Tobirama bit back whilst he unstrapped his armor and settled next to Madara on the red outdoors blanket, their shoulders and knees pressed together due to the close proximity.

The sudden warmth made a shiver run down his spine, causing him to nestle closer to the albino with a satisfying sigh leaving his lips. The weather has been getting colder as of late. And as distracted as he was, it took several long moments for Tobirama's words to register.

When it did, however, Madara all but elbowed his friend in the ribs, a scowl on his features.

"I do not have daddy issues!" Madara all but shrieked, beyond offended.

"Spoken by someone who constantly plans patricide in his free time. Why am I not convinced?" The albino sneered, gaze once again flicking distractedly to Madara's hands before resuming eye contact.

"... Bastard," He murmured weakly, not able to deny those accurate accusations, "So? Is he dying?" He asked with zeal.

If Butsuma was on his last breath, he could finally off his own father and send one of his personally trained messenger hawks with a missive, offering a cease-fire between their clans - the first step to building Konohagakure. It would be years early, but he had planned to have it that way, anyway; before any of their brothers' lives could be jeopardized.

His friend, however, understood him well enough to look more exasperated than angered by his impolite question. Although that may be due to them being two peas in a pod. Misunderstandings between them were few and far between.

"You are utterly shameless in your joy, Uchiha. Please refrain from showing how pleased you are at my clan head's dwindling health," He stated drily, but Madara only continued to look eager.

Tobirama sighed, deeming the Uchiha a lost cause, "It's still too early to tell... And while I try not to get side-tracked too often, you are distracting me, Dara. By not wearing your gloves - Why are you not wearing gloves?! Are you doing this on purpose?"

"Why do you sound so scandalized?! Stop! They're just gloves, Tobira! It's hard to knit with them on, okay?!" Madara suddenly felt self-conscious, wishing he had not left his leather gloves back home. On the other hand, he made a mental note to always wear gloves whenever he plans to meet up with Tobirama.

"... We'll put the topic of you appearing highly indecent without them, for another day, because I am seriously befuddled by what you are actually doing right now. Just what in Sage's name are you doing?" He sounded disturbed, an odd expression flickering on his face.

Madara blinked uncomprehendingly.

As he followed Tobirama's gaze, his eyes landed on the two thick senbon needles in his hands and the yarn wrapped around said senbon needles and his left index finger, connected to a ball of pastel blue yarn.

"Use those organs in your sockets, Senju. Isn't it rather obvious? I'm knitting Yakumi a pair of woolen booties for the upcoming winter." And you a scarf for your birthday three months later.

Oddly enough, his answer only made the Senju more baffled, the confused expression making him look younger. Madara huffed, yet again offended.

Just because Madara only wore pre-owned clothing did not mean he would allow his younger brothers to do the same. What kind of neglectful older sibling did Tobirama think he to be? Who knows what sort of virus they could catch if they used clothing that was once worn by the dead?

Besides, he became extremely proficient at knitting when he had been training Obito. The idjit would constantly tear/burn all of Madara's mantles due to either a jutsu mishap or a training accident; he was, weirdly enough, incompetent in the art of shurikenjutsu and ninjutsu at the start of Madara's tutelage.

Furthermore, after having his home invaded by his legally wedded wife, tension ran high in their household. Madara couldn't bring himself to unwind by knitting back in his bedchambers, seeing that it wasn't solely his anymore (he has been sleeping with either the twins or Ryouta as of late). Even his siblings made themselves scarce by having daily outings to escape Hikari-san's presence.

"I can see that, Uchiha," The albino crossed his arms, "But I'm asking why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you - the heir - the one who knits their clothing? Do the Uchiha not have servants to do such chores for you? Or a tailor?"

"Aa," Madara deadpanned, annoyed at being asked something so obvious.

It should be evident by their lack of armor and scavenged weapons that the Uchiha were piss-poor. Butsuma had commented off-handedly as such a few years back, much to Tajima's fury and Madara's amusement. His father's pissed off purple-ish face had made his day.

Madara shrugged and went back to knitting.

"Technically no. Tajima is always too busy planning the next raid to build any form of rapport with our clients. Haven't been on any assassination missions as of late - they're my most profitable source of income. It's laughable, but the Uchiha are too poor to have servants. The civilians, however, help out in any way they can; simple chores such as community cooking, cleaning, and laundry. The services of tailors are too expensive for me to afford - and besides, I'd rather knit their clothes myself." That way, he could weave in a few protection seals with no one the wiser.

"I... I did not realize the difficult situation you are in. Madara, I apologize if I have offended you with such questions."

He waved the apology off without looking up from his work, a chuckle escaping his lips.

"You need not worry about offending me, snowflake. I know your curiosity all too well," he idly laid his head on Tobirama's shoulder as he continued to lean heavily against the Senju's side, dextrous fingers moving with fierce precision, "Being broke has its upsides. Knitting helps me to unwind.

"Izuna, too, enjoys going out on hunts. He would bring back his game and contribute them to our kin who are widowed or orphaned whilst leaving enough for our family. Ryouta loves experimenting and creating new recipes; especially whenever Izuna catches something... odd."

Madara made a complicated face at that, remembering those times when Izuna had brought back exotics animals for dinner.

One fine example was the tarantula sliders. Ryouta had managed to trick them into eating those vile things without their knowledge up until the very end. Until now, the memory still brought a shudder of revulsion down his spine.

Tobirama made an amused sound at his visible reaction, pale and slender digits rubbing circles on Madara's thigh in a soothing rhythm. He huffed, playfully headbutting the albino's chin before settling back to continue his knitting.

"Yakumi adores the performing arts. Although his lessons do require finesse that I could only gain whenever I go out on missions and copy them with my Sharingan. I suspect that he'd rather be a civilian than a shinobi, to be honest. I mind not, but Tajima, on the other hand... Hmph!

"As for Takumi, he's still searching for his calling, but I reckon he's leaning towards being an artisan whenever he's not training. He enjoys painting and crafting far too much to find a new hobby - says its calming."

"They sound like nice kids," Tobirama says with rare softness.

"They are," A happy smile was playing on his lips when he readily agrees. His younger brothers were godsend. Without them, Madara wouldn't know what else he could have done but train and train and train; honing his already deadly set of skills for nothing but his ambition.

Madara suddenly recalls possessing a container full of blueberry tarts, the ones Ryouta had made just earlier today (sneakily, as Hikari-san had taken over their kitchen, much to the four brothers' misery. Ryouta's cooking was to die for). He deftly pulls it out and dangles it in front of the Senju's face.

"Blueberry tarts, Senju?" Tobirama had already snatched the container before Madara could finish asking.

"You should've offered sooner, Uchiha," The Senju grouched, already munching happily on the desserts, eyes squinted in pleasure.

What a child.

"Oh, right. I was going to ask but I got side-tracked. What happened to your hand?" Madara, with a distracted air, tucked the curtains he calls his fringe behind an ear and leaned closer to get a better look.

Three of Tobirama's right fingers were in splints and his wrist wrapped, obviously broken. He idly wondered if it was from a sparring accident or a mission gone wrong.

Tobirama gazed at him for a few long moments, obviously debating whether to answer truthfully or not. It made Madara unhappy, put-off that the albino would keep secrets from him (and yes, he knew he was being irrational and hypocritic. He, too, kept many secrets).

Thus he jeered, "What? Does the little baby Senju want this big bad Uchiha to heal his boo-boo for him or not?"

The teen huffed, turning away with lips pursed in displeasure, "Disciplinary measures, apparently."

"... What does that even mean?" He mused out loud, a bad feeling building up in his throat.

"It means shut up and let me eat in peace."

"Grumpy. Why hadn't you allowed Tama-chan to heal it?"

"He's currently out on a mission with Kawarama and Touka."

"Hn."

Rolling his eyes upwards, he snatched the stubborn idiot's injured hand and healed it within moments. Soon enough, they fell into a companionable silence, with Tobirama's munching heard once in a while.

Madara went back to his knitting whilst Tobirama simply laid next to him, head in Madara's lap and enjoying the snack. They were both content with sun-bathing in this cooling weather; perfect for people like them who have sensitive skin - who don't tan but scorch in the sun.

Afternoons like these was his favorite. It made Madara forget that he was a tool, a weapon bred for war.

Smiling with a mixture of pride and bitterness at the sudden reminder, his fingers paused as he spoke tentatively, "Perhaps a dance after your snack?"

"Hn," Tobitama grunted, cheeks bulging like a chipmunk's.

"Excellent. We don't want you growing fat now, do we?" Madara teased, resulting in a deadly glare from the albino. If looks could kill, Madara would already be dead a thousand times over. Thank Sage Tobirama was not an Uchiha.

With a laugh, he used a finger to playfully poke at one bulging cheek.

It made a pinkish hue appear on the Senju's face - Madara assumes was due to embarrassment - and he patted his friend's snowy white hair in a mocking manner. Tobirama made an adorable whining sound (which would be later denied by the albino) whilst burrowing his heated face into Madara's stomach; as if that could hide him from any more of Madara's teasing.

What a cute brat, Madara inwardly cooed, his fingers not once stopping in their activity of caressing those soft, white locks.

Chapter Text

Hashirama hummed softly under his breath as he strolled through the streets of Sora-ku.

So, why was Hashirama here?

Well, word has it that there have been sightings of the Uchiha clan in this seemingly abandoned city, and while usually, Tobes would be the one who takes on these types of missions, Takeshi-san, his father's right-hand, had gotten word that Uchiha Madara had been spotted at this exact location not a day ago.

And as Hashirama was the only one who could openly fight against the Uchiha heir without losing his life, he and Kawarama had been selected for this intel gathering mission. As for why Kawa was paired with him, it was due to his little brother's proficiency in disguises.

While Kawa hid at the outskirts of the city, ready to provide back-up if required, Hashirama strode confidently around with his hair dyed black and facial structure reconstructed with makeup and clay to look more like an Uchiha. After a few days of spying on and chatting with the residents here, Hashirama figured out that Sora-ku was basically a den filled with black marketeers.

They sold their wares to anybody without caring about affiliation, clan, and status. It was no wonder the Uchiha would buy and store their munitions here.

Although he knew that the Uchiha heir was spotted here yesterday, it was still somewhat of a surprise when he stumbled across Uchiha Madara paying for one of them illegal rare goods. The Uchiha heir looked unfazed at being caught by a 'clan member', only gazing at Hashirama's disguised form for a split second before returning to his transaction.

Before Hashirama could bolt, however, the Uchiha gestured for him to stay put. As much of a loud mouth Hashirama was, he was first and foremost a shinobi, and as a shinobi, he knew how covert missions went. So not wanting to clue Uchiha Madara that he was an infiltrator, he obediently accepted the order.

As he waited for the Uchiha to complete his transaction, he decided to scrutinize the other shinobi. Whenever they met in combat, Hashirama didn't have the leisure time required to study the Uchiha despite their close proximity. That was how challenging (dangerous) Uchiha Madara was in a fight.

Uchiha, as per usual, was wearing an indigo mantle with sleeves that flow past his fingertips, standard shinobi pants and sandals, and if Hashirama could see the man's hands, probably a pair of leather gloves as well. If Hashirama did not know any better, he would think the Uchiha skin-shy.

But, of course, he knew better.

He had seen the man run around the battlefield with holes and cuts in his clothes as they fought, looking pretty much like a war god with flames and explosion whipping his long hair in the wind. Hashirama has never, however, once seen the right side of the Uchiha's face thanks to the sheer volume of his hair, but he knew that Uchiha was quite handsome just from what he could see.

Although, in Hashirama's humble opinion, he still looked much like a porcupine with his hair spiking everywhere like that.

"Name?" Uchiha Madara asked with disinterest after the seller had left them, turning fully to face Hashirama. Sweating at the unexpected inquiry, he blurted out the first name he could think of.

"Hashi," And oh, how he could picture Tobes's pinched expression right now, followed by the tirade about the benefits of pre-planning, "My name is Hashi, Madara-sama."

The Uchiha heir only hn-ed, obsidian eyes narrowed - and for a second there, Hashirama was concern that he had been exposed, but Uchiha only turned on his heels, throwing a curt, "Walk with me," over his shoulder. Hashirama scrambled to follow.

Quite unexpectedly, Uchiha led them to an eatery. The Uchiha then chose a table that allowed them to have a full view of the restaurant, where they could see the comings and goings of the customers, as well as to have easy access to one of the exits if called for it.

This was a seat he knew Tobes would appreciate.

When a waitress came bounding over, Hashirama panicked for a moment, not knowing if the Uchiha clan came here frequently or if this was the first time. He prays that it would be the latter, since if it was the former, he would be expected to know the menu.

When the waitress bowed low to them, however, a respectful 'Uchiha-sama' leaving her lips, Hashirama knew that he was screwed. Before he could make a fool of himself, the Uchiha heir thankfully ordered for them. Hashirama didn't exactly pay much attention to what they were getting, more concern with keeping his cover.

How do the Uchiha clan members act when they were with their clan's heir in a private setting, anyway? Would they joke around like the Senjus? Or would they remain stiff and formal?

Oh, darn. Takeshi-san should've picked Tobes for this mission. Hashirama was not the best choice for missions that require him to act like someone else.

"What is it?"

Hashirama couldn't withhold a flinch when the other shinobi questioned him in complete monotone. Having just noticed that he had been blatantly staring at Uchiha for far too long, he threw a nervous glance at the porcupine- ahem, Uchiha before looking away.

Taking a deep, calming breath to try and relax as much as possible, he responded with as much stoicism as he could muster (which was not a lot).

"Aa, nothing. I was just wondering why Madara-sama is here in Sora-ku," Better to try and get as much information as possible before he got found out, right? Pulling the wool over Uchiha's eyes seemed virtually impossible, but he would do his best.

"Madara," The Uchiha suddenly stated, "Just Madara. You do not need to add -sama behind my name, Hashi."

Blinking at the remark, Hashirama abruptly beamed. The Uchiha heir must have a good relationship with his clanmates; to allow them to call him by just his name. If any of the Senju were to do that (not that Hashirama minded, actually), his father would have their head.

"Okay, Madara!"

He didn't know if it was just his eyes playing tricks on him, but he swore that the Uchiha had softened considerably at being called informally. Before he could think more on that, their food arrived. Hashirama was instantly distracted, his drool accumulating in his mouth at the sight of a bowl of mushroom mixed soup.

It has been a while since he had eaten his favorite meal.

Within moments, he had finished the bowl, satisfaction curling in his stomach. Before he could be disappointed that that was all, a leathered hand pushed another bowl of mushroom mixed soup in front of him. He peered at Uchi- Madara, unsure if he should eat it or return it to remain polite.

"Eat, Hashi. More will come soon."

Not one to usually hesitate when it came to food, Hashirama grinned gratefully and proceeded to eat with gusto. His appetite was gigantic, and a bowl would simply not fill him. It was only when he reached his fifth bowl did he notice that Madara has not once removed his gaze on him as he continues to sip his tea, obsidian eye crinkled in what he recognizes as fondness.

Hashirama was a master in emotions, so he wouldn't have mistaken that look. But they have just met, so why would Madara give him such a look? Why would Madara feel a fondness for 'Hashi'?

"Madara?" He blinked, tilting his head slightly to the side to try and figure the mysterious Uchiha out.

"Hm?"

His lips parted, ready to ask what was on his mind, before abruptly remembering that he was on a mission. He snapped his mouth shut, awkwardly flailing as he tried to think of something to say. When a minute passed by in silence, it was Madara who spoke.

"Have you been well?"

"Eh?"

"I'll take that as a yes," Madara chuckled. It was a nice sound. The man should laugh more often.

In his daze, he didn't realize he had spoken such words out loud. The Uchiha's pale skin flushed pink as he looked away, murmuring something about 'filters and bumbling idiots'. That snapped Hashirama out of his stupor, a sheepish smile playing on his lips as he scratched the back of his head.

"You remind me of Tob- one of my little brothers," Was not what he had intended to say, but somehow, Madara made him relax his guard enough to talk about his family.

"Do I now?" The Uchiha responded, a playful glint sparkling in his visible eye, "Well, you remind me much of my baby brothers. They're twins."

"Oh?" He leaned forward on his elbows, interested in getting to know the man's family. Not because Hashirama wanted to use his family against him, but because he wanted to know Uchiha Madara more outside of combat. The best way to know someone was to have a conversation about their loved ones.

"And they're seven years old."

That made Hashirama sputter, squawking in mock offense when he realized that he was being called a man-child. Truly, Madara was almost cut from the same cloth as Tobes!

"I'm not a kid, Madara~!" He whined.

"Are you sure? You're sounding like one."

"So cruel~! You're just like Tobes, always making fun of me," He pouted, crossing his arms over his chest, "I shouldn't ever let you both meet. It'll be the end of me then."

"I wish you the best of luck in that," Somehow, he felt that there was an inside joke there, but he just couldn't figure it out.

They continued to converse for hours, and by the end of the day, Hashirama felt that he could call Madara his friend. They've talked about their families, the activities they do when out of battle (nobody would ever believe him if he told them that Uchiha Madara knits in his free time), their likes and dislikes, and their dreams of peace.

It was a shocking and pleasant surprise to hear that Madara was simply waiting for an opportunity to achieve his dream. Hashirama wished he could just tell Madara about how he would be the Senju head soon (his father was growing weaker by the day) and that he would be thrilled to have an alliance with the Uchiha.

Unfortunately, he knew that now was not the right time. As they stood side by side at the edge of Sora-ku, saying their goodbyes, Hashirama finally couldn't help it. He gathered the flailing Uchiha into a bear-hug, fighting to keep the tears from leaking out of his eyes.

"It's not as if we won't see each other again, Hashi," Madara groaned breathlessly as he awkwardly patted the brunet's back. That only made him squeeze harder, causing the Uchiha to grunt about the lack of oxygen. After all, he couldn't actually tell Madara that he wasn't an Uchiha and that after he completes his mission, they would not see each other back at the man's compound.

"I'll see you around, Madara," Hashirama finally let go, grinning at the shorter man with tears in his eyes.

"Of course you will," The Uchiha grumbled, rolling his eyes upwards.

Again, his 'fondly exasperated' behavior reminded him sorely of Tobes. It only made his grin stretch wider. One day, he would officially introduce his little brothers to this man - Uchiha Madara was gentle and kind outside of combat, and he wishes for others to see that as well.

As he swirled on his heels, knowing that Madara would not attack 'Hashi' even if he turned his back on him, he gathered chakra into his legs and prepared to leap onto the trees. Before he could, however, Madara spoke words that made him trip over himself.

"Your physical disguise might be flawless, Senju Hashirama, but you should work more on scrambling your chakra signature. Tobirama, I reckon, could help you with that."

Just as he turned to face Madara, his mouth parted in the shape of an O, he saw the Uchiha's silhouette disappear between the houses, having retreated back into Sora-ku. He debated with himself if he should chase after the Uchiha, but after a few moments of pondering, though better of it.

From what he knew, Uchiha Madara was a sensor, not as amazing as his little brother Tobes, of course, but still skilled. So even if Hashirama gave chase, the Uchiha would not be found if he did not wish for it. With a sigh, he headed towards Kawa and his campsite, a small smile refusing to leave his lips.

Hashirama can't wait until he and Madara become heads of their respective clans. The future has never seem this promising before.

Chapter Text

Madara blinked, before bending his neck marginally to look downwards at the two touches of warmth that had crashed and was now latched onto his thighs, bunching the fabric in their small fists. The two small children, only seven this year, grinned at him mischievously, their dimples making them appear twice as adorable. The corner of his eyes crinkled with fondness as he smiled gently at his two baby brothers.

"Why hello there, sweetie, sweetheart," He greeted Takumi and Yakumi respectively, keeping his tone soft and tender, "What are you both doing out here all on your lonesomes?"

"Looking at the pretty birdies!" The twins chirped in unison.

"Hm? Are my two darling angels taking interest in falconry?"

"Un!" Yakumi and Takumi cutely bobbed their head, hands behind their backs and feet shuffling with too much contained energy, "Will Ani-ue teach us how to care for the pretty birdies?"

"Of course," Madara crouched to their height and brought the eyas that was sitting obediently on his gloved fingers in front of two pairs of wide, interested eyes, "This is Toboe. Would the two of you like to pet him? You'll have to be really gentle, though - he's still a baby."

"Younger than us?" Takumi asked.

"Younger than even you, sweetie," Madara nodded.

"He's so pretty," Yakumi cooed, a pudgy finger clumsily but gently stroking the bird of prey's breast.

"And soft!" Takumi chimed not a second later.

"Indeed. He's a very special red-tail hawk. Do you know what albinism is, sweetie, sweetheart?"

Takumi and Yakumi both shook their heads, eyes full of curiosity and the desire to learn.

Madara chuckled, patting his baby brothers' soft, silky strands whilst simultaneously keeping an eye on his beloved hawk. The eyas was still young, and as Madara was still in the midst of training it, it was unused to other humans. Therefore, there still existed a slim chance of them being pecked at. Especially by this particular one.

"An albino is someone who lacks pigment - color - in their skin, hair, and eyes. Toboe lacks coloring in all of his feathers except for this part of his tail here. See?" Madara rotates his wrist to display a small section of the bird's tailfeathers.

"Uwaa! It's red! Like the Sharingan!" Yakumi squeaked in excitement, jumping up and down with his hands clasped on his chest.

"The Sharingan, hm? Perhaps, sweetheart, perhaps," The elder Uchiha hid a secretive smile behind his mantle's high collar, "His eyes do appear to be a similar shade," Was mumbled out almost inaudibly.

"Toboe's eyes don't look red, ani-ue," Takumi pointed out innocently, causing Madara to flush at having his musings be heard.

"Ah, yes. You're right, sweetie. How silly of me. Do you want to try holding him?"

"Ani-ue will let Takumi hold him?!"

"What about Yakumi?!"

"Absolutely. Wait for me here. Onii-san has to get smaller gloves for both of you to wear."

Madara's slip of the tongue was all but forgotten at the prospect of holding a bird of prey. Thank the Sage for children and their short attention span.

When he came back with a pair of kiddie gloves, he helped Yakumi and Takumi both equip them properly before whistling sharply twice. Toboe and his nestmate, Touryou, swooped down and landed with practiced ease on Yakumi and Takumi's fingers respectively, causing the children to let out exclamations of delight and awe.

Madara smirked in pride whilst giving the two eyasses treats for obeying his command.

Touryou chirped, sharp beak playfully nipping at Madara's gloved fingers in a show of affection. Takumi looked shocked and scared at first, but at Madara's serene expression, gave into curiosity and fearlessly (stupidly) placed a digit in front of the hawk's beak, his twin recklessly doing the same.

Whilst Touryou obediently and cheerfully nipped with playfulness, Toboe's eyes were frosty, similar to its namesake, but under Madara's dominative and penetrative gaze, it nipped Yakumi's finger with as much gentleness as a bird of prey could muster. Their actions made Yakumi and Takumi both giggle, their grin stretching from ear to ear.

"I want my own birdie too, ani-ue!" Yakumi childishly demanded, pleading puppy dog eyes aimed at Madara's direction.

"Me too, ani-ue!" Takumi asserted not a second later, his lower lip jutting out into a cutesy pout.

"Anything you want, sweetheart, sweetie," Madara folded to their peremptory request like wet toilet paper. If any of his enemies could see him now, they would undoubtedly be putting their hands together and forming the seal required to dispel illusions, "Which type of hawks are you interested in?"

It was rather obvious that they were both manipulating him to make him agree with their demands by acting cute, but he cared not about the not-so-discreet attempt.

In fact, he even felt pride in their trickster ways. Whenever they turn their cutesy act on him, he would always melt into a puddle of goo. Perhaps there was a pit in his brain somewhere when it came down to his two adorable baby brothers.

"We don't know," The two younger Uchiha shrugged.

"Well, no worries. We can take a look at all my hawks and see which one you would like, okay, my dears?"

"I want a baby birdie!"

"I want a baby birdie too!"

"Alright."

"Ani-ue is the best!" They trilled with wide, innocent eyes.

"If Yakumi and Takumi say so, then I must be."

Madara smiled in a dopey manner and discreetly puffed out his chest at the praise, similar to the birds he usually trains. Touryou seemed confused but followed Madara in puffing its chest out as well. Toboe, on the other hand, would've rolled its eyes if it was able to; its owner was such an amenable brocon.

The three Uchiha brothers were relaxing on the grassy ground. Madara was content with watching his many raptors zooming across the sky with Takumi cuddled atop his abdomen, the child's own egg cupped delicately in small hands, and Yakumi snuggled to his right.

"Hurry up and be born, ok?" Yakumi whispered encouragingly as he bunched some of Madara's long, wild hair around his egg. Madara only huffed out a breathy laugh, not minding that his younger brother was using his mane as a makeshift birdnest. It already looked like one, anyway.

"Remember what I told the both of you?"

"Un!" They responded enthusiastically, repeating what he told them not too long ago, "Keep them warm inside their nest and be very gentle whenever touching and/or petting them."

"Good boys," Madara murmured, brushing his lips against Yakumi and Takumi's temples in a gesture of affection.

"You're spoiling our baby brothers rotten, aniki."

The twins flinched at Izuna's sudden arrival, whilst Madara only gave his first little brother a look, having long sensed Izuna's chakra signature approach them.

"Uwaa, the meanie is here! Ani-ue, defend us from the baddie!" Takumi's lips wobbled into a rather convincing teary expression, but Izuna only raised a condescending brow and crossed his arms, unimpressed by the boy's theatrics.

"Don't worry, Taku, remember our secret weapon?!" Out of nowhere and much to Madara's startled amusement, Yakumi pulled out a pouch of salt and began flinging handfuls of the seasoning at the sputtering Izuna, "Evil spirit begone!"

"What the actual fuck?! You actually dare to throw salt at me?! I'll make the both of you become evil spirits, you spoilt beasts!"

Knowing that Izuna's relationship with the twins was akin to a bully and its victims (the twins being the bullies and Izuna the poor victim), Madara swiftly kept the eggs inside his sleeves for safekeeping, unsealed a plate of steamed corns, and settled into a comfortable position to enjoy the show.

"We must retreat, Taku, for the evil spirit is too evil to be purified!" Yakumi threw the whole pouch at Izuna as a form of distraction whilst yelling out to retreat, a 'serious' expression on his cherubic features as he pulled Takumi into a mad dash towards the house.

The 'attack' only manages to make Izuna wheeze out a series of coughs for a second or two before he swipes a sleeve (rather dramatically in Madara's opinion) across the air in a slashing gesture to disperse the cloud of salt. Scowling at the twins' back as they fled, Izuna reaches into his left sleeve and flung out four soft beads at them in one go.

The beads made the twins' faces be acquainted with the ground when they accurately hit the back of their knees. Whilst they simultaneously groaned in despair at their foiled attempt of escaping, Izuna appeared in front of them with crossed arms, smiling smugly.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. I am so gonna teach you two limp noodles a lesson for the shit you just pulled on me."

The twins squealed when they were lifted by the collars of their mantles and spun in wide circles. It might look rough to bystanders, but Madara's keen eyes picked that Izuna's hold and movements were gentle, more to get their adrenaline pumping than to hurt them.

"Kyaaa~! Save us from Izu-oni, ani-ue!" They giggled, kicking their short legs out to try and get Izuna in the chin. That only resulted in them being flung high up into the air, making them screech in joy when they were caught and juggled by their second oldest brother.

Madara let out a huff of laughter as his three little brothers continued to play. He sat up with crossed legs, not minding that Toboe's and Touryou's talons were digging into his shoulders when they perched on him not a second later. Once in a while, he would feed the two eyasses whenever they eyed the corn in his hands long enough for Madara to feel fond exasperation.

"How energetic."

He turned to Ryouta, who has just settled himself to Madara's right and snuggled into his side almost immediately. He brought a hand to rest on his little brother's head, ruffling the younger's hair and smiling when Ryouta did nothing but beam up at him.

"Why don't you join them, Ryouta?"

"I'd rather not be manhandled by the brute," Ryouta gave a pointed look at Izuna, who was currently bench pressing their baby brothers without any visible effort on his part, "And I prefer anija's company over the little demons any day."

"I don't understand why you and Izuna would always call them such names," Madara lamented. Ryouta gave Madara a look so dry he was tempted to offer his brother eye drops. That was probably learned through observing Madara give them to Izuna one too many times.

"Because they're rightful little demons, anija. Don't be tricked by their cutesy act - they're only nice when you're around."

"They're angels."

"They've pulled wool over your eyes. I'm afraid you're beyond saving, anija. You have my condolences."

Madara made a half-hearted sound of protest whilst deciding to continue his ignorant act. He, of course, knew that the twins were rightful menaces to Izuna and Ryouta whenever Madara faded into the background. What sort of older brother would he be if he did not amuse himself with his little brothers' suffering?

It was only fair after he had changed their smelly diapers and had his hair (and fingers) munched on when they were still babies. The only unfortunate matter was that there were no convenient cameras in this time period and he could not take evidence of their foolish younger selves as blackmail material for the future.

Toboe and Touryou suddenly took off into the skies, some of their feathers landing in Madara's hair.

"Please pardon my intrusion, Madara-sama, Ryouta-sama."

Madara's expression had long returned to its passive state when he sensed her approach. Ryouta, on the other hand, couldn't hide how his muscles had tensed when Hikari-san spoke from next to them, probably startled as he was too distracted by their conversation.

He didn't blame his little brother for his inattentiveness, seeing that the younger had felt safe enough with Madara close by to drop his guard - and that civilian's chakra signatures were hard to detect by a shinobi who was not trained in sensing.

But he still took note to double Ryouta's awareness exercises from now on.

"Hikari-san," He greeted politely but monotonously, discreetly pushing Ryouta aside so that he was able to stand next to his wife, blocking his brother from her sight. He disliked having someone unfamiliar so close to his precious people despite her lack of kunoichi training, "What brings you here?"

"I've come to inform Madara-sama and his brothers that lunch has been prepared," Her head was bowed slightly in a show of respect whilst her hands were intertwined in front of her.

"We will be there shortly," Madara answered stiffly, more of a dismissal than a response.

"Understood. I know to not question Madara-sama unnecessarily as he is a busy man, but to prepare myself, may I know if Madara-sama will be returning to our bedroom tonight?"

Madara was instantly uncomfortable with such a question being thrown at him in front of his little brother. After their wedding day, which was a year ago, Madara had not once entered his bedchamber, always making excuses about preparing for a mission even though he would sleep in the twins' or Ryouta's room afterwards.

He knew it was cowardly of him to treat her as such (she was an innocent party), but Madara couldn't help it. Cold sweat would cover him from head to toe whenever he pictures them in a futon together, paranoia causing him to fle- make a tactical retreat.

His brothers might not mind him intruding upon them (in fact, Izuna and Ryouta actually encouraged Madara to retreat to their rooms after dinner each night), but he knows that Tajima has been asking Hikari-san whether she was pregnant yet with his child. And the pressure of their clan head was what made her question him 'subtly' whenever she sees him.

He did not blame her. Tajima was intimidating to many as he was a violent man prone to striking first, talk never.

Under his billowing sleeves and out of sight from prying eyes, Madara balled his gloved fists. It was not that Madara was purposefully being difficult, he was just... uneasy... at the prospect of being intimately touched.

After having been violated by a bloodline thief back when he was truly an eleven-year-old child, he has never once engaged someone in an act of coitus. He has never known the taste of carnal pleasure up till the day he exhaled his last breath next to then-Hashirama. Even after having returned to his second childhood, this current body of his has yet to be touched, and he intended to keep it that way till his fourth and final death.

He wore gloves for a reason, for fuck's sake. It was not a fashion statement as he was not a vain man.

Hence, to be expected to impregnate someone after such a traumatizing event was... He just couldn't do it no matter how much he forces himself to compartmentalize and think this as one of his long-term infiltration-slash-honeypot missions.

"My apologies for stealing Madara-ani again for tonight, Hikari-san. Anija has promised to help me improve in my calligraphy after dinner."

Ryouta, the ever-perceptive teen that he was, inserted himself into the conversation before Madara's silence got too long. When Hikari-san looked as if she wanted to say something else, Izuna arrived in a timely manner with the twins in tow to loudly exclaim that the brats were hungry and that they should go have lunch now.

Hikari-san's lips pursed for a split second in displeasure, but she bowed and retreated back into the house obediently - just like how she was taught to obey the orders of her husband and his immediate family members.

As soon as she was out of sight, Ryouta pulled him into a hug, comforting words being whispered soothingly into his ears. Ryouta's fingers were combing through his long hair; gentle, calming, and purely platonic motions that prevented him from lashing out at their intimate proximity.

He only just realized that he was trembling bodily when he brought his arms up to return the favor, so he exhaled shakily and forced himself to relax into his younger brother's embrace.

"Aniki, do you... Do you want me to sanction a month-long mission for you?" Izuna murmured softly, calloused covered hands rubbing soothing circles on Madara's back.

"Please," He whispered, burrowing his face deeper into Ryouta's shoulder to hide his shame.

"Alright. I'll bring the twins inside and distract Hikari-san. Just... Take as much time as you need, aniki. Don't force yourself, ok? We understand."

Madara didn't know why he felt like such a failure (as a man and as a big brother) when Izuna mentions that they understood why he reacted so negatively to something as simple as sex. The full moon tonight, he assumes, would probably be twice as red than any other lunation.

Chapter Text

Without having to look up from his work, Tobirama already knew that it was Hashirama who had boisterously slammed open the shoji door leading into his office. After all, the taller Senju was always loud in announcing his presence. Furthermore, the Senju heir's massive chakra wasn't at all subtle for a sensor of Tobirama's calibre.

"Tobirama~ Let's go swimming together!" Hashirama glomped the albino from behind, and even without turning to face the other, Tobirama could tell from just Hashirama's tone alone that the latter was grinning expectantly.

Tobirama's expression was stone cold as he took a deep breath in... and out. In... and out... Then he bluntly ignored the unwelcome visitor and continued to calculate his clan's total income earned from missions.

He had only recently implemented a scheme and was now eager to see if it had brought out the expected results. Whether it had increased their revenue with minimal casualties or was it a total failure. His goal, after all, was to minimalize the mortality rate by ranking a shinobi's skill set and matching it to a corresponding mission.

There was also the need to have a decrease in expenditure due to the ongoing shinobi clan wars -

"Tobirama~" (っ*´∀｀*)っ

With practiced ease, he turned a blind eye to his brother (who was still hugging him like a koala) and leaned closer to the papers with squinted eyes.

His eyesight was becoming worst from all the paperwork he was doing - and as an albino, his eyes were already shite, to begin with. It seems that he would need to ask Madara to correct his eyesight again. That was not something he was looking forward to.

"Don't ignore me, Tobi~!" (T⌓T)

Idly, Tobirama wondered how Madara was doing.

Madara seemed restless when he saw the older shinobi during a skirmish a few days back. It was unlike the Uchiha heir to be so distracted while fighting against Hashirama, and within the safety of his head, Tobirama felt worried for him. He knew how stubborn Madara was about his own health and safety - he would push and push and push until his body could take the abuse no longer and shut itself down.

It had happened before; back-to-back missions for months without rest until one day, Madara just collapsed (and fell into a deep coma that lasted for a chilling three weeks) while they were both having their monthly sparring sessions at the creek.

Tobirama had freaked the fuck out, his mind was completely empty from the sheer panic he felt. Without thought, he (stupidly) rushed to sneak the Uchiha into the Senju compound just because he trusted no other medic-nin but Itama to tell him what was wrong with his friend.

Madara had, after all, thoroughly trained Itama into becoming one of the best (if not the best) medic-nin in Hi no Kuni. And Tobirama was damn proud of his baby brother's achievement and reputation. But, anyway, he hadn't been thinking straight back then about the consequences it would bring when he lugged an unconscious Uchiha heir into his home.

Thankfully, the majority of the Senju militia (the elites of their clan) were off fighting against the Hyuuga that day. If not, Tobirama and Itama would have undoubtedly been branded traitors that day if they had been found -

"Tobi~" (༎ຶ⌑༎ຶ)

As soon as he registers his brother calling him by that wretched childhood nickname of his, Tobirama threw the brush in his hand at Hashirama, feeling intense satisfaction when the neanderthal squawked in protest when the item struck him in between the eyes.

Straddling his chair, he faced his obnoxious older brother, "What?" he bit out without a change of expression.

"Let's go swimming together, Tobi. I'm bored," Hashirama whined, arms flailing in the air as he threw a massive tantrum that would make even toddlers jealous on the floor.

"Why should I care if you're bored, anija? And don't call me that," Tobirama was never fond of diminutives - especially when used on his name.

"But Tobi is Tobi," Was the petulant response to his reprimand.

"No, anija. Just... No."

Pinching the bridge of his nose as if to ward off a headache, Tobirama exhaled while counting backwards from ten. Where were Itama and Kawarama when he needed them the most? He did not wish to be in Hashirama's vicinity when the older Senju was bored enough to whine.

"What about Tobira then -"

Before Hashirama could even finish that sentence, Tobirama's utterly murderous glare cut him off. Brother or not, there was only one person he would allow to call him that. And Hashirama was not him.

"Ooookay. I can see that that is forbidden... You don't have to glare at me like that, Tobirama. I just want to spend time with you, my precious little brother..." (ಥ﹏ಥ)

Tobirama forcefully rolled his shoulders to lessen the tension when Hashirama drooped, a depressing cloud appearing above his head. He rubbed a palm against his face to delay a response. It had been ill-conceived of him to lash out just because of that.

Especially when anija actually appeared hurt by his unconscious reaction to being called Tobira, giving him that look; the one that conveyed his loneliness at Tobirama's emotional unavailability.

It made Tobirama feel guilty enough for him to break eye contact with the Senju heir. He fidgeted (internally, of course) for a bit before nodding once at the idea that was floating at the forefront of his mind. He knew exactly what to do to extinguish that wounded expression from anija's face.

Not swimming, obviously. He was not in the mood to swim in this freezing weather.

"Alright, anija," Tobirama grunted, purposely not looking at his brother, "I'd rather not waste time doing something unproductive, so we will be dancing rather than swimming."

After stiffly saying his bit (had his tone been too harsh? Should he have worded it in another manner? Why was it so difficult for him to express himself in front of others?), Tobirama hopped out of his seat, moved towards his weapon rack, and picked his standard training katana.

Although he was reluctant to leave his work half-done, he was looking forward to trading blows with anija as it has been a while since they had last sparred. Perhaps a few hours of exercise would make Hashirama less energetic while also accomplishing their 'spending time together' quota for this week.

When he only saw Hashirama staring at him with wide, startled, brown eyes, he fully faced his brother with a condescending look, clearly expressing he was not impressed by the eyeballing. What was up with other people and gawking at him?

If it was Hashirama this time who wants to ink him, he would refuse in a heartbeat.

Anija's handwriting and drawings were atrocious. And speaking of inks; should he request for Madara to draw him a design? He was thinking of a red tribal dragon - one that would twine around his body in a manner similar to that of a snake, down to his right ankle. 

Knowing that this was not the time nor place to think about those deft, slender fingers that trailed deliciously across his heated skin as they drew permanent marks on his body, he shook his head and scowled at his brother.

"Well? Why are you not leaving to prepare yourself? I may not be your equal in strength and endurance, anija, but I will take offense if you underestimate me. You should know better than that by now."

"W-what?" Hashirama looked cluelessly at him, index fingers poking together in a gesture of nervousness.

"Go to your room-" Tobirama spoke slowly as if he were talking to a toddler, "and arm yourself for a dance. I will meet you at our training yard in ten minutes. Capisce?"

"Uhm... Yes?"

When Tobirama hears the unsure tilt of Hashirama's tone, he could only let loose a long-suffering sigh. This thing would become the Senju head after chichi-ue succumbs to his illness.

Somehow, Tobirama has a feeling that in the future, he would be doing many unethical things to protect his dreamer of an older brother from being eaten alive by the cruel mistress called politics (and Tobirama would gladly do so to spare Hashirama's hands from dirtying. He has been trained from young to undertake all the unpleasant tasks, after all. The clan heir/soon-to-be head should not have to handle such despicable affairs).

"Was that a statement or a question?"

"A statement, of course! Hahahaha!"

Hashirama's mood flipped from nervous to joyous within a split second before he patted Tobirama with enough strength to physically move him from one tatami mat to another. The albino could only watch (while holding his stinging back) as the older Senju skipped out of his office, looking as if he had just won the lottery.

And as Tobirama intimately knows, Hashirama was a sucker when he gambles.

Shaking his head to rid himself of the recent memory of Hashirama drunkenly gambling away some of Tobirama's used fundoshi (why anyone would ever desire them continues to remain a mystery to the albino), he, with practiced movements, shrugged out of his kinagashi to don his black, standard shinobi pants and mesh armor, followed by a short sleeve blue kimono shirt and happuri.

He debated whether he should clip on his fur collar, but decided against it after a few moments. There was no need to use it in a spar; as the initial purpose was to make his shoulders appear broader than they looked, which would then cause others to think him bulkier, which in turn would make them underestimate his speed, which would also benefit him by-

Tobirama forcefully pulled the brakes on his train of thoughts before they could derail into the many advantages of beguiling and misdirecting other people's senses. Sometimes, his brain didn't know what it meant to rest - there was no off button for him to press, always flying from one topic to another.

It didn't take him long to reach his destination or to develop a twitch in his left eyebrow.

If Tobirama was a lesser man, his chin would be brushing the ground with disbelief. But since he had been trained to be a soldier since before he could even properly walk, he discreetly tried to dispel whatever illusion had befallen onto him. It didn't work.

"Anija," His voice was dry as sawdust, "Why are you wearing that and why haven't you prepared your sword?"

Hashirama only blinked, looking clueless in the face of Tobirama's disapproval.

The Senju heir had on an elegant brown kimono with a black obi, held in his right hand was a white fan with pink cherry blossoms drawn on it, and in his other was a shamisen that Tobirama swore he had seen in his cousin Touka's room before.

"But how are we suppose to dance without them?" ఠ_ఠ

That only made Tobirama all the more baffled. What did sparring have anything to do with a shamisen or a fan? Unless one was a ninja from Kaze no Kuni, nobody else in Hi no Kuni uses a fan in a battle. Apart from Madara, of course.

Tobirama still remembered the first time he saw Madara wield his gunbai, hilariously out of place in the hands of a thirteen-year-old, but awed and terrified when the Uchiha actually managed to blow back three-quarters of their forces with just one swing.

Till now, he remained clueless about Madara's full repertoire. The Uchiha heir's mastery over Fire and Wind release was clear for all to see, however, Tobirama had been taught Water release by Madara when they had been younger, once upon a time when Tobirama still struggled with ninjutsu in general.

It attracted much of Tobirama's curiosity; to be in the presence of someone unbeatably was intoxicating.

When he once again noticed that he had been sidetracked, he swiftly returned his attention to Hashirama. No need to get aroused when in the presence of his brother. That would be just wrong on so many levels. Stupid hormones.

"With our bodies," He deadpanned, "What is wrong with you, anija? Are you feeling unwell?"

"Tobirama!" Hashirama suddenly shrieked, tanned cheeks alight in red. The loud volume caused the albino to flinch, having not expected that, "When I said I wanted to be closer to you, I did not mean it in that way. Little brother, I love you, you know that, right?"

Tobirama nodded slowly, wary that any sudden movements on his part would trigger Hashirama into attacking him (or strangling him with hugs). Why was his brother acting so oddly? More so than usual, that was.

"You mean the world to me, Tobirama. However, my love for you is purely platonic. Just like Kawarama and Itama. Don't worry, we can work through this, ok? I won't shun you. But we can't do this type of things even in private, Tobirama. I know you're at the age of finding yourself-"

Finally losing all patience, Tobirama snapped, arms crossed over his chest to hide his confusion. He felt strangely defensive, "What on earth are you talking about, anija? If you don't want to dance, all you are required to do is to simply say so and I'll be on my way."

With a sturdy poker face, he hid the sting that exuded from his chest when he said his piece. His brother didn't need to be so cruel by accepting his proposal to spar and then play the fool afterwards, right?

Hashirama suddenly froze, his skin returning to its usual shade as his brown eyes narrowed at the way Tobirama was tapping irritably on his training sword's sheath. It was a sign of nervousness, Tobirama realizes belatedly, which forces him to immediately still all movements.

With how stupid his brother constantly acts, Tobirama often times forgets that there was a brain underneath all that obliviousness.

"Tobirama..." The Senju heir started, voice oddly soft, "When you said to 'dance using only our bodies', what did you mean?"

"This is getting ridiculous, anija. How else are we suppose to dance if you're holding onto a shamisen and a fan? I do believe that some people are proficient in using them as weapons, but you have never once practiced with either of them. It is dangerous to use them without-"

"Ok. I get it," Hashirama interrupted before he could go on a full tirade about the cons of using unpracticed weapons even during spars, "You're referring to spars when you say dance. And bodies as in taijutsu. Oh for the love of- Tobirama! What is with your wordings today?! They're twice as confusing! Give me a heart attack, why don't you?!"

"Again, what are you talking about? It is only because your brain is dull that my words confuse you so."

"You clueless idiot... I can't believe my genius of a brother has the emotional capacity of a goldfish and the word phrasing of a toddler," Hashirama facepalmed, looking as if he couldn't believe Tobirama was this dumb.

Completely offended, the albino snarled.

"If anyone is an idiot, it is you, anija! Explain yourself properly!" Truly, this was Madara's insane spiel all over again. Had the two clan heirs both been dropped on their head as infants?

"... Wait here for me while I go and get changed, little brother. We can spar then."

Before Tobirama has any chance to react, Hashirama had already run off, leaving a trail of dust clouds in his wake. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he let loose a frustrated exhale.

While Tobirama was weighing the pros and cons of simply ditching Hashirama in order to attend to his duties, Itama came running over, his cheeks flushed red as he panted with exertion.

"Is something wrong?"

Tobirama stoically asked even as his eyes had already begun their examination, searching his baby brother's body for injuries and the likes.

He paused slightly when he notices a purplish rhombus in the middle of Itama's sweaty forehead, previously hidden by his bangs but now seen due to how clammy his windswept hair was, before moving on with his observations (it wasn't a concern of his if Itama and Madara had matching face tattoos from who knows when. Really. He wasn't feeling betrayed or jealous at all. Honest).

"It's chichi-ue! He's deteriorating rapidly!" Itama announced seriously. 

"Report this to anija. I will go ahead."

Without waiting for Itama to respond, Tobirama sped off in the direction of his father's bedroom.

Tobirama's narrow red eyes were dark, and in his mind, all there currently was were plans being calculated and discarded at a speed that those with average IQ could never keep up with.

"Madara would be glad. Perhaps this news would improve his mood," He ended up muttering under his breath, his lips unconsciously curled into a small smile.

Chapter Text

Madara was ecstatic. The news of Senju Butsuma's death could not have come at a better time! Without further ado, he sent word (via one of his hawk, Touryou, since only the main house lack servants) for Hikari to make an appearance in front of him.

Whilst he relaxedly stood in the middle of the small balcony connected to his private office, basking in the warmth of the afternoon sun, he caresses Toboe's breast feathers. His onyx eyes were gentle when he gazed at the docile red-tail albino hawk perched majestically on his gloved dorsum.

A hastily written note was currently on top of his desk, next to the many piled scrolls and untouched paperwork. Madara smirked; it had been a good decision on his part to train homing pigeons in secret. That was not all he had done in the shadows, however. Another scheme of his that has not seen the light of day was his personal brainwashed moles.

The benefits of having loyal undercover agents working as servants for other shinobi clans had been something Madara had implemented as soon as his chakra reserves were big enough for him to impart his will onto gullible civilians via genjutsu and seals.

Whenever he was out on missions, he would constantly seek out street rats (the younger the better) to use as sleeper agents, causing 'coincidental' and 'tragic' encounters to pull at one's heartstrings.

Shinobi may have been trained to be hired killers and soldiers of war, but ultimately, unlike Madara who perceive others to be pawns on his chessboard, they were still human and would take pity on the starving civilian orphans struggling to survive out on the streets.

"It's funny how my plans all come together so easily in this life," He whispered in satisfaction, his lips brushing softly against Toboe's white wings.

When he heard a meek and feminine voice outside his shoji doors, Madara called for his expected guest to enter whilst also turning to face her. Hikari did so with her head bowed low and her body language radiating unease. He had predicted such a reaction, hence he only gazed at her with frosty eyes.

The reason for her fearful behavior and his blunt disdain was not unfounded. She had, after all, done him a great disservice by breaking their contract. One that they had mutually agreed on: to cohabitate as housemates rather than spouses.

In fact, she should be groveling at his magnanimity when he decided to spare her life. If he had not experienced so many hardships and lived through so many wars brought by vengeance, her continuous survival in Madara's household could not be assured after that vile wrongdoing.

That incident had happened two months ago - and the result was apparent.

After that, she has wisely limited all interactions with him and his brothers as much as possible. However, as a sensor second only to Senju Tobirama, the subtle formation of tiny chakra networks around her abdominal region was too obvious.

"Madara-sa-"

"Who gave you the permission to call me by my name? Or rather, who gave you permission to speak at all?"

Madara's pair of onyx eyes flashed crimson, the veins of his forehead throbbing in pure fury when the memory of that night appeared suddenly in his mind, the vivid evocation of his name being whispered over and over again by her was disgusting.

It made him gnash his teeth in anger.

When Hikari saw his darkening expression, she flinched and hunched her shoulders to appear as pitiful and small as possible.

It took a painfully long time for Madara to compartmentalize and calm down, but after he did, he allowed for his lips to curve into a slight yet cruel smile.

Today was a good day, and it shan't be spoilt by the likes of her.

Thanks to one of his pigeon's swift delivery, by the end of this week, Tajima would be buried six feet under and Madara would officially be crowned the clan head. He could not help but allow a faint giggle to slip past his lips, the madness and excitement in his eyes hard to contain.

Finally, finally, he could shrug off all the restrictive chains and act accordingly.

With his chin tipped upwards, he looked down his nose at Hikari as if she was something less than human. Toboe too gave her a piercing stare, looking away not a minute later as if he had deemed her unworthy of any attention.

Although Madara wanted so badly to be rid of her, the life in her womb stopped him from doing anything rash. She still has her uses despite the disgusting feeling he gets whenever he sees her. He only needed to wait another seven months before he could throw her to his beloved raptors to feast upon.

Besides, he had already placed a seal at the back of her tongue; disallowing her from talking to anyone about her daily activities here in Madara's household.

Before Madara could kindly inform her about the acts she would be compiled into maneuvering, the shoji door leading into his office slid open. Izuna came strutting inside as if he owned the place, which only made Madara sigh indulgently, the insanity in his eyes hidden behind the shadow of his fringe.

"Tadaima, aniki!" Izuna grinned from ear to ear, "Didja miss me?!"

Izuna completely ignored the blood splatters on his person and lunged at Madara for a hug. The Uchiha heir didn't bother to dodge, only resigning himself to be covered in the blood of his brother's victims. Toboe squawked indignantly when he was knocked into the air, flying out the window after giving Izuna a few angry pecks.

"Okaerinasai, Izuna. You know very well that I constantly ache to acquaint you with our newly dug koi pond."

"Aniki is always so mean to me. What do Ryouta, Taku, and Yaku have that I don't?"

"Cuteness," Madara deadpanned, voice slightly muffled against Izuna's shoulder.

Izuna puffed out his cheeks in mock anger, "Excuse you! I am, and forever will be, cute!"

"Just keep saying that, Izu. Who knows maybe one day, it'll come true," Madara chuckled whilst fondly patting his little brother's back, "Anyway, are you hurt anywhere?"

"Do my feelings count?"

"No."

"Demon."

"Your compliment makes me blush."

"..."

At Izuna's speechless face, Madara smirked. Teasing Izuna has always brought him much entertainment. However, they should not get side-tracked.

"So, did something happen for you to come back early?" Madara worriedly cupped his younger brother's blood-stained cheeks, staring straight into a pair of similar onyx eyes.

Tajima had given Izuna a full week to complete a bandit extermination mission just outside the Uchiha territory. But it has only been three days since his departure.

This could only mean that Izuna has completed his assignment and intentionally returned early - which was something Izuna would never do in a million years. The younger Uchiha prefers to play around the red light districts until the very last minute, only returning when due.

"O ye of little faith," Izuna pouted for a couple of seconds, before abruptly turning serious, "The information supplied to us was inaccurate. We'll need to launch an investigation on the client. If I had not been bored and pushed for the mission, Tatsumaki, who otou-san has selected beforehand, would not have survived this."

Madara gave his brother's cheeks one last caress before he walked behind his desk and sat down.

"Elaborate," he demanded whilst he rested his elbows atop his mahogany desk and his chin on his intertwined fingers. Izuna instinctually straightened his posture, completely ignoring Hikari who was now standing awkwardly near the doors (not daring to leave, yet at the same time not daring to ask for permission to leave).

"Judging by the way the bandits moved, I suspect that they had been trained formally in the shinobi arts. Or rather, I do not believe that they are actually bandits. Perhaps a minor clan hired to act like bandits. I've captured the presumed leader and handed him to Hikaku for further interrogation."

"Since you have fought him in battle, you should roughly know his personality. How soon do you reckon he will he break?"

"He's stubborn, that's for sure. However, he is not fully trained to guard against genjutsu. I believe that Hikaku would be able to crack his head open after a few days."

"Hn. I suspect that that is not all?"

"Aniki is right," Izuna gave a wry smile, "The estimated strength of the enemies was also wrong - there were at least three times the numbers stated. The reason why I am able to come out partially unscathed was due to my training under you, aniki. For those of Tatsumaki's level, it would've been suicide."

"... Other than myself, who else have you told about this?"

"Nobody. I had a feeling you would not like it if I reported this matter to otou-san or his aide."

"Good instincts. I've indeed raised you well," Madara leaned back against his seat with narrowed eyes, "I smell an infestation of pests in our backyard."

"The upper echelons?"

"Perhaps. My gut, however, tells me that their servants' quarters would have more of a stench."

"Why though? I don't understand the connection... All that effort used to insert themselves into our midst, screw up our intel - just to get our eyes? It'll be easier to just sneak in, gouge out a few pairs of eyes, and sneak out in the middle of the night."

"No," At Izuna's confused expression, Madara elaborated, "Not entirely. You might not know this since you have never encountered veteran hunters before, but in my experience, seasoned dōjutsu thieves would often than not work in a four-man cell when their aim is a singular Uchiha party. They would also have a medic-nin specialized in enucleation with them. The Sharingan is useless if not activated, hence their aim is to give us a killing blow at the right moment-"

Since nobody but Tobirama and (then)Hashirama noticed that the Uchiha clan were far more emotional than they portray themselves to be. It would be a major clusterfuck if their enemies discover that the Sharingan could be triggered by intense emotional distress.

"-since it is also useless to implant a deactivated Sharingan into the sockets of a non-Uchiha, as they do not have the right cranial nerves to control our eyes. Hence my point: the more manpower they have, the more likely it is that they are prepared to abduct someone alive and in generally good health despite their own casualties. Quantity over quality for hunters could only mean one thing."

Izuna immediately went pale at the insinuation.

"Bloodline thieves," The younger Uchiha whispered hoarsely.

Nothing was worse than being forced to become another clan's breeding horse.

It would be a far kinder fate for an Uchiha to have their eyes gouged after death than to remain alive and have their children be raised as disposable fodder against their own kin (unless that particular Uchiha was defective like Tajima).

"Indeed. If this hypothesis of mine is all true, I fear that... who was it again?"

"Tatsumaki."

"Yes, I fear that Fubuki-"

"It's Tasumaki."

"-is not the only one who has been targetted... This is not a good thing, Izuna. I'll need Ryouta to replace Hikaku - and be sure to inform him that I expect fruitful results in an hour's time."

Izuna furrowed his brow, "Does that mean you'll authorize the use of those approaches?"

"I trust Ryouta to know the limits, even if he has to get a little rough," Madara says sternly.

"But... If others know about Ryouta's involvement or the methods he uses..."

Madara understood Izuna's hesitancy.

Although Madara phrased it in such a nice way, in their violent world, 'a little rough' would be interpreted as 'do whatever it takes as long as the prisoner remains alive'. For those who have a weak heart, it would be career-suicide to assign them such a task.

As for why Madara gave this interrogation to Ryouta... Unlike how motherly and duteous his second younger brother was, inwardly, he was an extreme sadist.

After having learned of Ryouta's interest in all matters regarding T&I, Madara had taught him all that he knew about extracting intel from a person. Be they by physical or mental means.

And because Ryouta, as soon as he was assigned to the Intel Unit, would have his head full of confidential info, Madara was obliged to train him in counter-interrogation and escape techniques as well. Some of their clansmen in that unit had paled and barfed all over themselves when they coincidentally stumbled upon Madara dishing out those techniques to Ryouta.

Madara's training, as usual, was not for the weak of heart (whilst being mentally strong was a quality that all shinobi required to function properly, torture was something many would blanch at no matter how 'safe' the training environment was).

Although Madara was protective of his family, he would not overstep the line and cross into the territory of smothering them. After all, too much love could weaken them. The only way to survive in this harsh era was to guide his little brothers when they are young and push them down the cliff as soon as he deemed them ready to survive the fall.

With an exhausted sigh, Madara rubbed his aching temples, "I am not fond of repeating myself, Izuna."

"The aftermath won't be pretty if you approve this. With all due respect, I ask that you reconsider, aniki. Think about your reputation as the clan heir. You're already being called a 'faulty' Uchiha."

That was true. But did Madara have time to concern himself about his reputation when lives were currently at risk? There had already been three KIA reports this month, their bodies not found due to one reason or another.

Therein lies the problem.

One report may be excused. Two reports in a short timeframe may be due to bad luck. Three reports, however, was a conspiracy. Fubuki may very well have been a fourth victim if Izuna had not stepped in.

What if all those three reported clansmen had been captured and detained without Tajima and his lackey's know so? Madara was frustrated and wishes he could send out a few squads to investigate those deaths ASAP. But first and foremost, he needed to flush out the infestation of rats in his home prior to doing anything that could cause a leak.

Who, other than Izuna, could he trust to send out to investigate this matter? That was the main question as one mistake could throw everything into disarray.

"Reputation?" He chuckled without humor, his Sharingan flashing for a microsecond, "Why should I give two shites about a reputation that has already been dragged through the mud?"

"Tsk," Izuna clicked his tongue, clearly displeased, "It's because you refuse to correct their assumptions and misunderstandings! Are you going to keep quiet again? Just like how you turn a blind eye when the Intel Unit began spreading stupid shit like how you constantly mistreat Ryouta? That's fucking ridiculous! Do they not have eyes?! You were only training hi-"

"Focus, Izuna. Don't get side-tracked. Is there anything else to report?" Madara purposefully looked away, busying his hands with folding the note his pigeon had delivered.

His younger brother pursed his lips into a thin line, but ultimately shook his head in negative.

"No. Should I investigate the client?"

"Leave that to Hikaku. Before you go, I'll trouble you with burning this for me," Madara passes the note to Izuna, who stored it inside his sleeves without looking.

"Understood. I'll be taking my leave now, sir."

"Good work, soldier," Before Izuna could take another step, Madara licked the bottom of his lips and spoke in a tentative manner, not at all eager for them to part on such tensed terms, "Izu? I've been craving for inarizushi lately."

The younger Uchiha froze.

It took a few tensed seconds before he responded, a wide grin on his face and his professional shinobi mask nowhere to be found, "Then we should pick a date for the five of us to have a picnic! It's been a while since we've gone on a family outing. I'll be sure to bring the ingredients required for Ryouta to cook your favorite food, aniki."

"Un. I appreciate all your effort, otouto."

The second Izuna closed the shoji door behind of him, Madara's eyes were instantly upon Hikari, the gentleness that had been there when speaking with Izuna now replaced by frost.

When she notices his attention, she immediately bowed her head, a layer of cold sweat appearing on her forehead.

"Now then... This is what you are going to do for me, my dear and loyal wife."

Hikari shuddered, her entire body shaking like a leaf as she stared straight into those abyss-like eyes.

Chapter Text

Uchiha Hikari felt both pleased and nervous when the name of her marriage partner was revealed last night by her honorable grandfather, Uchiha Akio, one of the five respected Uchiha elders. Although she has been raised from young with the anticipation of being their clan heir's wife, the promise of Tajima-sama's words made it real.

It was, without a doubt, an honor to marry him. Madara-sama was their clan's strongest warrior. And despite being two years younger than him, she believes that with her wifely devotion and etiquette training, she would be able to act like a proper lady and not let him down.

Her immediate family members, too, were all joyful to hear that Hikari would be marrying into the main house, but there still lies a worry at the forefront of their minds due to the many rumors circulating about Madara-sama. Bad ones.

For example, one of the many revolting rumors was that he did not have any emotions and would not hesitate to kill his own brothers if they so much as look at him wrong.

However, Akio-jiisama has assured them repeatedly that although Madara-sama was a distant and frigid man, he was still, at the base, an Uchiha, and by default, an Uchiha was loyal to their family and loved ones.

In order for their Sharingan to evolve, they have to feel intense emotions; most of which were likely to be love (she was surprised to hear from her honorable grandfather that Madara-sama even has the Sharingan, as many of her fellow clansmen believe that he was one of those defective 'unawakened' ones).

Hence, Akio-jiisama emphasized that Hikari should not believe in any of those rumors that denounce Madara-sama's reputation, voices that called him faulty. An emotionless Uchiha could never grow to be that powerful. And while many whisper about Madara-sama only having homosexual urges, Hikari doubted that (surely, they were simply jealous of Madara-sama's talents and pure ancestry).

Madara-sama was a warrior, never one to sit still and always departing for missions and war - never having much time for debauchery. Thus, Hikari believes that Madara-sama was simply inexperience in the areas of pleasure rather than ill in the head (no sane man would ever love his own gender. That was simply disgusting and unnatural).

Furthermore, Akio-jiisama told her repeatedly that Madara-sama has never once disobeyed the orders of the clan elders and head - the perfect weapon to harness against those wretched Senju. And Hikari held high respects for Madara-sama, who sacrificed so much for their clan.

"Remember your training, Hikari," Her mother suddenly said as she continues to comb through Hikari's long, beautiful hair, "You will be Madara-sama's beautiful bride. Be sure to fulfill your womanly duties and serve him to your best abilities - bring pride to our family. You must give birth to many of his sons, Hikari."

"I won't disappoint you nor Akio-jiisama, haha-ue."

Mother and daughter both smiled pleasantly at each other, both in their own imaginary world where Madara-sama was clan head and Hikari's son their clan's treasured heir.

The child born from Madara-sama and Hikari would no doubt be beautiful, regal, and strong. That, she has no doubt.

A week flew by in the speed of light.

Preparations were perfected as the women cleaned and decorated for the much-anticipated wedding between their clan's heir and one of the honorable elders' granddaughters, also known as one of their clan's top beauty (Hikari was not shy to call herself a beauty even in her own mind, as that was a fact).

Hikari sat still on the zabuton as her mother did her bridal makeup and hair, her gaze never once wavering from the mirror that showed a reflection of a regal lady in a beautiful and elegant shiromuku.

All five of her siblings, on the other hand, were excitedly chattering around the duo, their conversation varies, but it was mostly about the members of the main house. Thanks to Hikari, they would all be in-laws, and that meant that they could get to know Madara-sama's younger brothers more intimately.

The marriage would also elevate their family's hierarchy within the clan, making them second only to the main house.

"Hikari-neesama! You'll have to invite us into your home whenever possible!" Hitomi, their family's second eldest daughter, gushed in an infatuated manner, "Aahh, to have a close-up view of Izuna-sama... That will be a dream come true!"

Indeed. Hikari secretly agreed that Izuna-sama was one of the most handsome people in their clan. Not needing to mention how super friendly he was, frequently chatting with the civilians even as he made his almsgiving rounds. She and the other unwedded girls would often look at him with gazes full of longing.

"What are you talking about, nee-san?! Just a close-up view? Hah! Aim higher and have a conversation with him! You might never know if you'll pique his interest," Hiiro, their family's eldest son and a shinobi, wiggled his eyebrows in a lecherous manner.

Her siblings all laughed when Hitomi imitated a tomato, stuttering denials as she shyly covered her face with her hands. Before any of them could tease Hitomi further, there was a pleasant voice calling from outside Hikari's shoji doors, requesting to enter.

Her mother checked Hikari's make-up and hair one last time before granting permission. The person, who they all assumed to be a servant, softly slid open the door and walked into the room with a grace that exhibits his shinobi training.

Everyone was shocked to see that it was Ryouta-sama who came, doing the duties of a lowly servant rather than that of a respected shinobi. Or rather, it was generally shocking to see the fifteen-year-old at all since Ryouta-sama was rarely seen outside the main residence or the Intel Unit building, too busy with his duties to mingle with the community.

Hikari was older than Ryouta-sama by a year, but despite his younger age, she could appreciate his graceful features. Truly, all of the main house members were beautiful in their own way. She was looking forward to seeing how Madara-sama turned out to be - as nobody could actually tell her what he looks like except for his wild, untamed hair.

"I-I apologize for letting Ryouta-sama inconvenience himself by coming all the way here," Her mother was the one who recovered first and reacted. Snapping back from their daze, all of them were quick to follow her example and bowed to show their respect to him.

Ryouta-sama smiled sweetly while waving off the apology, "Please, raise your heads. Hikari-san will soon become Madara-ani's wife, and us family by marriage."

"Y-yes, Ryouta-sama. It is as you say. May I know if you will be the one who escorts her to the venue?"

"Hikari-san is a very important individual right now. This is the least I can do, no? It should have been Izuna-niisama in my place, but unfortunately, he is currently in charge of security."

Hikari, along with her family, relaxed at his words.

True enough, they should've realized that a mere servant could never represent the status of the main house. This wedding was an important one for their entire clan. The risk of an assassin pretending to be a servant was high. Hence, for the main house to send someone of Ryouta-sama's calibre as her escort-slash-bodyguard was a huge favor to their family.

This could also be seen that the main house approved of the bride, which meant that Hikari was now something like the Uchiha clan's princess, someone meant to be protected and showered with love. It made her want to puff her chest out in pride, but she held herself back.

After all, it would not do to show anything but modesty when in front of someone that was of a higher rank than her (for now).

"Thank you for your kindness and time, Ryouta-sama," Hikari returned his smile and stepped closer to the younger Uchiha, "Do we leave now?"

"Yes."

When she turned to address her family, she missed the frost that flashed through Ryouta's pair of bottomless onyx eyes - the eyes of a T&I officer who had seen something he disliked. If someone were to see this cruel and sadistic personality of his, they would no doubt run for the hills.

Thankfully on her part, when she turned to face him, he was already back to his 'cute' and 'friendly' self.

As soon as they arrived at the shrine, her eyes immediately landed on the groom, standing loftily at the front in his dashing montsuki.

Madara-sama, for once, has his mane tied into a high ponytail. The hairstyle forced him to reveal his handsome and sharp features (was the rhombus on his forehead a temporary wedding decoration of some kind?), which only made Hikari's heart further quicken, her cheeks no doubt red from shyness.

To have the honor of marrying someone with such gorgeous features... The women of their clan would no doubt envy her once they lay their eyes on Madara-sama at the reception later on, as the ritual and vows were for immediate family only.

Although Hikari wanted to quickly stand next to her groom, she forcefully held herself back and strode elegantly towards Madara-sama.

Finally, her dream of marrying into the main house was coming true (although deep in her heart, she had kinda hoped that she could be married to Izuna; the Uchiha clan's heartthrob and most desirable bachelor).

The time has come for them to celebrate their first night together.

Hikari was nervously anticipating the arrival of her newly wedded husband. She was currently inside Madara-sama's bedroom, in seiza and on his (their) futon, facing the shoji doors with a tempting curl of her lips. She waited patiently for him, the time ticking away until it reached an hour, which soon turned into two, which then became three.

Midnight had long passed, yet there was still no sign of Madara-sama. Hikari has long lost her smile, her posture slack as she bit her bottom lip anxiously, thinking of all the gossip it would garner if they did not consummate on the first night of their marriage.

Just as she decided to make a move to search for her missing husband, the shoji door slid open, revealing Madara-sama who was still in his ceremonial attire.

She was quick to smile at him, albeit slightly strained.

"Madara-sama," She executed a perfect saikeirei for three seconds, bowing at a 45° angle from her seiza position, the tips of her fingers placed delicately on the floor in front of her knees with her thumbs touching, "This wife greets her husband."

Before she could even begin her flattery, Madara-sama held up a hand to stop her. She tilted her head in confusion but obeyed nonetheless.

"I've kept you waiting."

Hikari couldn't help the shiver of anticipation from showing when she heard Madara's slightly husky baritone. His voice was extremely pleasant to the ear - rich and almost seductive, even.

"N-not at all, Madara-sama," She bowed her head while at the same time peeking at him shyly, "I know you have many important matters lined up in your tight schedule. I should be the one thanking you for taking the time to come and greet me."

"I value those who understand."

Suddenly, Hikari's cheeks flushed with color. The reason was due to Madara-sama's barely there smile. She so badly wanted to fidget in place, as her womanhood was no doubt soaked from the sex appeal Madara-sama was oozing.

"I thank you for your praise," Hikari responded in a subservient manner.

When he took a step inside and slid close the shoji door, she didn't care to conceal the way her eyes were focused solely on him. She waited with bated breath as he shrugged off his attire, layer by layer, until he was only in his fundoshi.

Hikari hungrily devoured him with her eyes.

She gazes intently at his sinewy arms, long legs, and a delicious six-pack on his abdomen - his body was all firm and tight with muscles and not an ounce of fat could be seen. That was, no doubt, the body of a veteran shinobi. The proof of his strength came from the lack of visible scars, almost non-existent on his milky white skin.

Unexpectedly, Madara-sama's body was also riddled in various inked patterns and designs. In her opinion, the tattoos only enhanced his natural beauty. They tempted her to lick and nibble and savor all of him.

Just as she slipped a portion of her kimono off her slim shoulders, teasingly revealing a portion of her alluring skin... Madara-sama turned away to open his wardrobe. He then slipped into a pair of shinobi pants and high collared mantle - an attire worn when an Uchiha warrior was prepared to go on a mission or leave the compound.

"I-Is Madara-sama leaving for a mission?" She rushed to question him, unwilling to conceal the dishearten expression on her face. Hopefully, he could hear the dismay in her tone and change his mind.

"Hn," Was all Madara-sama said before he jumped out the window and left without looking back.

Hikari's shoulders slumped in disappointment.

'But,' she suddenly clenched her fists, her eyes filled with determination, 'I would not be discouraged that easily!'

With her gorgeous looks and alluring curves, which man could ever deny her? She would get him to eat out of her palms by the end of this month!

Two months after their marriage;

"Will you be available tonight, Madara-sama?"

"I have a meeting with the war council. Don't wait up for me."

"Your wife understands."

xxx

Four months after their marriage;

"Please allow me to assist you in cleaning up, Madara-sama."

"Hn."

"May I ask how your mission went?"

"Well."

"Then tonight-"

"I am too tired."

"I understand. Rest well."

xxx

Sixth months after their marriage;

"Should I disrobe myself or would you prefer to be the one to do so, Madara-sama? I do not mind either way."

"Keep them on. The twins will be arriving soon."

"Oh."

xxx

Eight months after their marriage;

"Madara-sama. After dinner-"

"I'll be with Ryouta. He needs help with his calligraphy."

"... Understood."

xxx

Ten months after their marriage;

"Izuna-sama? I apologize for interrupting your lunch, but do you perchance know where Madara-sama is?"

"Aniki? Sorry, Hikari-san. You just missed him. Aniki has already left for a mission. It'll be a long one so don't get your hopes up."

"I... understand. Thank you for telling me."

xxx

A year after their marriage;

"Does Madara-sama dislike me, Ryouta-sama?"

"Hmm. You have to understand that anija is a very busy person."

"I am his wife yet I rarely see him nowadays..."

"Indeed you are, Hikari-san. However, do remember that Madara-ani is our clan's heir and war general. You'll have to excuse him as he has more meetings, missions, and appointments than the average person. Anija has too much on his plate - too many duties to attend to. But don't worry, Hikari-san. I'll drop word to him that you are concern about his health."

"I apologize if I seem to be whining."

"No, not at all. We are family, are we not?"

"Y-yes. Thank you, Ryouta-sama. You are truly kind."

Hikari stood outside of their shared bedroom, near the koi pond, distractedly watching the fishes as they swam around leisurely. She allowed her thoughts to wander while she bathed in the morning sun.

It has been a year and two months since she was wedded, yet her body was left untouched by her husband. Sometimes, she would wonder if Madara-sama found her lacking, but that reasoning seemed off. As whenever she went shopping for groceries, most men would often be ensnared by her beauty. So she knew it was not her appearance that was at fault.

Furthermore, he did not treat her with scorn - always polite and considerate of her feelings (yet at the same time distant). There were many times, whenever she felt neglected, he would walk around the residence with her or take her out to dinner like any other couple. But after that, Madara-sama would always leave, never stepping foot into their shared bedroom.

Really, she has no idea how to go about and ask Madara-sama to impregnate her - as desperate as that sounded, even in her own head.

Whenever she sees him - as sparse as it was nowadays - she couldn't help her heart from speeding up. Truly, the man was too good-looking for his own good. Her respect for him had slowly turned into infatuation after the many dinner dates they had, and that adoration had morphed into love whenever he touches her arm or shoulder in passing (or was that lust?).

She sighed, not at all looking forward to her mother's monthly visit this afternoon.

Haha-ue has been nagging her as of late, constantly questioning if she was with child. Tajima-sama, too, was becoming impatient. However, how could she possibly be so bold and tell them that she was still pure in body? That Madara-sama has yet to sleep in the same futon with her even at this stage?

That would, without a doubt, cause both Madara-sama and her great humiliation. Besides, nobody but the parties involved needed to know about her nightly activities with the clan heir - or lack thereof.

"We need to talk."

Hikari squeaked and faced the speaker simultaneously, her hands patting her chest as if that would help to reduce the racing of her heart. When she saw that it was only Madara-sama (his hair was in a messy braid - lucky!), she smiled and bowed politely in greeting.

"Hello, Madara-sama. It always is a pleasant surprise to see you. Did you just return from one of Izuna-sama's grooming sessions?"

"Hn."

Madara-sama stiffly nodded, arms crossed over his chest in an imposing manner as he gazes into her eyes, black meeting black. Hikari could feel her cheeks warm up at the intensity of his stare, and the urge to wrap her arms around his shoulders and kiss him silly was hard to diffuse the longer they maintained eye contact.

However, she knew that that was not something she could do without his consent. All shinobi, after all, were twitchy creatures.

Their survival instincts have no off-button, so to speak (especially for someone like Madara-sama, who was brought up in the battlefield and baths in the blood of their enemies on a daily basis). There were many cases where the spouses of shinobi were killed unintentionally due to accidental touches. Hikari was smart enough to avoid raising a death flag by unnecessary bodily contact.

So she stilled her hands by folding and placing them on her obi.

"I will get straight to the point. Hikari, let us enter a contract to coexist as friends under the same roof rather than spouses."

Hikari perked up when he spoke her name, but the following made her flinch. She panicked, a million thoughts raced inside her head as she fought back her tears.

"A-Am I not to Madara-sama's l-liking?" She whispered hoarsely, biting back the instinct to grasp at his sleeves in a fit of childish tantrum, "If there is anything I did to displease you, please allow me to rectify my mista-"

"Stop. You did nothing wrong."

"Then why...?"

Madara-sama's face, as per usual, was devoid of any emotion. He was silent for a long moment, the tension between them raising as minutes ticked by. Ever so slowly, Madara-sama began to uncross his arms, before withdrawing a handkerchief from his billowing sleeves.

She didn't notice she was crying until Madara-sama began drying her tears for her. Embarrassed to have shown her vulnerability, she clenched her eyes shut and took several deep breaths. Once she felt that she was calm enough to speak without stuttering, she opened her eyes and spoke.

"Do you, perchance, have another person in your heart?"

The Uchiha heir tilted his head to the side, his blank yet handsome features revealing nothing. Again, there was a painful silence between them. She began gnawing on her bottom lip, the feelings of denial and betrayal causing her to tear up yet again.

"I have remained faithful to our vows, if that is what you are truly asking."

"Pardon me for my insolence, but it is hard to believe in your words when you refuse to bed me. How would I truly know if you are simply too tired after a mission or if you had someone else take care of your needs?"

She knew she had stepped out of line when his eyes narrowed into slits, but her emotions were making it hard for her to think properly. She loves Madara-sama with all her heart - and for him to clearly state that he desires to only be friends... it was a blow to her feelings and womanly pride.

If others were to find out about this, she would be labeled as a wife who had spectacularly failed to satisfy her husband. But, could she be blamed when it was her husband who refuses to give her a chance to satisfy his needs?

"I'll forgive your discourtesy this time... as I can see that you are clearly distressed by the news I bear. I will seek your presence tomorrow and we shall continue our discussion then, Hikari."

Before she could say anything - to either rebuke or beg, she didn't know - Madara-sama has already departed, even his silhouette could not be seen. There and then, she crumpled to her knees and sobbed into her sleeves, her heart clouded in despair.

After all, deep inside, she already knew that Madara-sama would never touch nor adore her in a way only a lover would. She simply was in denial.

"What a cruel man you are, Madara-sama," She whispered into the wind as her tears continuously rolled down her cheeks.

xxx

In the end, Hikari, with great reluctance, agreed to enter a cohabitation contract with him - though there was a condition to sleep in the same room.

Madara-sama, also with great reluctance, accepted her condition, but he was persistent that they sleep on different futons. Hikari knew she could not push further than that, hence she ultimately conceded.

Beyond everything else, Hikari would continue to try her best to make him fall in love with her (as futile as it sounds). Or worst-case scenario, she would think of something else in order to remain as his wife. Hikari refuses to leave the main house and she refuses to let their current relationship deteriorate into simple friendship.

She refuses.

******TRIGGER WARNING FOR THE NEXT SECTION******

Hikari went through her day like usual; she cooked, she cleaned, she did the laundry, she went grocery shopping, she talked about politics over tea, etcetera. There was not a single activity she did that was out of place, fulfilling her duties as the heir's wife.

When evening came around, she set the table with all of Madara-sama's favorite food, seeing that Tajima-sama and all of her brothers-in-law were currently out on missions. She mentally patted herself on the back for a job well done and hopes that Madara-sama would praise her food this time.

Unfortunately, he was silent throughout the meal, only grunting and 'hn'-ing in response to her chatters. She was in a good mood tonight, hence she did not kick up a fuss.

After dinner, she cleaned up and retired early for the night, while Madara-sama retreated to his office.

When Madara-sama finally returned to their shared bedroom, he slipped silently into his futon. There were no sounds to be heard other than Hikari's breathing. But then, just as the timer in Hikari's head hit 0, she heard a soft rustling coming from Madara-sama's side of the room.

Hikari cautiously cracked an eye open and turned to face her husband. Although it was dark, her eyes have already adjusted and like any other Uchiha, even for the civilians, she was born with naturally good vision.

For the very first time, she saw Madara-sama struggle to push himself into a seating position, only to fall back abruptly as if he was a puppet whose strings were cut. His yukata looked damp with sweat and his face was flushed with exertion.

For someone so dominant to show such a weak side... This vulnerability was making her blood sing. With slow movements, she slithered out from her covers and carefully approached him.

"Madara-sama? Are you in pain?" Her voice was but a mere whisper.

Usually, at this point in time, Madara-sama would deny any and all of her concerns. But now, he only panted on the futon, eyes glazed, pupils dilated, and dark hair fanned around him like he was a bewitching model preparing to be drawn on a portrait.

It seems that Akio-jiisama has fulfilled his part. Now, it was her turn - and hopefully, she would not mess up.

With her heart thumping in nervous anticipation, she recalls Akio-jiisama's prior instructions. Her trembling fingers dug into her pillow cover, retrieves a syringe that was already loaded with an unknown liquid of some kind, and injects the contents directly into Madara-sama's arm - before scrambling away in case he reacted fast enough to snap her neck.

The result was immediate.

Madara-sama gasped, head lolling to one side as the rapid and long-acting drug awoken his libido while at the same time paralyzing his movements temporarily.

Now that she was sure of his immobility, she retrieves a paper bracelet from her pillow cover and tied it around Madara-sama's wrist. His chakra was instantly sealed, leaving him helpless and in her mercy. If she had been an assassin, this would have been his end.

"Luckily, I am Madara-sama's wife," She giggled while simultaneously pushing the hair out of his face. He truly was gorgeous. The baby produced by them would, without a doubt, be beautiful, "Don't worry, Madara-sama. I'll soon help you relieve yourself."

Eager to start, she removes the covers from his body and untied the obi belt from Madara-sama's yukata. She couldn't help but grin from ear to ear, feeling as if she was opening a present. A very sexy present.

With gentle movements, she trailed a hand up Madara-sama's abs, loving the feel of hard muscles against her palm. His amazing body trembled under her touch, which prompted her to quicken her pace. Was he as eager as she was?

"Does this feel good, Madara-sama?" Hikari licked her lips as she palmed his straining erection. Knowing full well that Madara-sama was not in any condition to talk or do anything but lay there, she helped him free his manhood from his fundoshi and positioned herself atop of him.

Not wanting to hurt herself, she was careful when she pushed his length into her wet cavern. She gasped at the painful intrusion and stretch at first, but after a few moments, she only felt full. After adjusting, she began rocking her lower body tentatively - and it made Madara-sama grunt in pleasure, much to her delight.

(Madara had his eyes clenched shut, and due to her excitement, she failed to notice the single tear that escaped and mixed together with his sweat.)

"Madara-sama... Madara-sama... Madara-sama..." She repeatedly panted and moaned into his ear, loving the heat that traveled up her spine, through her hardened nipples, and into her very core.

The night progressed in this fashion, and whenever Madara-sama so much as twitch his fingers or had gone soft after cumming, she would pump more drugs into his system - which made him a drooling mess with blown pupils by the end of their coupling.

As soon as the sun began to rise, she got dressed, got rid of all evidence, and left the residence for her family home with a smile on her lips.

They had planned this for months, and Akio-jiisama warned that once the drugs have left Madara-sama's system, it would be dangerous to remain near him.

But she need not worry for long. His anger would only last for a short while. Akio-jiisama had reassured her that in due time, Madara-sama would come to love and treasure her - as soon as she gives birth to his child.

She giggles happily as she skips towards her destination, not minding how Madara-sama's essence was dripping down her thighs underneath her kimono.

Chapter Text

The office was filled with the smell of incense and matcha leaves.

Madara, Izuna, and Ryouta were seated in a circle, surrounding a low table with a ceramic tea set atop of it; filled with bitter matcha tea that Izuna hated but the other two love.

At the corner of the office, somewhat hidden by the shadows, the cooling body of their clan head was situated, its empty, bloody, eye sockets staring stupidly at the ceiling. The hole on its chest and the cut on its throat continues to spurt blood once in a while, but the three brothers turned a blind eye to it. There were more important matters to attend to, after all.

Madara had summoned his two younger brothers immediately after performing the deed. After dryly telling the two how sad Madara was to inform them of Tajima unfortunate demise, he laid out his plans and placed a scroll in the middle of the table.

It was a hit list.

Izuna suddenly set his tea bowl down with more force than necessary, lips pursed as he stared straight into Madara's visible eye, "Are you sure about this, aniki?"

The eldest hid his smile behind his own tea bowl, approval glinting in his eyes at the wariness in his little brother's tone. A healthy dose of paranoia and doubt, even towards family, was needed for a shinobi to reach the retirement age.

"Hn," Madara grunted, refilling his tea bowl with the calmness that did not match the topic of their discussion.

"... We've only just exterminated the infestation in our backyard, retrieved all of our kidnapped clansmen from those fucking bloodline thieves, and wiped the clan responsible for that incident. Things are moving too fast for me, aniki. I want to ask 'why now?', but I have a feeling that I'll dislike your damn answer."

Izuna groaned, fingers already rubbing circles on his temples, no doubt experiencing a Madara-induced migraine. Poor Izu. Madara sympathetically patted his brother's shoulder, which earned him a glare. He helplessly retrieved his hand and went back to sipping his tea.

"You're getting old if you can't even keep up with this, nii-san. I find Madara-ani's scheming to be particularly inspiring. I am in complete awe, anija," Ryouta praised, a 'kindly' smile playing on his lips. And although his tone and expression were gentle, the sadistic glint in his eyes betrayed his true feelings, "But can I suggest adding a few more names into the hit list?"

"Absolutely not!" Izuna slammed a hand on the tabletop, annoyance and irritation making his untied hair puff out like a cat's, "A venture to fucking purge a quarter of our clan is more than enough to disorganize the regime! Adding anyone else into the already bleak picture will only cause unnecessary chaos!"

Ryouta ignored the outburst to unroll the scroll that was filled with names, Sharingan activated to memorize its contents, "Must you always be so dramatic, Zuzu? I'm just saying that the fighting will never cease if we do not thoroughly do pest control. Our father's generation and the one before his, even now, continues to spread their toxic traditions to our younger clansmen. It's hideous."

"Stopping the cycle of hatred is important, yes. That, I wholly agree with, otouto. However!" Here, Izuna leaned forwards with his chin resting on his interlocked fingers, appearing highly jaded, "There must be better alternatives. Ridding anymore than what aniki has written would give us a shortage of HR. It would not look good in the records."

"Don't be silly, nii-san. History is written by the victors. Why would we ever deliberately put covert operations into the archives?"

"This is more than a covert operation, Ryouta. It's a revolt." Izuna's eyes flickered to the corpse in the room, sneering at the body, "And how are we going to cover that up?"

"I'm sure anija has already thought of that." Ryouta waved away Izuna's concern. And it was true, anyway. Madara wouldn't move his hand if he hadn't covered all his holes, "Anyway, it'll only be a revolt if we say it's a revolt on the papers."

"We should not be falsifying anything. Records are there for a purpose. Mostly for our descendants to not repeat the mistakes of their ancestors-"

"Madara-ani's reign will be viewed as bloody if we document everything, nii-san," Ryouta interrupted with a growl, sulkily chewing on a rice cracker, "Besides, we can't tamper with official documents if there are none in the first place."

Izuna and Ryouta held eye contact, both expressionless. This lasted for quite some time, with Madara only looking on rather than interfering.

He normally would've spoken up by now and told them that he didn't mind being viewed as a tyrant (he had been abandoned by his clan once, a second time wouldn't matter), but he wanted to see their genuine response without him as the mediator.

Izuna would soon become the clan head after Konohagakure was formed, with Ryouta by his side as his right-hand, so Madara needed the reassurance that his brothers could keep the clan and Village safe without him there to hold their hand.

"Fair enough," Izuna retrieved his tea bowl and took a sip, never once removing his eyes from Ryouta's, "We'll compromise, then."

"Thank you, nii-san," Ryouta smiled before turning away from Izuna to peer at Madara, eyes holding a certain softness that he had to look away from, "A fire?"

"Hn. An accident during training - one katon too much. Unfortunately, the flames spread to the archives, burning down this month's written records." Izuna sighed whilst refilling their tea bowls for them.

Madara nodded his thanks and continues to sip on his tea. It seems that he didn't have to worry about them after he leaves to hunt Zetsu down. Ryouta and Izuna might clash at times, but they would no doubt bring the Uchiha to new heights.

"Alright, back to the subject at hand. We need a way to avoid internal strife. If our movements are visible, the other clans would take advantage of our infighting," Izuna drawled.

"When have I ever said that this will become a civil war? It's only a coup d'état," Ryouta waved off.

Izuna facepalmed, "Isn't that the same thing?"

"Obviously no."

"Oh ho? Then, please, kindly elaborate what you mean by that," Izuna's tone was as dry as the weather in Suna.

Ryouta sighed, more for dramatics than anything else, "Dara-ani must be shaking his head at your lack of brain cells, nii-san. His lessons have been all for naught. How pitiful it is to be the stupid brother in our family."

Izuna glared dangerously when Madara began chuckling at Ryouta's barbed comments. He always did get a good laugh at Izuna's expense - no matter how mean that sounded. Perhaps Ryouta got his sadistic streak from him, hm?

It was only when the poor victim of Ryouta's bullying elbowed him in the ribs did Madara half-heartedly mumble a deny about the rude remark made at Izuna's intelligence. Both his younger brothers seem to not believe him, so Madara went back to drinking his tea.

Ryouta continued smugly, "It's really simple, nii-san; we'll split up and discreetly remove all these nuisances within a single night." Here, Ryouta waved the scroll in Izuna face, causing the latter to swat Ryouta's hand away in annoyance, "By sunrise, Madara-ani will be clan head and nobody can oppose the decision. Since, you know, the oppositions would be dead by then. Hence, there won't be a war. Only a subtle takeover. The other clans won't know anything if we do crowd control before the crowd loses control."

"There is absolutely nothing subtle about this operation," Izuna went back to rubbing his temples, "This sounds like a fucking headache."

"It sounds like fun." Ryouta went back to sipping his tea, completely content with the idea of murdering en masse.

"No, no. Not fun at all. We're killing our relatives, Ryouta. No matter how shitty they are, they're still our kin," Izuna slapped the back of Ryouta's head, causing the latter to accidentally snort his tea, much to Madara's amusement.

The eldest Uchiha brother finally spoke up after Ryouta's coughing subsided, voice thick with humor, "Better parricide than genocide, right?"

Izuna groaned louder whilst Ryouta chortled.

"Hn. Alright, enough messing around. Go arm yourselves, boys. As soon as I'm done with putting the twins to bed, we'll dispose of the garbage that is clogging our compound with their stench."

All three Uchiha had their Sharingan activated, bloodthirsty grins dripping with malice.

In this life, Madara would not give any leeway for any toxic mentality to seep into the minds of the future generation. Another coup shan't happen in the future, and the Uchiha would remain loyal to Konoha. Even if he had to kill innocents from the family of those traditionalists, he would make it happen.

Children under three would be spared since they were still malleable and resilient enough to drill the 'Will of Fire' into them. But for those older than that... Madara could only compartmentalize, knowing that his punishment came in the form of a red moon and neverending nightmares.

"I'm counting on you, Toboe." Madara pressed a loving kiss to the albino hawk's head, earning a trill in response. The bird of prey gave a playful tug at a lock of Madara's long hair, before, with a beat of his powerful wings, flew into the air in a burst of speed.

Madara waited until his feathery companion's silhouette was long gone before he returned to the compound.

The walk back to his house was filled with wary and fearful gazes, his clansmen all moving to avoid him; as if he was carrying a deadly plague on his body. His relationship with his clan had always been strained due to his abnormal strength, but over the years, they had lightened up considerably (especially the civilians, who had not seen him in action before).

Now, however... The memories of his past life in Konoha were constantly overlapping with the present. He made sure his expression was masked by indifference, not wanting anyone to see how badly their change of attitude affected him.

It has been a long time since he receives such cold treatment from his clan, and his chest throbbed painfully despite how mentally and emotionally prepared he had been for this.

The kind old lady who would previously call out to him and hands him fresh fruit and vegetables now and then was carefully avoiding his eye.

("Madara-sama! Please wait, Madara-sama!" Old lady Miyako smiles pleasantly at him as she approaches with hurried steps, in her hands was a basket full of fruits and vegetables, "Thank you for all your hard work today, Madara-sama. This is a small token of appreciation for all you have done for us."

"Your gratitude is more than enough, Miyako-san." Madara tries to refuse. He knew that these were difficult times since this harvest was not as plentiful as last season's.

"Please, this is the least I could do for you. You are far too thin," She pushes the basket into his hands. He could've dodged, but her arms were trembling at their hefty weight, so he didn't.

"... Thank you." His lips curved into a small smile, not minding how she then began to fuss over his hair like a mother cat grooming her youngling.)

The small boy who frequently toddles after him like a duckling, with his mother looking on with exasperated fondness and apology, was now being pushed behind said mother just as Madara walked by, her expression of fear as she hushed her son made his eyes heat up.

("Da-shama, Da-shama! Wai' fo' Mi-kun!" Kagami's hands were outstretched as he toddled after Madara, his slightly curled hair bouncing with every step he took.

Madara couldn't help but slow to a stop, allowing the three-year-old to grab onto his pants and bunch the fabric into his tiny fists. The boy then gave him a gummy grin, reminding him so much of his little brothers that his lips curved into a small, fond smile all on its own.

"What is it, Kagami-chan?" He placed a glove-clad hand on the boy's head, idly wondering if the boy's father was a non-Uchiha as he twirled a lock of curly hair around his finger.

"Upsie! Upsie! Da-shama!" The boy demanded cutely. Before Madara could act upon said demand, far too used to the twins', a woman rushed to them and swooped Kagami into her arms, bowing profusely to Madara.

"I-I'm so sorry, Madara-sama! I looked away for one second and Kagami ended up troubling you again."

Madara waved her apologies away before raising a brow in silent query. She was adept in Uchiha-speak, so without a single word, she handed the toddler to Madara, who settled Kagami on a hip.

"Can I expect him back by dinner, Madara-sama?" Kagami's mother smiled sheepishly as she twirled a lock of hair around her forefinger.

Madara nodded before he jumped onto the rooftops, content when he heard Kagami's gleeful whooping at the rush of wind and adrenaline. By the end of their activity, Kagami's hair was poofier than Madara's, the toddler's gummy grin reaching from ear to ear.)

The young couple who had asked him to 'please name our child, Madara-sama' retreated into their home with a bundle in the woman's arms the second they saw him down the street. They now probably regretted using the name Madara chose for their daughter.

(Madara was taking a walk around the compound with Izuna, talking in whispers to not be overheard by their clansmen. Just as they were about to leave their clan's market place, Madara heard his name being called. They turned to face the caller, blinking when they saw that it was a man with an arm wrapped around the waist of a woman, who was carrying a newborn babe.

Madara recognizes them as everyday passerbys, but their name was completely lost to him. It was Izuna who came to the rescue, ever the social butterfly. They traded greetings and small talk, with Madara remaining silent and nodding once in a while before the couple finally deemed it safe enough to state their purpose.

"It's like this, Madara-sama..." The woman smiled, the corner of her eyes crinkled in a show of happiness, "We were hoping you would name our child and give her your blessing. It would be the utmost honor."

Madara expression was blank.  It took him a few moments for him to process their words, but after he did, he swallowed inaudibly.

He knew that it was Uchiha tradition to go to their clan head and/or heir and get their blessing. This practice allowed for the leaders to remember all of their clansmen, as the Sharingan would never allow them to forget any of their kin. It was similar to citizenship if he needed to explain this tradition to outsiders since, in this time period, they lacked cameras.

But because of Tajima's cold personality and Madara's unapproachable aura, the job tended to fall onto Izuna's lap.

This was the first time someone has approached for Madara's blessing. And a naming, as well.

It was a weird feeling. But it was a good sort of weird.

At Izuna's nudge, Madara nodded hesitantly. The couple smiled wider, happy that he accepted their request.)

It didn't matter who, understandably, nobody wanted to associate themselves with a person who could kill his own kin in cold blood. Even if Hashirama were to accept Madara's cruel nature, the Senju Elders would never accept his offer of an alliance if word got out that Madara murdered Tajima to become clan head.

However, Madara has always been someone who looks at the big picture and schemes for the long run, along with designing contingency plans for his contingency plans. He had already made arrangments to steer the rumors into a more acceptable territory (that way, the other clans would not refuse to join Konoha because they fear Madara's brutality).

This was where Hikari came into the picture. The child she was carrying, Izuna would spread the word that he had caught Tajima and Hikari in a compromising situation. The result was Madara's wrath and Hikari's pregnancy.

It would be more bearable of a rumor for a son to kill their father because said father had an affair with the son's wife. It would, no doubt, bring humiliation to both Madara's and Hikari's marriage situation, but it was better than Madara being labeled a power-hungry madman.

Back-stabbers were feared in the world of shinobi. And all for the wrong reasons. They were, after all, ticking time-bombs.

As for the unborn child in Hikari's womb... Madara would not claim it as his. He would accept it as a younger sibling, but nothing else. This would also protect the child from being the main target of oppositions from both inside and outside the clan.

Being known as Madara's sibling was much better than the alternative. No matter what, he would not allow anyone to call it 'the child of that tyrant'.

Madara closes his eyes, physically blocking out the sight of his clansmen's frightened gazes, and inhaled deeply. He compartmentalizes the feelings of hopelessness, despair, loss, grief, and many other negative emotions he was currently experiencing, and slowly, the constricting in his chest grew dull.

He was fine.

He was alright.

He was Uchiha fucking Madara.

And he would not be defeated by such things.

Chapter Text

The sound of beating wings and a familiar, sharp cry made Itama turn his head towards the noise, his heterochromic eyes gleamed with excitement when he recognizes the bird of prey, a white colored red-tail hawk by the name of Toboe, hovering outside his window.

One second, he was meditating (dozing off) on his futon, and the next, he was by the window and extending an arm for the hawk to perch on. Toboe obeyed the unspoken command, looking mighty regal while at it.

If Itama had not been viciously trained by Dara since he was nine-years-old, he would've winced when the exceptionally sharp talons dug deep into his flesh and drew blood. But because he was far too used to pain, he only smiled lovingly.

"Hello there, Toboe. Shishou truly takes good care of his birds. What soft and beautiful feathers you have," Itama cooed, stroking the hawk's breast feathers and smiling when Toboe puffed out his chest at the praise.

When he found a small note wrapped around Toboe's left leg, so tiny that he almost missed it if he had not specifically looked for it, he gently retrieves it. Resting a hip against the side of the wooden desk Hashi-nii had made for him, Itama skillfully unraveled the note with one hand, not at all surprised to see a small storage seal drawn onto the paper.

Toboe, after all, wouldn't be able to carry anything bulky into the Senju compound without drawing eyes to it. Dara, ever the paranoid shinobi, would always cover his tracks in a very thorough manner (though why he uses a white hawk as a messenger made no sense to Itama. The bird was highly conspicuous).

This particular seal, though seemingly harmless, was anything but.

It was keyed to only Dara's and Itama's chakra signature. If anyone else tries their luck, it would self-destruct (as expected of his shishou, the collateral damage was vicious). Itama had seen the aftermath of that particular incident, causing his wariness to double whenever he sees Tobi-nii or Uzumaki-hime with their sealing supplies.

Anyway, without further ado, he places the small seal on his table and inserted a sliver of his chakra into the paper. Two envelopes and a simple box were unsealed. Itama gently maneuvers Toboe onto his shoulder - ignoring the way Toboe immediately began to preen his two-toned hair - and reached first for the envelope that had his name on it.

Inside was a letter (if it could be called that). Written in a familiar, neat, and cursive script.

Tama,

Hand the other envelope to your iceberg of a brother. If you dare take a peek, I'll break all your bones.

The box is yours. Belated happy birthday, brat. Use it well.

Dara

P.S. Heard you've been naughty. I do hope that you've gotten rid of all the evidence - I would be disappointed otherwise, do. shi. rou. to.

"I wouldn't make sure an amateurish mistake anymore, shishou!" Itama whined, but the corners of his eyes were crinkled in fondness. Having known his shishou for so long, it was always amusing to see how prickly Dara was on the outside, but awkwardly sweet on the inside.

After sliding the other envelope into his pocket with plans of passing it to its intended after dinner, slightly curious about its contents but not suicidal enough to peek (shishou has, in fact, broken a total of 184 of Itama's bones in one sitting before), Itama turned his attention to the inconspicuous box.

Filled with anticipation, he lifted the lid and peered eagerly into the box. Inside was a pair of gloves, an exact copy of Dara's, but dark green in color. Itama hugged the present to his chest and ran circles around his room, squealing his joy. His shishou was the best!

He has always been complaining about how envious he was of Dara's handmade, long-lasting gloves. Itama's own pair would constantly become unusable after a week of wearing them (they were hard to keep intact after punching through so many obstacles).

As expected, his gift was meticulously made with kevlar fabric on the palms' side and smooth leather on the outside. On the inside, silk threads were knitted in specific patterns to form the inner layer of the glove; as if they were many tiny seals (far too complex for him to figure out) woven covertly.

He knows that he should get a seal master like his awesome Tobi-nii to look at it before wearing anything potentially dangerous, but Itama trusts his shishou with his life.

With a grin that stretches from ear to ear, he slipped them onto his hands, marveling at how they hugged his fingers comfortably. The size was perfect.

Just as he was about to hide the box inside his wardrobe, the door to his room was boisterously slammed open. The culprit dashed inside and grabbed his glove-clad hands, tears in his eyes and full-on pouty lips being shoved into Itama's face.

"Itamaaaaaa~!" Kawarama cried, looking amusingly pathetic as he sobbed with snot and tears running down his face. What a sight. Itama bit his bottom lip, furiously resisting the urge to laugh.

"W-what is it, Kawa-nii?" His voice wobbled, pitched higher than he would've liked thanks to the laughter that was bubbling in his chest. He cleared his throat and gave a comforting smile to cover his slip.

Kawarama - bless his oblivious heart - sniffled and remained clueless to Itama's sadistic joy at seeing his brother's miserable, crying face. It was not as if he dislikes his brother that he takes delight in seeing such a sight - no, it was actually the opposite.

Itama simply has a perverted preference for seeing the ghastly faces of the people he loves suffer from the stupidity they caused themselves. Probably influenced by Dara-shishou and his need to embarrass his own little brothers (Izuna the most, from what Itama makes out of Dara's sadistic ramblings).

Itama swears he was a good person. He simply has a tendency to laugh discreetly at the face of another person's misery, finding tremendous joy whenever someone else suffers (it was only fair they did since Itama suffers immensely from Dara's weekly training sessions from hell). That was all.

"Tobirama took away my stash!" The sixteen-year-old hiccuped unsightly, "You have to help me get it back, Itama! He only listens to you."

Itama, with great difficulty, focuses on Kawa-nii's words rather than his blotched and swollen, crying face. He then blinked when he fully processes the meaning behind his brother's request.

To the best of his knowledge, only Hashi-nii kept a secret stash of alcohol in his room (which Itama occasionally pinches and then pushes all responsibility to Tobi-nii whenever Hashi-nii discovers a few missing bottles). But that was besides the point.

The point was that Tobi-nii has a habit of threatening without real intentions behind them, but for him to actually do the deed... Kawa-nii must've completely pissed their older brother off.

"What did you do?" He asked curiously, already planning to use this as future blackmail material if opportunity calls for it.

Since young, Dara has been drilling such concepts into Itama's head; to keep every and all information on hand, no matter how insignificant it may seem at that point in time, until there was further use for it in the future.

"... N-nothing important," The scarred teen murmured while avoiding eye contact. Itama raises a doubtful brow at the obvious lie.

"Clearly it is. Tobi-nii wouldn't do something so drastic without a valid cause."

"You're playing favorites, Itama! I didn't do anything wrong - Tobirama overreacted! He not only took my stash, but he also made his water dragon eat me! Eat. Me. I am traumatized for life, Itama! For Life!"

Rolling his eyes at his brother's dramatics, Itama retrieves his hands and folded his arms over his chest. His voice was as dry as Dara's when unimpressed, "I'm not. And everyone knows that Tobi-nii is much too mature to do something so childish without prior provocation. That means the problem lies with you, Kawa-nii."

"Uuughhh! Stop being so logical, Itama..."

"Well?"

"...Ok, fine. I may or may not have accidentally misplaced his sword," Kawarama harrumphed, crossing his arms and stomping his feet childishly. Sometimes, Itama questions if he was the older brother in their relationship.

"Alright... I can see Tobi-nii getting angry with you if you did misplace his sword. Which one is it?"

"... The red one." Kawarama whispered miserably.

"How are you still alive?!" Itama gaped, disbelief was written all over his face.

Tobi-nii was highly possessive of his scrolls, books, and weapons. But that red one was especially special to the pale Senju. The particular katana that had been lovingly named Akabane had been a present from Dara-shishou.

From what shishou has told him, that katana was acquired from the Land of Iron - after the Uchiha had successfully assassinated a high ranking samurai, he took the man's sword as a trophy, before gifting it to Tobii-nii when the Senju lamented about the lack of good swords.

Presently, Tobi-nii wields some kind of lightning sword that Itama suspects was the latest invention of his. However, he still favors Akabane - whetting it almost obsessively after every mission. Itama suspects that that was because Tobi-nii likes likes Dara-shishou despite the man's constant denials.

He looked at the scarred teen with pity in his eyes.

Poor Kawa-nii would've had his hands seared and his head piked if he was anyone but Tobi-nii's younger brother. And if Kawa-nii continues to swagger around without apologizing for his blunder, Tobi-nii would continue to find new ways to torment him.

Not that Itama would clue his oblivious big brother on the right thing to do (for now). Tobi-nii has always been creative; and watching the ongoing process of how his favorite brother makes Kawa-nii flails stupidly about would be an extremely entertaining pastime.

"Forget retrieving your stash, Kawa-nii. Just be glad that you're still alive," Itama patted his brother's shoulder in mock sympathy.

"No!" Kawarama cried while stomping his feet, looking ready to throw a massive tantrum that could be on par with Hashi-nii's, "It's just a stupid katana, anyway. He can always get a new one! I don't know why he got so angry and threw all my herbs... He's so petty and mean... Why did he have to overreact when he's usually so emotionless, anyway?!"

He was just about to subtly ridicule his brother for his naiveness, but when he heard Kawa-nii call Tobi-nii petty, mean, and emotionless; Itama immediately narrowed his eyes, anger making him purse his lips.

Sage, he loves Kawarama, he truly does, but his idiot of an older brother could be an insensitive, childish, bastard sometimes. Just because Tobi-nii appeared aloof did not mean he lacked emotions - he simply has trouble showing his affections.

(Furthermore, Tobi-nii was Itama's favorite brother. If Itama ever hears anyone talk shit about him, be they Hashii-nii or Kawa-nii, Itama would make sure they suffer. And he was even a hundred percent sure that Dara-shishou would help him plan his revenge.)

Itama immediately made plans to drop by Tobi-nii's room and assure his second older brother that Dara-shishou would understand that it was not his fault for losing his gift. Although Tobi-nii was a rational and clinical man, every time Dara came into the picture, the older Senju tends to lose quite the large number of brain cells.

As for this infuriating punk who was talking shit about his favorite brother... Itama was tempted to punch him. Alas, he has more important matters to attend to right now (he could always discipline Kawarama another time).

"If that is all... Leave. I'm busy." Itama waved his brother off, not wanting to actually kill Kawa-nii despite the latter's spoiled and rotten attitude. Again, Itama reminds himself that he dearly loves all his big brothers, no matter how dumb they acted at times.

"Eh? Busy with what? You're always sleeping in Tobirama's office or the infirmary. Hell, I even saw you napping with your eyes open in the council meeting just yesterday! Other than sleep, what else do you do? I've never seen you train, too."

... He really felt like punching his brother (even if it was true, he didn't have to say it in such a way! If Dara-shishou had overheard, Itama would get a few bones broken in the name of keeping his healing skills sharp!). But. Not now. He needed to check up on Tobi-nii. Prioritizing was an essential skill for any medic-nins.

"I'm busy every day; breathing," Itama stated drily, ignoring his brother's unattractive gaping at his ridiculous excuse. He blames Dara-shishou for that. The Uchiha was a bad influence.

Without another word, he pushes Kawarama out of his room, ignoring the teen's flailing, "I'm ignoring you until you do Tobi-nii right. And if I hear that you still haven't done so by the end of this week... I'll punch you!"

Kawarama instantly blanched at the very real threat to his life. The last person Itama had rained punches on, the bloke was left in the medical wing for a month, in a coma.

Although Itama was not as strong as his three older brothers in combat and his chakra reserves less than theirs, his chakra control was perfect. That meant that with the help of his (shishou's) technique of imbuing chakra into his muscles, it allowed for him to have monstrous strength.

Kawarama would've shrugged off the threat if Itama had been younger, but after mastering all of shishou's medical techniques and forming the Strength of a Hundred Seal, a punch of his could even topple a hill.

Who cares if he couldn't create a ridiculously titanic, many-handed wooden statue like Hashi-nii or a torrent of boiling water dragons like Tobi-nii or even a house-sized earth golem like Kawa-nii? Itama, with only a fist, could cause an earthquake that could potentially wipe the whole Senju compound (and more) off the map if he releases the years of accumulated chakra sealed on his forehead.

Hence, without prompt, Kawarama fled the scene after squeaking out a promise that he would do as Itama says.

With a roll of his heterochromic eyes, he turned to Toboe, who was preening his white feathers without a care in the world. What easy existence birds have.

"You're welcome to stay for however long you want, Toboe."

Itama stroked the hawk's head for a few moments before he left his room.

Perhaps Tobi-nii would cheer up after receiving a letter from Dara-shishou. He couldn't help but pat himself in the back for being such a good person. 

Chapter Text

Izuna had been acting oddly as of three days ago, despondent and full of worry.

It had started shortly after Madara brought up the matter about writing an armistice to send to the Senju during the meeting with his newly established council. As they had all been in agreement that day, Izuna's abrupt change of behavior was highly suspicious.

On the outside, Madara feigns ignorance. However, whenever Izuna looks away, Madara would scrutinize him with sharp and attentive eyes that flicker crimson ever so often.

Today, only the two of them were present for dinner, as Hikari was under 'room arrest', Ryouta was away on an important mission, and the twins were on patrol duty with Hikaku and his team as official tagalongs; novice soldiers (genin) that were ordered to observe and learn rather than to actively participate.

Since they were alone, it was as good a time as any to confront this odd behavior of Izuna's.

Removing all outward traces of worry and concern as to prevent clueing Izuna of anything, Madara set his chopsticks aside and cleared his throat. Izuna turned his attention to him not a second later, his little brother's pools of onyx eyes unusually flat despite the curious quirk of his eyebrow and the soft smile playing on his lips.

It was unnerving.

Izuna was emotive and tends to split his lips into a playful grin or a smug smirk. Never a soft smile. Not without reason, at least.

The nauseating familiarity made Madara nervous. And no matter how much he tries to clear his mind to start his questioning, the anxiety was clawing up his throat and causing his lungs to constrict painfully. Forget speaking, he felt it hard to even breath.

What if-

("You can't trust them, aniki," His remaining little brother whispers into his ear, his voice as sweet as honey and his face devoid of any emotions even if his lips were curled into a soft smile.

Madara allows Izuna to wrap his slender, calloused hands around his glove-clad ones, tenderly prying the quill he was clutching against his chest and taking away the missive Hashirama had sent - words of an alliance and peace between their clans - and the unfinished reply he had been writing up until a second ago.

"But..." He tries to explain to his brother that Hashirama was not a liar, that he could be trusted to stay true to his words, that his dream was to stop this pointless war between their clans; just like Madara's - but Izuna was already shaking his head, the grip on his hands tightened to an almost painful degree.

"No, aniki. You can't trust him. His words are all too good to be true. He will bring the Uchiha clan to ruins. You can't accept this alliance, aniki. Please. Trust me. I only want to protect you and do best for the clan. Don't you trust me?"

There was a moment of silence. And then there was a soft exhale, full of resigned acceptance and  dolefulness.

"... Ok. I won't. I trust you, Izuna."

"Thank you. I assure you that your trust is not misplaced. I love you, aniki," His little brother crooned, lips lingering on Madara's cheek as arms snaked loosely around his waist, thumbs rubbing ticklish circles onto his hips.

He should've felt warm at his brother's show of affection. But all he felt was a chilling sensation crawling up his spine. He felt an  incredulous urge  to push Izuna away, but at the same time, why would he want to do that to his remaining family member?

This was Izuna. His beloved younger brother. A person who would never betray him. A person who looks at him and see Madara as a human, not a monster.

So he ignores his instincts and returns his brother's affection, hugging back and burrowing his face into Izuna's shoulder to hide the sorrow and unease he was feeling. He didn't miss how the shadows flickered in his peripherals, causing his gut to clench in anxiety.)

No. No.

Madara has been alert, hypervigilant even, for any unwanted shadows that might lurk in their house, in the Uchiha compound. There have been no sightings of Dokuzetsu even till now. But what if that entity had slipped through his defenses - his seals, his chakra pulses, his five senses? It has always been sly and stealthy in its deceit.

"Aniki?"

His throat tightened and his eyes stung from the many memories of how oddly Izuna had acted prior to his little brother's death. In the way Izuna would smile so softly, of how his eyes were always so empty, of how his touches would linger so affectionately that they became chilling-

"Ani-"

His fists were clenched tightly to prevent any outward signs of his unease, head bowed forward to create shadows to hide his blanched face from view.

Madara recalls every single image, sound, and action with perfect clarity thanks to the properties of his Sharingan and his inborn eidetic memory. It didn't help that the majority of those recollections were distressing; as he often uses his clan's dojutsu for damning purposes.

"-niki?"

He didn't realize he was hyperventilating, bordering on hysteria and someone was touching his shoulder and everything felt like it was too much stop touching him don'ttouchhimhecan'tbreathe -

Madara slammed his palms against the table and pushes himself to his feet, away from those lingering touches and away from the cause of his anxiety. He might have or might have not excused himself properly, but he couldn't focus enough to recall his words or actions as he retreated into his room and crawled pathetically into his wardrobe.

It was foolish to think himself safe just by hiding in such a place. But. But.

Madara scrunches his crimson eyes shut, covers his head with his arms, and subtracts seven from a thousand and continues even as he fades in and out of consciousness.

"One t... thousa... nd... minus se... ven... Nine hun... dred... and... ninet... ty three... m... mi... minus s... seven... Ni... ne... hundr... dred an... and eight... ty s... six...-"

This was all he could do to prevent himself from slipping away from reality. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet. He has far too much at stake to succumb to his shortcomings. He can't. Not yet.

Izuna slammed his forehead against the tabletop and viciously scolded himself for how stupid he had acted. He then glared at his hand, furious that it had betrayed him. If Ryouta had been here, his younger brother would've bitch-slapped him until his face was swollen like a pig's, all the while calling him all sorts of synonyms for idiot.

Not that he didn't deserve to be scolded by the mother hen of their family.

It was shinobi rule 101 to withhold any outside stimuli when someone was experiencing a panic attack as they could react violently (especially if that someone was of Madara's calibre). But, fuck, it had been too painful for Izuna to just sit back and watch as his invincible, unrivaled big brother choke on his breath from a past memory that was, without a doubt, traumatizing.

(What had triggered it? Had it been something he said? Something he did?)

With worry and concern bubbling inside his chest, he suppresses his chakra and silently ran to Madara's bedroom. His hand was hovering hesitatingly over the handle of the door, knowing that Madara has meticulously drawn protective seals inside his room that would no doubt cripple anyone whose chakra signature wasn't registered into the wards.

From his knowledge, those seals had been pretty recent (after that bitch had gotten pregnant). And Izuna hasn't been to Madara's room since then. However, when he recalls the sheer distress in Madara's dazed eyes, Izuna scowls at his own cowardice.

Fuck it.

He would take the risk.

Although he didn't know how to exactly provide comfort, Izuna would learn, dammit. He would not leave Madara alone at such a time (even though it was unlikely, he hopes that Madara has cooled down and was already fine, not needing clumsy Izuna for comfort).

With determination in his eyes, he carefully slid the door open.

The second he planted his feet into the room, it was as if he had just passed through a bubble of sorts. The surrounding sounds disappeared instantaneously as if he had just entered a sound barrier.

When he heard a soft thump from inside the wardrobe, he tilted his head in confusion, scanning the furniture with wary eyes before he shook his head and went back to searching the bedroom for his big brother (now was not the time for Izuna to be curious about the skeletons Madara have hidden in his closet).

When he found no one, Izuna turned on his heels and prepared to leave the room, intending to search the whole house if needed. However, this time, it wasn't just a thump he heard coming from the wardrobe; there was suddenly muffled sounds as well.

It was then did his brain connect the dots.

His blood turned cold at the chilling realization that it was Madara who was letting out such distressing sounds. For someone like Madara to find a sense of safety inside a wardrobe - just like how Takumi found safety in Izuna's futon whenever there was a lightweight storm - was unsettling.

The shock, however, soon turned into protective fury. It spreads from his chest, down his limbs, and Izuna felt a burn in his eyes; the Sharingan spinning to life as his jaws clenched painfully, the veins on his neck bulging.

Izuna has always presumed that Madara has impeccable mental strength, as Madara had never truly broken down in front of him before. Madara was always so strong in front of Izuna and the rest of their younger brothers, always looking unfazed by their world's evils.

The masks he wore completely fooled Izuna, causing him to overlook the burdens and trauma his older brother must be carrying on his shoulders, always suffering in silence. Now he knew better.

He shouldn't have trusted his brother's lame, "I'm fine"s; especially after a confrontation with that bitch Hikari or after Tajima's cruel words and painful abuse - he stupidly believed that nothing could faze his astounding big brother that was Uchiha fucking Madara.

But he should've known better than to allow hero-worship to blind him to this extent. Ryouta was right; why was Izuna so fucking stupid? Madara, despite everything, was still human, for Sage's sake! Why did he forget that crucial fact?!

He had known ever since he was sent to the frontlines by Tajima that Madara had suffered considerably; enough for the average shinobi to break. And the signs, fucking Sage, the obvious signs; the lack of sleep, the lack of appetite, the sheer exhaustion etched onto his features, the refusal to use healing jutsu on himself, the unhealthy fixation to compartmentalize and train and train and train-

Izuna couldn't help the loathing he feels for his pathetic self at ignoring how sickly Madara's mental health was.

He stood frozen with his head bowed in front of the wardrobe, unmoving as he anxiously listens to the muffled sobs and rasps subtractions. He didn't know how to proceed with this. He had been trained to kill, to survive, to follow orders - he had not been trained to offer someone solace.

Ryouta was usually the one who takes care of everyone when Madara was indisposed or on a mission or at the frontlines.

Izuna was terrified right now. He was scared to fuck up. What if with his presence, Madara's mind broke further? From prior observations, the trigger was somehow linked to him. He didn't want to take such a risk, no matter how painful it was for him to stand here and do nothing.

Madara was too important to him - to all his little brothers. Izuna would not be able to forgive himself if his stupidity causes Madara more misery. He could only leave it to Madara to overcome this by himself. Izuna would, however, remain here just in case.

Ryouta had told him, once upon a time, that Madara had taught him a method to counter torture and/or interrogation (to calm down from a panic attack). In order to keep sane, in order to stay mentally strong and wait for reinforcements to show; subtracting numbers was a way to keep a person's mind from being consumed by despair.

It kept the mind thinking, distracted, but never far from reality.

("Anija said that if my mind ever takes a nosedive to escape reality, it would be best to contemplate suicide since I would be near my breaking point, and thus, will be as malleable as sheeps awaiting slaughter. Anija says that the best time to brainwash someone is when they're on the borders of despair. Do you want to learn, nii-san? The best method to control someone is to use the darkness in their hearts - and if there is none, anija said that I'll just have to make it. By then, I'll have loyal minions under my command. Anija was even kind enough to give me a couple of subjects to experiment on before we shipped them off. It just proves how fragile the human mind is."

Izuna wisely kept his silence, sweating heavily when Ryouta began laughing wickedly, 'kufufufufu's leaving his lips. Izuna just patted his not-so-innocent little brother on the head before finding an excuse to change topics.)

For Madara to resort to such a method, Izuna trembled - from rage or distress, he didn't know.

Had Madara been tortured before? Had Madara been held captive before? Had Madara experienced such despair before that he created such a technique to prevent himself from falling into insanity?

Many such questions were revolving inside his head. However, the one that stood out was; when had such a likely scenario happen?

Ryouta had been taught this technique when Madara was still a teenager - still in the midst of puberty.

And that realization was nauseating.

Had it been Tajima all along? Had their former clan head abused Madara, physically, emotionally, and mentally, to such an extent? And if so, why had he not told Izuna anything? Did Madara not trust him to bear such a burden with him? Or was it because Madara lacks self-care?

Madara, as Ryouta and Izuna have noted, tended to forget that he, too, needed to eat, to sleep, to care for his health just as much as he cares for his little brother's.

It showed just how incompetent Izuna was at protecting his beloved older brother.

And Izuna being Izuna, was not good at taking care of someone - it has always been Madara who was their rock, the person who raised them, who glues them together, who keeps them safe from their nightmares and their fucker of a father (he wishes he knew a jutsu to revive the dead; just so he could kill that bastard again).

With clenched fists, nails biting harshly into his palms and teeth sinking deep into the flesh of his bottom lip, he ignores the welling blood and places his forehead on the wardrobe's door, angry and hateful tears rolling down his cheeks as his Sharingan continues to spin and spin and spin and spin-

Madara pretended that yesterday did not happen and all was well.

Come dawn, after he woke up from a restless sleep inside his wardrobe, he cleaned himself thoroughly and left his bedroom with his usual expression of indifference, clad in his typical attire that - with the exception of his face - showed no visible parts of his skin.

And if his hair was covering more of his face, shadowing the exhaustion from being seen, well, his untamable mane performs such feats on its own sometimes.

"You're up early, otouto," Madara moved past Izuna and sat on his usual zabuton at the kitchen table. The younger Uchiha only looked at him with bleary eyes, as if not yet awake enough to do anything but blink.

Seeing that the sun has only just begun to rise, Madara had been prepared to wait for hours for Izuna to wake up. But to his surprise, Izuna - a person who prefers to sleep in - was already awake and the table set, the food still warm. As soon as Madara took his seat, Izuna automatically and absent-mindedly pours a cup of tea for him.

"Thank you," He murmured with a smile, albeit faintly.

"Hn," Izuna grunted, yawning not a second later.

Directly after Madara began to eat (the food tasted like ash on his tongue and bile at the back of his throat), his little brother lethargically made a grab for his chopsticks and immediately started to shovel rice into his mouth after he manages to hold the wooden utensils properly.

It was their family tradition, of sorts, that his little brothers would only eat after Madara has taken a bite. And it was Ryouta who had started such a practice. Izuna went along with it after much grumbling, whilst the twins grew up thinking this was normal.

At that time, Madara had just looked at Ryouta with unconcealed pride at his little brother's devious manipulation, knowing that Madara's primary weakness was his brothers - the loveable brat had found a way to force Madara to eat without actually acting upon the desire.

("We won't eat until you eat, anija," Ryouta didn't even bat an eyelash as he slapped the chopsticks out of Izuna's hand, ignoring the outraged cries their middle brother let loose at his audacity.

"What the fuck, Ryouta?!"

"Quiet, nii-san. The adults are having an important discussion right now."

And much to Madara's amusement, Izuna looked ready to jump across the table and strangle Ryouta with his bare hands.

"Who the fuck are you calling a kid you cocknose motherfucking ass badgering fuckwit of a fuckbucket cunt shithouse-"

Madara truly wishes to know who the fuck taught Izuna such words so he could kill that knobheaded bastard with a dessert spoon.

The youngest at the table ignored Izuna's amazing repertoire of cusses to turn to the eldest, a shrewd glint appearing in those pair of onyx eyes, contradicting much with his gentle expression.

" What are you waiting for, anija? You better eat if you don't want us to starve. I don't care even if it's a small portion - I want you to eat before you collapse."

Izuna scrunches up his nose, "We're playing chicken with aniki now? Oh, great." Turning to Madara, Izuna was quick to push his chopsticks into his older brother's glove-clad hands, "Hurry up, aniki. I wouldn't put it past Ryou-teme to actually starve ore-sama to death. Our oh so 'adorable' otouto doesn't give two shits about me, after all."

Madara only huffed out a chuckle, amused at Izuna's grumbling and Ryouta's smug smile. With eyes filled with admiration, he brought the rice to his lips and finally ate after a few days of refusal. Surprisingly enough, he was able to taste the flavor of the food and not blood or ash on his tongue.)

It started from that day forth, and this tradition was viciously enforced by Ryouta. Izuna may whine at times, but in the end, even when Ryouta was not home, he would follow the 'rule' and glare at Madara until the older Uchiha ate. The twins followed their examples like ducks to water.

Shaking his head to rid himself of the nostalgic memory, Madara discreetly scrutinizes the younger Uchiha, his eyebrows furrowing in worry at what he saw.

Izuna appeared worn out, his skin color a shade paler than normal and there were even stress lines between his eyebrows. For someone who cares religiously about his own appearance, his little brother seemed to have changed overnight, his hair was disheveled and he looked as if he had a terrible burden placed upon his shoulders.

Madara did not like it, not one bit.

Izuna was not supposed to be like Madara; always withdrawn, constantly exhausted, and consistently dour. Izuna was supposed to be his opposite; always grinning, always playful, always filled with energy and cheer. Madara was unable to accept this sudden change of demeanor.

So Madara became the first to break this unsettling silence, his voice conveying his concern even if his face was impassive, "What has your head in the clouds, otouto? You are not usually this quiet. Should I be worried?"

Izuna was too much of a shinobi to flinch, but Madara did catch the telltales of surprise and unease; as if Izuna was caught off guard by his question or was uncomfortable with Madara's penetrative eyes that were digging holes into the side of his face.

"'m just tired is all, aniki," The younger Uchiha avoided Madara's gaze by focusing on his breakfast, that nerve-racking soft smile making its appearance once again, "What with all the damage control and public relations that I'm doing."

There was an offer to shoulder those burdens for him on the tip of Madara's tongue, hating that his reformation of the clan was affecting his brother's sleeping schedule, but before those words could leave his lips, he swallowed them down. It wouldn't do to continue babying Izuna despite how much Madara wants to.

Izuna was already eighteen, going nineteen years old. Not to mention that he was an outstanding shinobi who holds the title of the Uchiha clan's heir. Madara should not interfere unless the younger Uchiha asks him for help, nor should he take back the tasks he had assigned to Izuna - tasks that played to his younger brother's strength, at that.

His offer would only insinuate that his brilliant younger brother has no ability to handle clan matters. It would be insulting for both of them if he proposed such a thing.

"Are they going well?" Was what he decided on. Perhaps Izuna had encountered a difficult problem, hence all the brooding. Madara wouldn't mind giving out a few bits of advice if that was the case.

"No complications as of late. Although tension is still running high and everyone is fearful after losing so many of our clansmen in one night... don't worry, aniki, I'm working on it."

"Hn. Is there no other issues to report?"

"Well, our civilians are beginning to get restless. It's been quite some time since we've put the whole compound on lockdown, aniki. I think we'll need to give them some kind of news or time duration, or they'll likely start finding ways to avoid the patrols just to get some fresh air."

Madara placed an elbow on the table and rested his cheek on a fist, brows furrowed as he listens to Izuna's report. The reason for why the Uchiha compound was currently on lockdown mode was because Madara wanted to prevent leaks. News of the Uchiha clan undergoing a reform would bring danger to their doors.

Although Madara was confident that he could repel even a battalion, he did not want to risk the lives of his people since there would no doubt be collateral damages.

"Announce that the gates will be open within a week from tomorrow. That should be enough time to tie up any loose ends. What of our soldiers? Do you believe that they will engage in mutiny?

Izuna has long set his chopsticks aside, now rubbing his chin in thought.

"This may come to a surprise to you, aniki, but the younger soldiers all worship the fucking ground you walk on, no joke. I know this because we often go out for drinks whenever we can afford to - and I forbid you from drinking with them, aniki. They're dangerous... for many reasons that I won't elaborate - they seriously look up to you. Especially after you've pulled out those who are below fourteen from the frontlines and allocated them to the mission roster rather than the army.

As for the majority of the older soldiers, they are wary. They revere your strength, but at the same time, they fear you would turn such power against them. They wouldn't stand a chance. Again, I'm still working on changing their opinions, but to answer your question... The chances of an uprising are low."

Madara, whilst looking at his little brother as if he was crazy, wonders if he should really trust Izuna's judgment on this.

He earnestly doubts that any of his clansmen 'worship' Madara for being Madara. The proof of how disliked he was were the streets of their compound. The crowd would always part as if his body contains a plague and people would begin whispering behind their hands as he walks by - and as of late, they would even avoid his gaze.

Deciding that he would give his younger brother the benefit of the doubt (a very, very minuscule amount), he slowly nodded.

"Anything else to report about?"

"Yeah. A few more."

"Are any of them urgent?"

"No, not really. Just fucking annoying."

"Hn. Then just place them on my desk."

Unexpectedly, Izuna suddenly raises a hand and rubbed at his face angrily (once again, there was that damnable soft smile on his face). Madara quirks a brow, tilting his head to the side in askance.

"Izuna...?"

"Is it ok if I just give verbal reports for now, aniki? I'm kinda tight with my schedule right now. I don't have the time."

All expression fled from Madara's face, and his body language showed that he had distanced himself from the overly indulgent big brother persona of his. Izuna seemed to straighten his spine, probably shooked by the abrupt change in demeanor, and lowered his eyes, as if not daring to look Madara in the eye.

Guilt. Nervousness. Stress. Unease. Indecision.

Those were the emotions Madara could pick out from Izuna's body language alone.

No matter how much of an exceptional shinobi Izuna was, Madara has decades worth of experience on him. Apart from the bijuus and the summon bosses, Madara was, mentally, one of the oldest living beings on this planet (even older than Kakuzu).

Furrowing his brows - Madara compartmentalizes to ensure that he would not have a repeat of yesterday - he activates his Sharingan, unwilling to miss out on any subconscious tells Izuna would let out as he probes his younger brother for answers.

His paranoia of Zetsu possessing Izuna was debilitating, therefore he would keep those feelings in a tight box in his mind and push it into a corner for now.

"What are you hiding from me, Izuna?"

A barely visible scrunching of the nose, the slight quickening of his breath, the increase of heartbeat, and the way his muscles bunched up - as if wanting to escape.

The harsh beating of Izuna's pulse was almost deafening in this silence.

After five minutes without a response, Madara stood up (ignoring the way the younger Uchiha flinches), circled around the table, and reached out to pinch Izuna's chin, forcing his brother to look him in the eye. Izuna looked as if he wanted to turn his eyes away from Madara's fully matured Sharingan, but fortunately, he didn't.

Madara would've truly lost his temper if he did.

"Is this about the treaty?"

Izuna's lips were repeatedly opening and closing as if he wanted to speak, but was too nervous to actually do so. However, he didn't need to. With the help of his Sharingan, it was easy for Madara to discern a person's response in a closed-ended question. Micro-expressions, eye movements, and body language were telling.

Izuna's answer was a no. But Madara didn't allow himself to feel relief just yet. He needed to probe deeper. So he shot question after question without waiting for Izuna to verbalize his responses.

"Are you distrustful of the Senju?"

Yes.

"Do you believe that they would not uphold their part of the agreement after an alliance is signed?"

Yes.

"Is it due to your hatred for them?"

No.

"Is it because you are wary of them?"

Yes.

"Was your vote to an armistice with the Senju influenced by another's?"

Yes.

"Is that person on the council?"

Yes.

"One of the elders?"

No.

"One of my advisors?"

No.

"Me?"

Yes.

"Have you been hearing any voices in your head as of late?"

No.

"Other than my eyes, have you had the feeling of being watched as of late?"

Yes.

"Is it inside the compound?"

No.

"Is it during missions?"

Yes.

"Have you seen any dark, humanoid shadows flickering just at your peripherals?"

Yes.

"Is it during missions?"

Yes.

"Does it happen inside the compound?"

No.

"Does this worry you?"

Yes.

"Is that shadow the reason why you have been acting out of it starting from three days ago?"

No.

"Is it about the tasks I have assigned you?"

No.

"Is your change of behavior due to a clan matter?"

No.

"Is your change of behavior due to a family matter?"

No.

"Is your change of behavior due to a personal problem?"

Yes.

Madara releases his grip on Izuna's chin and returned to his seat across from his brother. His tea has long gone cold, but with a simple manipulation of his chakra, he heated the liquid and brought the cup to his lips. Izuna was giving him a kicked puppy look with a mixture of bafflement.

It was cute.

Turning away from Izuna, Madara concentrated on the bitter taste of his matcha tea whilst pondering on the answers he has received.

From the short interrogation, he has concluded that Izuna has not been influenced by Dokuzetsu (thank the Sage).

The shadow sightings were troubling... However, the seal Madara has sneakily placed on all of his little brothers seemed to be working properly. It was a seal to prevent mental intrusions, inked just at the base of their head, out of sight and covered by their thick mop of hair.

For the short term, whilst he was busy with figuring out which plan he should use to lure out Dokuzetsu, he would assign Izuna more duties that could be completed within the compound. The twins, as well, since they were more vulnerable than anyone else in his family.

Dokuzetsu's plans were usually distasteful (like Madara's), so it was rather easy for him to place himself in that entity's shoes.

If he was Dokuzetsu, killing the twins and pinning their deaths on the Senju would definitely be the go-to option. It would be too easy to hire some random, no-name shinobi mercenaries, get them to wear the Senju headband, and give them intel to plan a successful ambush on the twins.

The alliance would be shredded even before it could blossom.

Madara would also be susceptible to manipulate if he was blinded by anger, grief, and hatred.

As for Ryouta... Well, there was no need to worry about Ryouta.

"Aniki...?"

At Izuna's tentative call, Madara set aside his cup and gave his attention to the younger Uchiha.

"What is it?"

Izuna studied him for a moment, and after confirming that Madara was back to normal, he slouched forward and dropped his elbows loudly on the table. Izuna didn't even bother to hide his sigh of relief as he wiped his sweaty forehead with the sleeve of his kimono.

"What was that about, aniki?"

"... You worried me."

He decided to be (somewhat) honest.

Madara felt extremely bad for using such an intimidating method to scare the answers out of Izuna. But he also felt that it had been a necessity. He dared not take any chances when Izuna fell into such a familiar pattern. After all, he has already lost Izuna to Dokuzetsu's plots before.

When Izuna only looked away, his hair shadowing his features, Madara drooped.

"I'm sorry, Izuna. I didn't mean to frighten you."

This time, it was Izuna who stands abruptly to circle the table and drop to his knees in front of Madara.

Before he could react, Izuna wrapped his arms around Madara's shoulders and nuzzled against his chest. Madara didn't hesitate to pull Izuna closer, burying his nose into Izuna's hair and closing his eyes as he inhales his brother's comforting scent.

"Baka aniki. You should've just told me that from the beginning. I hid my problem 'cause I didn't want to upset you. If I knew you would react so negatively, I wouldn't have done something so fucking counterproductive. I'm sorry, aniki. Just... Next time... Just tell me, ok?"

"Nn," Madara's lips curved into a smile, relieved that Izuna wasn't upset with him. It would be devastating if Izuna started to fear him.

"Do you trust me?"

("Don't you trust me?")

Madara scrunches his nose at the sudden appearance of that memory.

He hated how this would occur sometimes. His mind would play tricks on him, forcing him to hear voices that were long gone or from another lifetime. This would happen whenever he lets his guard down, the memories of his past life would haunt him, just like how the red moon constantly hangs over his head.

Barely batting an eyelid, he stuffs the memory into his mental box that contains most of his darkness.

"Of course I do."

"Then... can we talk about what happened yesterday?"

Madara tightened his arms around his precious little brother, voice soft as he responded, "Another day, otouto. Another day."

"Ok. I won't force you, aniki. But, just remember... I'll always be here if you need me. Whenever. Day or night. Okay?" Madara nodded, patting the Uchiha heir's back twice before letting go. The brothers separated from their hug, but Izuna did not move far. He sat back on his haunches, narrowing his eyes at his clan head. "You questioned about hearing voices, being watched, and shadows. How did you know I've been feeling eyes on me and seeing shadows?"

Madara's face was impassive, giving nothing away, "How long have they been going on for?"

Izuna pouted, "You can't answer a question with another question, aniki!"

"I just did," He drawled.

"Tch," Grumpily crossing his arms, Izuna clicks his tongue, "It's been about a month since I've felt eyes on me. The shadows, however, was only once. During my last mission outside the compound. Now can you answer my question?"

"Hn. I see. Tell me, Izuna, why have you been behaving oddly over the past three days?"

"What the fucking Sage, aniki. Seriously?" When Madara blinked his eyes innocently, Izuna threw his hands into the air and groaned, "I'm so telling Ryouta on you! He'll continue to pester you until you answer all our questions!"

The older of the duo only smirked, causing Izuna to grit his teeth at how infuriatingly smug it looked. It took a few moments to pacify Izuna enough for his little brother to wind down, but after he did, Izuna went back to being nervous.

"You know how I de-stress, right?"

"Drinking alcohol and visiting prostitutes. Yes, I know." Madara answered frankly, not caring to sugarcoat his words since Takumi and Yakumi weren't here. Izuna, on the other hand, choked, looking at Madara in horror.

"I visit prostitutes to gather intel, aniki! Intel!" Izuna all but shrieked, cheeks and ears aflamed as he covered his face with his hands, looking beyond mortified.

"Mhm. If you say so," Madara calmly takes a sip of his tea to prevent himself from cooing at his younger brother's sheer adorableness.

As soon as Izuna was calm enough to talk without exploding into a bundle of embarrassment, he poured himself a cup of tea before continuing, "There's this pub I visit whenever I go out to have a drink. I met someone there."

That made Madara's eyebrows shoot towards his hairline.

"You have a lover?"

Izuna was quick to wave his hand back and forth as if he was shooing off a fly, voice extremely dry, "No. We're not in a romantic relationship. She has a partner."

"Get to the point, Izuna."

"Ok, just. Let me... ugh fuck."

Izuna raked a hand through his hair in agitation, clearly trying to find the right words to describe their relationship. Madara was extremely curious. If they weren't lovers, then it should be friends, no? What was so hard about admitting to that?

"I, uhm, I get invited into their bed a lot."

Madara did a spit take.

Izuna, completely unprepared for that response, was drenched from head to toe in matcha tea. The two brothers stared at each other in silence, equally too shocked to do anything but that. As soon as Madara regained his bearings, however, he quickly set his cup aside and began to apologetically wipe his younger brother's face with the sleeve of his mantle.

"That..." Madara hesitated, unsure of how to ask his question. And frankly, it was downright embarrassing to have such a conversation with his younger brother, "You're a grown man, Izuna. I don't wish to tell you what to do and what not to do. However, do you think it is wise to have an affair with both parties? Or to partake in homewrecking?" He could see how this would affect Izuna's behavior if that were the case.

"No, no, aniki! You got it wrong!" Izuna quickly denies, half-heartedly swatting at his brother's hovering hands to keep them away from his face, "They're in an open relationship." At the utterly confused expression on Madara's face, Izuna kindly elaborated, "The both of them gave each other the ok to have sex with another person. So it's not considered cheating. Because when I'm having sex with one of them, the other is there too - either to watch or to participate in a threesome. And I don't mind either way 'cause I kind of like being watched when I fuck someone and it feels good... so..."

By the end of Izuna's short explanation, Madara's face was hot enough to cook eggs on (he did not need to know that Izuna was into exhibitionism, thank you very much!). Despite being over a century old, Madara was something of a prude. Or rather, due to his avoidance with anything sexual, he was oblivious to such matters. So it was a shock for him to hear that such a relationship could exist.

He knew of men having concubines and multiple wives, of threesomes and foursomes and how many other somes, but even then, it was frowned upon to engage in adultery. To have sexual relationships after vowing to stay faithful. Hence, it was completely unexpected for Madara to hear that this couple Izuna was acquainted with went ahead and sought other people to be their bedmate.

He felt that his understanding of human relationships was inadequate when compared to his sybarite of a little brother. And as if his brain was malfunctioning, the image of Tobirama suddenly appeared, a smirk playing on the albino's lips as the Senju laughs at his naivety-

"O-oh," He cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable, "I suppose it's alright if it's consensual... It is consensual, right?"

"Yeah. All three of us agreed to it verbally. And I even told them that at any time they wish for me to stop touching their partner, I would back the fuck off." Izuna reassures, his eyes softening slightly as he gazes at his fidgeting older brother.

"Alright. I understand. What I don't understand is the connection between your odd behavior and your sexual endeavors?"

Izuna laughed, scratching the back of his head sheepishly, "I kinda knocked them up."

What.

"I beg your pardon?" All embarrassment fled at the face of disbelief, "Did I hear you just say you've impregnated someone?"

"Two someones, actually," His idiot of a little brother corrected needlessly.

What.

"What?" He deadpanned out loud.

"The couple that I've told you about...? They're both women. So... Yeah... Pleasedon'tbemadanddon'tkillme?" Izuna's voice trailed off into a meek squeak.

"Uchiha Izuna," Madara scowled, his baritone stern and chiding, "What did I say about the art of bastard breeding?"

"Not to?" Izuna laughed sheepishly.

"And you went ahead and mastered it anyway. Wow. Amazing."

The sarcasm made Izuna wince.

The older Uchiha suddenly smiled.

The younger Uchiha blanched and broke out in cold sweat at that smile.

"Uhm, aniki? You're giving out Ryouta-vibes."

"Uchiha Izuna. You have three seconds to come up with a satisfactory reason for me not to disembowel you. 3."

"B-Because you love me...?"

Izuna cautiously pushes himself to his feet, onyx eyes flicking about as he calculated the best escape route to use.

"2."

Madara's onyx eyes had a deadly glint to them.

"1."

Izuna bolted out of the house as if the devil was at his heels; which was somewhat true as, not a second later, Madara was chasing after him with a chopstick in hand, brandished like a weapon, and yelling obscenities that would make even a sailor blush.

As soon as he catches that fucking brat, Madara would hang him by his toes and give a five-hour lecture about safe sex.

Chapter Text

Madara, with his chin tilted arrogantly upwards and his arms crossed domineeringly on his chest, stood in front of the Senju compound gates, Izuna to his right and Hikaku his left.

A delegation of a few handpicked council members and elite guards stood behind him as they all waited for the Senju to open their gates. One of his kin wore a navy blue sashimono with the Uchiwa fan and Envoy sewed on it, a sign to prove their identity and show their intentions.

It was... a peculiar feeling for Madara to be the one who extends an olive branch for a cease-fire between their clans.

Then-Hashirama used to be the one who screamed about peace as they fought, sending missive after missive persistently. Now, it was the other way around (without the screaming and persistence as only one letter was enough for Hashirama to agree to a meeting). Madara would've laughed out loud if he wasn't so choked with contrite emotions.

Other than that, he was thankful that Tobirama has also agreed, after much insistence on Madara's part, to persuade the Senju clan's council on behalf of his dorky older brother.

As much as Madara trusted Hashirama to fully accept his future offers to an alliance, to build a settlement that would one day become the legendary Konohagakure no Sato, the old fogeys were always the first to oppose and a young Hashirama who has just become the clan head has yet to fully understand how to silence them.

A shrewd politician his once-best friend may grow into one day, but currently, he was only a twenty-one-year-old dreamer, still wet behind the ears to truly understand the vicious yet subtle game called politics. A Tobirama who was not blinded by hatred of all Uchiha-related things was a blessing in disguise.

When the gates of the Senju compound finally opened, revealing one bristling Senju Tobirama standing at the front of five other fully armed Senju soldiers, Madara hid a smug smile behind his high collar, enjoying the way Tobirama's ruby red eyes had narrowed, having seen through Madara's amusement with just that simple action alone.

"State the purpose of your business here, Uchiha."

Tobirama folded his arms over his blue chest plate, fingerpads tapping against a toned bicep in what others might assume to be a sign of impatient displeasure. However, to Madara, it was a message. Their secret code used often across the battlefield to snark and banter during their fathers' boring face-off.

Why are you here?! The elders are still persistently oppugnant! Scram! - was what Tobirama was trying futilely to drill into Madara's head.

Madara only crinkled his eyes in an innocent manner, taking wicked delight at how Tobirama seethed silently behind his icy exterior, fingers increasing in speed to spew creative insults and cusses, all of which Madara pretended to misinterpret as a sign to say his greetings out loud. Ah, it was always such a pleasure to tease the ever stoic iceberg into losing his composure.

"I am Uchiha Madara, patriarch of the Uchiha clan. These people are from my council. We mean no harm by coming here and only wish to request an audience with Senju Hashirama, patriarch of the Senju clan, and his administrative body."

The Senju squad were all tensed, fingers twitching closer to their weapons when he introduced himself. Madara knew that there were a lot of horror stories linked to his name, hence he took great effort to appear utterly harmless. He was currently free of any weapons or armor, having kept his infamous gunbai in his storage seal before their arrival here.

Although by the look of things, the Senju squad didn't appear to be mollified by his good manners and tact.

What a tough bunch to placate.

Madara didn't allow his amusement to show when all of the Senju, sans Tobirama, flinched when he brought up a hand and gestured at Hikaku.

His military advisor-slash-bodyguard stepped forward with a scroll in hand, unrolled to show that its contents were harmless. He knows that Tobirama wouldn't be able to read the words at such a distance due to his poor eyesight, so he had, prior to their arrival, informed Hikaku to approach until he was about a meter away from Tobirama.

Hikaku had looked nervous at his command back then, but currently, he hid the anxiety at moving closer to the 'White Demon' particularly well. Tobirama's scowl didn't help at all in easing Hikaku's nerves, the angry expression only causing Hikaku to sweat more. The closer Hikaku approaches, the more pressure the Senju squad behind of Tobirama exudes.

It was only when Hikaku was at the specified distance did he stop, the muscles in his legs tensed in preparation to flee at a moment's notice. Everyone noticed the way Tobirama immediately narrowed his already narrow eyes. It made the albino look downright murderous, causing the Uchiha behind of him to shift in place. But Madara knew better - the albino was squinting.

It appears that Tobirama was having a difficult time reading the words on the scroll without his glasses on, which annoys the albino to no end. Madara made a mental note to pull his friend aside, later on, to heal the strain Tobirama has no doubt caused when he blatantly ignores Madara's advice to take breaks from paperwork once in a while to not damage his eyesight further.

People with albinism, after all, often have poor vision due to their underdeveloped macula lutea.

The palpable silence was soon broken when Tobirama clicked his tongue in displeasure, causing everyone from both sides to (again) reach for their weapons. Madara only smiled in fondness at the petulant (to him) display, making sure to hide his expression using the curtains he calls his hair.

"Give it here," Tobirama demanded with an outstretched hand, palm facing upward.

Hikaku hesitated, looking at Madara for direction. At the Uchiha patriarch's nod, Hikaku dropped the scroll onto Tobirama's awaiting palm and swiftly retreated back to Madara's side. As Tobirama went ahead to read the missive, entirely dismissing Hikaku's skittish action, Madara closes his eyes and uses his senses to search for Itama's and Hashirama's chakra signature.

His dual-haired deshi's chakra signature was detected coming from the forest, gradually approaching nearer and nearer by the looks of things. The medic-nin had probably been gathering herbs before he sensed Madara's presence close by and immediately dropped what he was doing to greet him. Such a puppy, Madara mused fondly. And judging by the way Tobirama had subtly tilted his head to Itama's direction, he has noticed as well.

Hashirama, on the other hand, was located at the Senju compound's center, encircled by a group of four. Madara assumes that they were assigned to be the clan head's personal guards since all of their chakra levels were high-jounin if he ranked them using then-Tobirama's shinobi ranking system.

"Kawarama. Notify Hashirama-ani and the council that Uchiha Madara and his entourage will be welcomed temporarily into the Senju compound to discuss an armistice. Afterward, gather a few clansmen to assist in setting up our largest military tent at training ground one. The meeting will commence there."

Madara opens his eyes, an amused smirk tugging on the corners of his lips at Tobirama's unenthusiastic and monotonous order. Kawarama - the third brother, Madara reminded himself - looked ready to scream out an objection, an angry expression was on his face, full of hostility and scorn for the Uchiha clan.

But one deadly glare from the albino stopped any form of protests from leaving the younger, scarred Senju. Kawarama gritted his teeth, scowled heavily at all of the Uchiha in attendance (looking eerily alike Tobirama at that moment), and reluctantly dashed through the gates of the Senju compound to spread the word that Tobirama has accepted a delegation of Uchiha into their home.

"Takayama. Tacoma. Kaima. Alert the security personnel that the Uchiha are non-hostile, but continue to be on stand by and remove all civilians from the streets."

"Understood, Tobirama-sama," Unlike Kawarama, the three other Senju shinobi obeyed without pause. They bowed and dashed through the gates without looking back.

The only ones left were Tobirama and another Senju shinobi to accompany Madara and his clansmen outside the compound gates. Just as the albino swiped a red tongue to wet his rosy lips (unintentionally attracting Madara's eyes onto them), parting them to no doubt demand that the Uchiha remain here until all preparations were complete, Itama suddenly shot out from the between the bushes of the forest behind the group of Uchiha.

His men were quick to draw their weapons and form a protective ring around Madara, combative of the unknown threat, but did little else as their leader had brought up a glove-clad hand to halt them from taking further action. Itama froze in his steps, heterochromic eyes, one brown and one red, flickered from one Uchiha to another until they landed on Madara.

If they were back at the creek, Itama would have no doubt rushed to tackle-hug Madara. A warning look from the Uchiha patriarch, however, made the younger shinobi hunch his shoulders meekly and tentatively circle around the group of Uchiha to stand beside his older brother, a basket full of medicinal herbs in his gloved hands.

"Stand down," Madara ordered in his usual baritone, not needing to raise his voice for his men to obey him.

Although his clansmen did sheathe their katanas at his command, they remained tensed, Izuna especially. His brother stayed extra close to him, a scowl on his features. Madara didn't blame him. After all, they were currently inside enemy territory and had been spooked by a random Senju appearing behind of them.

War instincts rebelled for them to cut down Itama and make a tactical retreat to prevent being flanked. Fortunately, everyone Madara had specifically handpicked for today were all smart enough to know not to act recklessly and pointlessly aggravate their hosts. Madara would have their necks if they made the alliance crumble before it could even become an alliance.

"Uchiha Madara," Tobirama called, attracting all eyes on his person, "I would like to have a word with you. Alone."

"If you want to speak to our clan head, do it here in the open, Tobirama," Izuna all but snarled his rival's name, fingers clenched tightly onto one of Madara's billowing sleeve, "You have no right to request something from your betters. Learn your place, Senju heir."

"Don't antagonize our host, Izuna." Madara murmured, patted his younger brother's shoulder, and stepped away from his group, "We can talk inside the forest. Lead the way, Senju."

"Aniki..."

"Hush, otouto. I'll be alright. Wait for us to return."

Izuna looked ready to protest, glaring angrily at Tobirama. But he could do nothing else as Madara follows behind the white-haired Senju. It was only when they were at an appropriate distance away, enough to avoid any eavesdroppers and watchers did Tobirama stop and turn to face the Uchiha.

"What are you planning, Madara?" The albino crosses his arms, looking put-off and irritable despite his impressive poker face.

Madara innocently cocks his head to the side, the strands of hair on his face moving to reveal both his mirthful, onyx eyes, "What ever could you possibly mean, your excellency? My intentions for an alliance have been stated quite clearly on the missive."

Tobirama's arms were immediately covered in goosebumps, his cool expression completely morphed into disgust. It was hilarious.

"I'd rather you call me by one of those wretched nicknames than that."

"Heh. I knew you were secretly pleased by those pet names, snowflake. What a shy boy you are," Madara smirked slyly, stepping closer to pat his friend's cheek in a patronizing fashion.

If looks could kill, Madara would be dead by how fierce of a glare the Senju was giving him. Fortunately for him, the Senju was not born from a clan that possesses a dojutsu (although he wouldn't actually mind sewing the Uchiwa fan on the other man's clothing as, in his head, Tobirama was already considered an honorary Uchiha - his family).

Tobirama's fingers wrapped loftily around his wrist, pulling his hand away from the Senju's cheek but not releasing the limb.

"Enough fooling around. Tell me exactly why you are here, unannounced and ahead of schedule, before I truly lose my temper."

"You are far too stiff, my friend. Not even a greeting? I am disappointed by your lack of manners, Senju," Madara laughed, eyes squinting in mirth, "I assure you that I have no ulterior motives. My affairs have all been concluded earlier than I've originally planned. Therefore, I am only moving my schedule forward. It would be good if our clans could become allies faster, yes?"

Rather than respond to Madara's teasing, Tobirama only sighed and reluctantly accepts his half-arsed excuse - which was a good sign. It shows that Tobirama wasn't actually angry at his unexpected presence.

Inwardly, Madara sighed in relief.

It was all bullshite. What Madara lacked most was time.

Even now, he was still trying to schedule a visitation with the two women Izuna had impregnated. Hikari, too, was almost due - meaning Madara still has to find a midwife to help deliver his baby (Madara may be somewhat of a medic-nin, but he sure as hell has no experience in delivering a baby. And even if he knew how to, he would never voluntarily assist Hikari in anything).

Madara simply didn't want to explain to Tobirama that his instincts have been telling him that if he were to delay his plans any longer, Dokuzetsu would somehow mess everything up with its ploy. His paranoia has heightened considerably and he thought it best to quickly sign an alliance with Hashirama and start building their village before everything could fall apart.

Besides, he did not wish to involve anyone in his (one-sided) quest to subdue Dokuzetsu.

"Dara?"

He blinked, not realizing that he had zoned out.

When he raises his eyes (stupid Senju and their freakishly tall height), he almost yelped at how close their faces were from each other. As he cleared his throat to cover his undignified reaction, he also took a step back to avoid the Senju's inquiring gaze, feeling the temperature of his cheeks heighten without any particular cause.

Madara contemplates if Ryouta had fed him something undercooked, as his insides were clenching uncomfortably and his heart was palpitating too fast for it to be normal.

He discreetly prods his organs with his chakra. When he detected no abnormalities, he determines that the cause must have been the weather. It was pretty hot out today and Madara often gets a sunburn if he stands out in the sun for long periods of time.

Not wanting the silence to stretch into awkwardness, Madara shrugs off Tobirama's fingers from his wrist and brought his palms to rest against the younger shinobi's temples, green chakra coating his glove-clad hands.

"You've strained your eyes badly, Tobira. Why haven't you gone to Itama to get them looked at?"

"I'm fine."

Despite saying that he was fine, Tobirama still sighed in relief, leaning closer towards Madara as his eyelids fluttered closed, white lashes brushing gently against pale skin. If Izuna had not been blinded by his determination to defeat the albino, his brother would've undoubtedly praised the Senju for his exotic coloring and good looks.

"Indeed, so fine that I can see a migraine building up," Madara rolled his eyes, ignoring how his sarcasm made Tobirama pout, "You need to take better care of your health, Tobira."

"Pot, meet kettle." Tobirama jabs back in a dry tone.

"Who's the one with superior medical knowledge here?"

"I've memorized the entire chemical makeup of the human body down to its gram. Therefore, I know more about the human body than you, Dara."

"You are a scientist whilst I am a surgeon. Know the difference."

"A surgeon of death?" His friend drolled. Madara scoffed, chin tilted upwards in confidence.

"I beg to differ. Itama might need a few more years to surpass me, but right now, I am the best medic-nin in the world." Granted that Madara was simply a copy-cat - as all Sharingan users are. "There, all done. How do you feel?"

Before he could remove his hands from his friend's temples, Tobirama raises his own and covers Madara's glove-clad ones, shifting them until he has his palms over the albino's cheeks. When the Senju opens his eyes, there was a light playing within them. It was soft, gentle, and it made Madara's insides feel as if they were being squashed into pulpy jelly.

It was uncomfortable as it was comfortable.

He didn't know what was causing such a phenomenon, but the lazy, half-lidded expression Tobirama currently has on was distracting Madara from forming coherent thoughts. Therefore prohibiting him from exploring the strange feeling radiating from his chest.

"We should head back before Izuna starts thinking that you've somehow killed me," Madara murmured, yet he didn't do anything to shake Tobirama's hands off. He only continues to stare unblinkingly at his friend.

"Mhm."

Although the younger shinobi agreed with him, Tobirama's lashes fluttered closed again and everything just felt right. Even Tobirama's angular, sharp features have been softened by this strange atmosphere growing between them. Madara was dazed, entranced by this memorizing sight of his friend's relaxed, indulgently smiling face.

It felt like as if time has stopped for them, the sun's rays aligning just perfectly to brighten the spot they were standing on.

The tranquility, however, was unfortunately shattered when both of them sensed Hikaku's and Itama's chakra signatures approaching them. Feeling slightly reluctant, Madara's glove-clad hands (he regrets not taking them off before he started his treatment) lingered on Tobirama's face for a few more moments before they both broke apart and placed themselves in a respectable distance.

Tobirama slid back to looking like an iceberg, all stiff and frosty, whilst Madara was already gloomy, to begin with, hence he didn't need to fix his appearance or body language to show that they weren't close.

"Madara-sama!" Hikaku landed next to him with the grace of a feline, "Izuna requests your return."

"Kawa-nii says that the tent is ready, Tobi-nii," Itama reports as soon as he lands next to his brother.

Despite only being fifteen years old, his droopy-eyed disciple was standing slightly taller than his brother's impressive height of 182cm. It made Madara rue Senju genetics. His cute Tama-bō had turned into a giant, dwarfing Madara's stature of 175cm (he scowls at the reminder that he was shorter in this lifetime. Madara consoles himself that at least he was still taller than Izuna by a centimeter, Ryouta by five centimeters, and towers over the twins for now).

"Hn. Are we done here, Senju Tobirama?" Madara lifted his chin in an arrogant manner.

"We are," Tobirama turns to the direction of the Senju compound, "I will escort you and yours to the meeting place now."

Madara wasn't exactly looking forward to meeting the Senju elders. But he was eager to reunite with Hashirama again. It has been far too long since he last conversed with his then best friend.

Chapter Text

As soon as the contingent of Uchiha has relocated themselves inside the large, military green tent, Madara lowers himself onto a zaisu chair at the only table available, directly across from where Hashirama has already seated himself at. Izuna took a seat not a second later at Madara's right, and Tobirama at Hashirama's left. Itama and Kawarama both stopped outside, probably not a member of the bureaucratic team.

The rest of the Uchiha delegation lined in formal seiza behind of him, whilst the Senju council was already allocated behind their clan head.

Hashirama appeared sprightly, his grin so wide that it was on the verge of splitting his face in half. Madara settles for a smirk as a greeting, knowing that any other expression would make him look deranged or unhinged rather than non-hostile. He wishes he could have a personal chat with Hashirama after this meeting - or maybe during one of their breaks if there was time for it.

The rest of the people here sans Tobirama (incredible poker face as always), however, were stiff and looking at each other with explicit wariness.

Poor Izuna appeared ready to bolt to Madara's keen eyes, uncomfortable with the close proximity to the two powerhouses that were Hashirama and Tobirama. Or perhaps it was due to the Senju outnumbering them 1 to 3 inside the tent, not counting the guards situated at the entrance and the army outside.

Madara wanted to wrap his arms around Izuna and soothe his little brother's distress away, but any show of weakness right now was ill adviced. He settles for discreetly placing a hand on his brother's thigh, squeezing it once in an attempt to comfort.

Just when he was about to remove his appendage, Izuna's clammy fingers intertwined with his glove-clad ones. Noticing the nervous twitches, Madara didn't have the heart to pull back despite all logical reasonings (his brotherly instincts prohibits him from doing so). He was thankful that the table obstructed any curious eyes from what was happening from the waist down, at the very least.

Madara soon directs his attention to the Senju patriarch.

"I thank you for the warm reception and this prime opportunity of an alliance, Hashirama-dono."

Madara hated formalities. However, at this point in time, it was a necessity.

The Senju elders would nitpick anything to deny them this alliance, hence, they needed to be politically smart in their choice of actions and words. Judging by the grimace on Hashirama's face, the Senju has the same impression. Kind-hearted and easy to forgive Senju Hashirama may be, but a fool he was not.

"It should be I who thank you for proposing a treaty between our clans, Madara-dono," Hashirama says, tone and expression dripping with utmost sincerity, "I, Senju Hashirama, officially commence the Senju-Uchiha Peace Conference with Senju Tobirama, Uchiha Madara, and Uchiha Izuna. Let our clansmen bear witness to our amicable exchange at the prospect of an alliance."

As soon as Hashirama announces the beginning of the conference, Madara cut right to the chase, his tone solemn and profound. Uchiha Madara has never been one to beat around the bush if there was no need to do so.

"I have already prepared a few stipulations beforehand. As it is but a rough draft, any terms you believe that need to be revised can be negotiated."

Hikaku got up and passes around a copy of the bill Madara had written to the rest of the Senju council, lest they bitch about the Uchiha trying to one-up them. Izuna, on the other hand, directly hands Hashirama and Tobirama each a copy of the drafted proposal whilst Madara articulates each term word for word, pausing only when someone asks him to elaborate further on a segment.

The papers they had distributed aren't the actual treaty that the two clans had agreed upon during Madara's first life itself. These documents had a lot of intentional loopholes placed in them, as he plans to steer the Senju council into gradually thinking that they were the ones who would get the better end of the deal.

When Madara's dark pool of eyes met Tobirama's ruby red ones for a split second, his friend nodded discreetly.

They had both discussed and agreed upon the terms of the final treaty - all through letters with Itama acting as their courier.

The draft that Izuna and Hikaku handed out was actually compiled by Tobirama and Madara both, seeing that Tobirama knew more about his clan's council than Madara could ever. They would work together to, slowly but surely, herd the Senju clan into agreeing to what both Madara and Tobirama had agreed upon prior to this meeting.

Initially, Tobirama had been worried about Madara's people kicking up a fuss and ruining their plans, but Madara had assured him, repetitively, that his clansmen would not complicate matters and they should focus more on the Senju elders.

He didn't actually say it, but Madara believes that Tobirama did get the subtle message that Madara wanted their clans' alliance to be concluded as soon as possible.

He hopes that they could settle this within a month at the very least (no matter how improbable it seems), rather than half a year as they did in his previous life. He didn't have the time to personally attend all the peace talks if it drags on for too long. And although he trusts Izuna and Ryouta to attend them in his place completely, he was a paranoid man, believing that anything that could go wrong would go wrong.

Madara was soon interrupted from his droning (narrating the bill unenthusiastically, honestly. Hashirama looked on the verge of falling asleep despite his prior excitement, eyelids drooping at Madara's monotonous recitation. Even Madara himself wanted to sleep from how boring he sounded) when one of the Senju elders began to loudly proclaim his disagreement with more than three-quarters of the terms.

And then someone -coughIzunacough- from his side decided that it would be a great idea to snidely chide said elder about how uncouth it was to interrupt another person when they were speaking. It didn't take long for the tent explode into discord after that, with everyone trying to out-talk the other.

Majority of the Uchiha had puffed up like disgruntled cats whilst the majority of the Senju had their hackles raised like aggravated dogs, a sign that both parties were trying to instinctively make themselves look larger to intimidate each other. It would have been a highly amusing sight if not the migraine he feels building up behind his eyes.

Madara withheld a sigh.

This was going to be a long day.

Day one of the Senju-Uchiha Peace Conference ended late into the night, with a few breaks in between when the tension ran too high to diffuse. It was agreed that they would continue 'talking' tomorrow.

Unfortunately enough (but entirely speculated), there hadn't been any changes made to the draft itself as, most of the time, the council were squabbling like children rather than negotiating like grown men (at least Izuna didn't seem to be nervous anymore, having joined in the 'fun').

It had been mentally draining, as he needed to remind himself continuously to reign in his KI.

With a tired roll of his shoulders, he and his clansmen followed after a scowling Kawarama who showed them into another training ground, this one with many tents already set up. Madara was led to the biggest one. He muttered a thank you, bid his clansmen good night, and entered it. It was quite unfortunate that he was too exhausted to seek Hashirama out this time.

Laid inside was a simple bedroll made of animal fur. It was good to know that despite the mistrust the Senju hold for the Uchiha, parties who came to negotiate a truce were treated accordingly.

In his previous life, the conference had taken place at the borders between the Uchiha and Senju land, where their respective clans slept in sleeping bags during the freezing night and attended the peace talks under the burning sun. It had been hell.

He buries his face into the bedroll. Madara knows that he wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight - what with being inside enemy territory - but he has to try to rest as much as possible. If his mind continues to refuse to unwind after an hour or two, he would cease any futile attempts to sleep and do something more productive; like meditate.

"Aniki? Are you asleep?"

The flap of his tent flutters slightly when Izuna ducks down to enter. Madara grunts to show that he was still awake, though he remains unmoving from his prone position. When he feels his brother sit next to him, he was quick to wiggle closer to the warmth until he has his head nestled on Izuna's lap.

Slender and calloused fingers soon began to run through his long mane, carefully disentangling any knots they find (which was a lot). Madara almost melted into a puddle of goo at the blissful scratches to his scalp, eyelids fluttering to a close at the relaxing stimuli.

If he was a cat, he would be purring.

"What's your opinion on how the meeting went? Will this attempt at peace be a wasted effort?" Izuna murmurs, soft enough to not startle Madara out from his relaxation. He hums to buy some time for his lazy thoughts to gather.

"Deeply unimpressed. However, I have already foreseen such a result. It will take time, but I assure you that I will only show my hand once I've drawn the royal flush. Trust me, Izuna - Takumi, Yakumi, and our unborn children will not have the threat of war destroy their childhood. They won't be forced onto the battlefield like us."

"We made no progress, though." Izuna pointed out.

"It is only the first day." Madara counters.

"If you say so..."

"Stay the night?"

"Ok. But don't expect me to get any sleep when we're surrounded by Senju." His brother grumbled petulantly.

Madara only patted the younger Uchiha's knee in wordless gratitude. The two Uchiha brothers soon fell into a comfortable silence, with Izuna's fingers continuing their soothing ministrations. It didn't take long for Madara to doze off, feeling safe and content with Izuna here with him.

It was hours later did he blink awake, having sensed Itama's chakra signature at the edges of the training ground, flaring ever so slightly that it would alert sensitive sensors. One look at Izuna was enough to see that despite his little brother's proclamation that he would get no sleep, he was out like a light, drooling even.

Madara gently bundles his adorable little brother into a burrito tight enough that it would take some time to escape from, before slipping out of his tent and carefully sneaked behind his stupidly tall disciple.

"What are you doing here?"

Itama's two-colored hair whipped about his forehead when he snapped his neck to face him so fast Madara was afraid that the Senju would have a spinal dislocation. Instead of wincing at the sudden creak of bones, Itama beamed and bounced closer until they were standing only an arm's length from each other.

"Dara-shishou! I'm sorry if I woke you up..." Itama trailed off with a sheepish grin.

"It's fine. What are you doing here?" He repeated his question, hands wrapped around his biceps in an effort to keep warm, "It would be unwise for us to be seen together. I am the Uchiha patriarch right now, not your elegant shishou."

"Ehh... But Dara-shishou punches like a gorilla, is violent like a hurricane, and thunderous like a sailor. Elegant isn't exactly the word I would choose to describe my shishou. Ah, but Dara-shishou is very attractive, so it's ok even if you're temperamental. Good-looking people get a pass no matter what they do and how they act."

Madara felt his right eye twitch violently.

Truthfully, over the years, he has already come into terms with his disciple's foot-in-the-mouth careless commentaries (usually directed at Hashirama or Kawarama). He was even often entertained by the hilariously, insulting opinions Itama has to say about everything and anything.

However, at times like this, when such barbed words were pointed at him, he feels the metaphorical arrows brutally stab him through his gut and the urge to vomit blood intensify.

Itama only continues to smile brightly, his droopy eyes making him appear unimpeachable. Evidently, the Senju has failed to realize that he has, yet again, just straight-up insulted Madara's everything, from his personality to his characteristic. Not to mention the ambiguous compliment (more like a backhanded insult).

Madara tightened his fingers around his biceps to prevent them from 'accidentally' breaking the brat's skull. It wouldn't do to brain his not-so-cute-anymore teenage student. Tobirama would be a nightmare to deal with if Itama returns home with blood-caked hair.

"What are you doing here, brat? I won't ask again." He gritted out.

"Oh, right!" His idiot disciple exclaims softly, plopping a fist on a palm as if he has just remembered the purpose of his visit. Madara couldn't help it. He facepalms. "Toboe came with a letter. Since you're here, I think it's from one of your brothers - I didn't look inside, honest!"

Itama was quick to add that he hadn't looked at the contents as he hands Madara the tiny scroll, sweating nervously. Squinting his eyes dubiously at the taller shinobi just to play on the brat's nerves and make the skunk-haired Senju sweat a little, he only decides to unroll the scroll after a full minute has passed.

His lips quirked upwards when he hears a sigh of relief. Revenge sure was sweet, no matter how petty.

The second his eyes landed on the words written on the tiny scroll, however, he lost all amusement.

"Itama," He began, his hard tone making Itama stand at attention, "I need you to escort me to your gates."

"Wha- Shishou...? Are you leaving? What about the conference tomorrow?" Itama bites his bottom lip worriedly.

"I'm urgently needed elsewhere."

Madara wraps his fingers around Itama's wrist and tugged him hurriedly towards the general direction of the Senju compound gates, lips pursed in displeasure. He didn't want to leave Izuna alone on a diplomatic assignment without Ryouta there to reign him in, but he was out of options. He needed Ryouta to continue protecting the Uchiha compound in their absence.

Hopefully, Tobirama would pick up Madara's slack and not taunt his little brother into a bristling ball of anger.

"Hand this scroll to Izuna - you know who that is, right? Good. He's currently sleeping at my tent - and relay that I will be expecting him back home in two week's time by the latest. And inform Tobirama of my departure. Tell him that something came up and I won't be readily available for an undetermined period of time. If you understand, repeat what I just said."

"Pass the scroll to Izuna-san, tell him that you want him home in two week's time the latest, and inform Tobi-nii that something came up and you need to go home and that you won't be available for however long it is until the urgent thing is settled."

Itama repeats softly whilst simultaneously signaling the Senju guards on patrol to stand down when they looked ready to tackle Madara away from their third heir.

As soon as they were at the gates, Madara passes the tiny scroll to Itama's awaiting palm and rushes to the Uchiha compound.

Madara really, really hates surprises.

Chapter Text

The sky was basked in the orange light of dawn when Madara finally arrives at his clan's compound. The two gate duty regulars both saluted him as he rushes by, not daring to get in his way when they saw his vexed expression, as if he was seconds away from tearing someone's throat out by his teeth.

As soon as he reaches his two-story house, Madara slams the shoji doors open with the subtlety of a raging bijuu and strides into the only guest bedroom, where Hikari was screaming bloody murder and an old midwife he doesn't know the name of but recognizes settled between her legs.

Ryouta immediately perks up at his arrival, looking relieved yet still worried over the complications of the child's birth, wringing his hands as he hovers around the room.

"Anija! I'm sorry for calling you at such a time and on such short notice when you're so busy with the alliance talks but I didn't know what to do I panicked and wrote the note and oh Sage I'm ill-prepared for childbirth I can only kill not heal and-"

"Breathe. You did well in notifying me, otouto."

He cut his little brother off, trying sound gentle and soothing, but the irritation in his tone was notable and the harsh lines on his features weren't going anywhere anytime soon. He shoots an apologetic smile, which was more of a grimace, and Ryouta returns it with more finesse.

As he settles by Hikari's side, he tucks the billowing sleeves of his mantle using a tasuki, removes his leather gloves, and submerges his hands into a bowl of alcohol, already prepared in advance.

"Takumi and Yakumi?" He raises his voice to be heard over Hikari's loud sobbing.

"They're with your hawks," Ryouta grimaces when Hikari screeches extra loud, "Takumi knows to keep Yakumi busy until I give them the ok."

"What of your posting?"

"I have my division's vice, Kaoru, stand in for me. I gave him strict instructions to call me immediately if there are any signs of invaders. I also made sure that nobody saw Hisako-san come here."

"Good. You did good, otouto."

At the reassurance that their clan would not be running around like headless chickens at the absence of their leaders, and that the word of Hikari's labor has not gotten out, he went back to thoroughly scrubbing his hands. Ryouta, on the other hand, settles behind of him to help pull his untamable mane into a high ponytail.

Whilst Madara picks the dirt out from under his fingernails, he inwardly cusses at his rotten luck.

The many months of preparations had all been wasted despite having taken his child's birth into account. He had pushed the peace talks forward not only due to his Zetsu-induced paranoia, but also because he wanted to be home when Hikari was supposed to go into labor two months later.

Of all the birth complications, his child just had to be fucking a premature baby.

Premature babies born in this time period have a high mortality rate no thanks to the lack of proper equipment, hospitals, and a sterile environment. And it was only due to the fact that Madara knows that his child's slim chances of survival rely heavily upon his futuristic medical knowledge did he rush back.

If this child was not his flesh and blood, he would have prioritized the Uchiha-Senju alliance, leaving the baby's fate to the Uchiha clan's patron goddess, Amaterasu. Alas, despite its dubious conception, Madara was already fond of his unborn child.

How he abhors how easily an Uchiha feels for their family.

"How long has it been?" He asks curtly, his Sharingan whirling to life.

"Eight hours have passed since Lady Hikari has gone into labor. Her cervix has dilated enough in that timeframe and she has been pushing for almost ten minutes now." The old midwife responded clinically, brows furrowed as she looked at Hikari's pained features, "Take a deep breath in and push out harder, my lady."

Madara ignores the rise of volume of Hikari's screaming and crying in favor of hovering a hand over her pregnant bulge, green chakra seeping into her womb to assist her in pushing the child out. The midwife startles at that, no doubt surprised that Madara knows medical jutsu.

He gave a baleful glare that says 'focus on your own role!' at the midwife, who immediately went back to encouraging Hikari. She even shoved a hand inside Hikari's bloodied entrance, ripping another howl from the woman's lips. Madara winced, not exactly sympathetic to Hikari's plight, but that looked entirely unpleasant for both parties involved.

Even Ryouta, a certified torturer and a veteran shinobi, looked green in the face at the ruthlessness of the midwife's unhesitant actions.

Madara was glad he was born without a uterus, and judging by Ryouta's sickly complexion, his little brother agrees with his sentiments.

It took another half an hour for his child to take their first breath of the outside air. Madara was quick to sanitize his hands again as the midwife cleaned his baby. As soon as he was handed his child, the old midwife went back to focusing on Hikari whilst Madara swiftly yet gently set his newborn babe on the prepared bedding.

"A girl." And he guestimates that she weighs less than a kilo and was at most 35cm in length.

Madara was in awe, feeling his damped eyes sting with the desire to cry, but was also quick to blink his lashes and focus more on the pressing issue. Like how his baby girl was not crying due to her difficulties in breathing.

He coos reassurances as he allows his healing chakra to seep into his little girl's underdeveloped lungs, strengthening the muscles and manually assisting her to breathe. Additionally, he brings his other hand to cup the crown of her head and spreads his chakra to cycle throughout the entirety of his baby girl's small body, ensuring enough heat for her to be comfortable due to her lack of fat.

Multi-casting requires intense concentration for the average person. Fortunately enough, Madara has never been normal. And he embraces his abnormality, for if he does not, he would have never been able to perform such feats that should be impossible in this time period, for he knows that if he falters, the risk that his baby girl would stop breathing was high.

If only they have incubators and intubation machines at this time period.

Truthfully, he doesn't know for how long he could continue this without exhaustion rearing its ugly head. But he would not rest until she was able to automatically breathe on her own. If he has to unseal his byakugō and use it to sustain himself from collapsing, he would do so in a heartbeat.

Madara was a shinobi, he was made to endure.

"She's tiny," Ryouta whispers under his breath, wonderment in his tone as he kneels next to Madara, not once moving to touch his child despite his eagerness to hold her. She was too vulnerable right now, her skin reddish and raw and require delicate handling.

Before Madara could respond to his brother, the midwife cleared her throat. Whilst Ryouta turns fully to the old midwife, Madara keeps his eyes entirely on his baby girl, ears attentive.

"Please pardon me for the interruption, Madara-sama, Ryouta-sama. Lady Hikari has passed out from exhaustion. I would like to inquire if I should call a healer for her."

"Unnecessary. Keep what you have seen here to yourself."

"Understood. If you require any future assistance, I am at your beck and all. And congratulations. I wish your heir many years of good health and happiness."

"She is not my child," It hurts for him deny his fatherly connection to her, but he steels his heart and puts on a stoic front, his blank expression betraying nothing, "She is Tajima's daughter - my youngest sibling. She may be the clan's princess, but she will not be considered heir apparent."

The midwife lowers her head, "I apologize for my mistake, Madara-sama. My congratulations and well wishes remain, however."

"Thank you..."

"This one's name is Hisako, milord."

"I thank you for your kind words and timely assistance, Hisako-san."

"It is my pleasure and duty to help the main house and clan head to the best of my abilities. I'll excuse myself here then, Madara-sama."

"Ensure that your departure remains unseen from the masses."

"I understand."

Bowing in respect, the old midwife soon slipped out of the room. Madara and Ryouta tracked her chakra signature and only relaxes when she exits their house from the backyard.

"Is she going to be alright?" Ryouta turns to Madara with his eyes full of concern for his nibling, "I've never seen a newborn so tiny before..."

"She will be." Madara made sure to keep his voice steady and calm despite the pinch of anxiety radiating from his gut.

"Ok." Ryouta seats himself next to Madara, brushing their shoulders together in an act of comfort. "Ok." The younger Uchiha repeats, but more firmly this time.

They stayed rooted to their spots for some time, with Ryouta just smiling softly at the babe and Madara doing his best to induce his daughter's own fragile chakra to follow his own's healing patterns.

After a while, Ryouta disappeared into the hallways with Hikari thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, returning sans Hikari within a couple of minutes, in his arms now a bunch of supplies.

After first sanitizing his hands to the best of his abilities, Ryouta began to maneuver around and put a nappy on the babe, before he gently carries her into Madara's arms. Ryouta was the one to hold the baby bottle to her lips since Madara has his hands full with healing and carrying his daughter.

It was a struggle since she was so small, but they managed, somehow. Madara only wishes that their first hug could have been under better circumstances.

"What's her name?"

"I won't name her just yet."

Ryouta's head shot up from staring at the babe, lips parted in surprise and a rebuttal on the tip of his tongue, but they snapped shut not a second later. Madara looks away from his little brother's sorrowful gaze, knowing that his expression must have revealed more than he had intended.

Sometimes, he wishes Ryouta was more oblivious like Izuna and Yakumi.

The percentage that his little girl would live was... extremely low.

With all of his senses concentrated on his little girl, he knows that her insides were a mess.

Underdeveloped lungs were one thing, her immature immune system, brittle chakra pathways, and fragile life force was another. Not to mention the lack of proper equipment needed to keep a premature baby alive in this era. Take all of that into account and Madara wants to scream his grievances to the world.

Madara wants his little girl to live. Desperate, even. However, he knows that even with his medical prowess, it would be a difficult battle for her. He could only help so much, as he was not omnipotent. Although he had told Ryouta that she would be fine, that confidence had all been a front - his sincere wishes for his words to be true.

But it was difficult to keep his emotions from showing, to suppress them, when this was his daughter, his flesh and blood, whose life was on the line. Shinobi he may be, but he was still human. Compartmentalizing could only protect him so far.

Hence, Madara decided to be selfish. If she really could not survive the odds, he would rather bury a nameless child than a named one, pretend that she was truly Tajima's bastard of a daughter. He has always been good at denying reality.

He was also good at self-punishment, his Sharingan glinting unnaturally, burning this memory into his head as he levels his gaze at the tiny body, at her poorly lit chakra that sometimes flickers with instability.

"I want to wait for Izuna." Was his poor excuse to delay his daughter's naming.

"Ok, anija. We'll wait for Izu-nii."

Ryouta's whisper was wobbly at best, and when he wraps an arm around Madara's shoulder, leaning forward until their foreheads touched, Madara couldn't help the sudden hitch in his breathing.

Time dragged by gruelingly.

By the third day, Madara's byakugō has been replaced by thick, dark lines that stretches from an empty diamond on his forehead, down his cheeks, and reaches all the way to his wrists and ankles in a geometric pattern.

The Strength of a Hundred seal was supposed to be an ace against Zetsu, but he doesn't regret using it for the purpose of keeping his child alive.

Although his chakra pool was constantly being replenished by the stored reserves inside the seal on his forehead, Madara was mentally and physically exhausted, having not slept the entire time whilst functioning as his daughter's life support machine.

When he feels a blunt nudge against his dry lips, Madara instinctually parts them. He doesn't taste what he has been spoon fed, but his tongue protests against the gritty texture.

"-een an Uchiha with white hair before. I know for sure that Takumi would insist on making her more colorful-"

Madara shakes his head a couple of times and blinks rapidly in order to clear the fog inside his head. When his brain finally registers Ryouta's inane mumblings, he returns his half-lidded gaze to his child's form, focusing more on her features this time around whilst ignoring the tremors in his hands.

When she had just been born, she was without hair, had her eyes scrunched shut, and had reddish, pruney skin. Now, however, after an unknown amount of time has passed, Madara could see the first tufts of white growing from her crown, her lashes equally without pigmentation, and her skin pinkish pale.

He dazedly wonders if he should ask Tobirama for tips on how to raise an albino child.

"-when he'll be ba- oh shit! Careful, Anija."

Ryouta abruptly drops his spoon into the bowl of mush and pulls out a handkerchief. With gentle fingers, he cups Madara's chin and wipes the drool and puree food that had dribbled from his lips. All the while, Ryouta's eyebrows were pinched and his lips pressed into a straight line.

"Can't you rest for a little bit? Please?"

Madara lethargically shakes his head, causing the cold sweat that had been stubbornly clinging to his forehead to roll down his face. Ryouta's frown deepened. Without a pause, Ryouta uses the corner of his mantle's sleeve to wipe the sweat from Madara's face and neck.

"Sleep deprivation is another form of torture. You'll end up killing yourself at this rate."

Again, Madara shakes his head.

If he stops his chakra output for even a single second, his daughter might go into respiratory distress. He didn't want to chance it. Anything that could go wrong, would go wrong. Especially when Lady Luck abhors standing at the Uchiha's side of the line.

"It's... twelve days, anija! I've seen... of men fall into a... of psychosis from withheld...! Can't you... how... disregard of... agonizes me?! There... limits to what a... person can accomplish! Can't... rely on..., on us, even... only just a lit-"

His beloved little brother might as well be a fly buzzing around his head with how sluggish Madara's mind was processing Ryouta's aggravated words, the younger Uchiha's voice muffled by the metaphorical pieces of cotton stuffed inside his ears. Deciding that it would be a wasted effort to split his concentration any further, he went back to focusing his sole attention on his sickly daughter, taking note of her heartbeat, her chakra system, her breathing-

Madara suddenly straightens his spine, causing Ryouta to (blessedly) fall silent, his little brother's pair of piercing, onyx eyes never once leaving his weary figure. He ignores the attention he garners, more focused on his own skyrocketed heart rate. Madara's breath was caught in his throat as he zeroes onto the fact that his baby girl was breathing on her own.

Tentatively, he retracts his chakra from her lungs and checks her vital signs, Sharingan whirling at an unimaginable rate to catch any signs of deterioration or collapse. When he sees no change in her condition after half an hour has passed, his body instantly topples to the side.

Were it not for his brother, he would've face planted onto the tatami mats.

He slurs his words like a drunk, briefing Ryouta that Madara's baby girl was now stable enough to live without the aid of his chakra and for Ryouta to closely monitor the babe whilst he takes a short nap. He also demands that Ryouta wake him immediately if her condition deviates from the norms.

If Ryouta had responded, Madara didn't hear it. He had blacked out soon after he has said his piece - the thick, dark lines of his Seal slowly retracting back into a faded, purple rhombus on his forehead.

Chapter Text

Kagami sulkily kicks the dirt beneath his sandaled feet, his bottom lip jutted out in a petulant manner.

He didn't want to be here. In the compound's market area. But his mama was being mean today; had carried him - kicking and screaming - out of bed and dragged him here against his will. She also has a tight grip on his hand, not budging no matter how much he tries to pull away.

Usually, Kagami loves helping his mama with her chores, especially if it takes him out of the house. But he hates it now. For whenever he leaves the house to go to the market with her, he would hear many of his aunts and uncles say mean things about Madara-sama, which makes Kagami angry enough to throw handfuls of dirt at them.

Mama always scolds him for that. But Kagami refuses to apologize (even when she pinches his ear until his eyes water. And no, they weren't tears. He was a big boy - and big boys don't cry).

Those baddies had no right to say such things about Kagami's favorite person. It was all their fault that Madara-sama looks so sad and doesn't take walks around the compound nowadays. It was also their fault that mama won't let him approach Madara-sama no matter how much he throws himself on the floor and screams.

Glaring at the group of housewives his mama was chatting with - his curly hair all but floofed at the bad gossip they have concerning Madara-sama - Kagami makes sure to memorize their faces. He plans to smear Kaitou's poop on their shoes the next time he sneaks out of the house.

It was at this moment that Kagami notices that mama's head was turned away from him, paying more attention to the fruit vendor, enough that her hand slackened for him to slip out of her hold.

He didn't hesitate to take this opportunity to rush into the crowd of shoppers, hiding him from her sight easily when he only reaches an adult's hip at best. In addition to that, he makes sure to pull his chakra inwards into a ball at his tummy to prevent leakage, just like how Madara-sama taught him to.

With a stubborn and illogical determination that only naive children could muster, Kagami, in all his three-year-old glory, enters sneakily into the Uchiha main family house, expertly climbing over the wooden fence surrounding the two-story building.

At the doorway, he furrows his brows, thinking deeply if he should remove his shoes or not. It took him all but a second to decide that he should. The last time Kagami enters Madara-sama's house with his shoes on, Izuna-sama (the evilest adult ever) had force-fed him a big bowl of nattō as punishment for tracking mud all over the house.

Kagami still has nightmares about the nasty smell and taste till this day.

Shuddering at the memory, Kagami quickly swapped his sandals for a pair of black bunny slippers. They were Kagami's, Madara-sama had said, for whenever he decides to drop by.

When Kagami did not find anyone in the living room, kitchen, garden, or the aviary, he ambles to Madara-sama's bedroom. Peering inside, he brightens immediately upon seeing Madara-sama, slumbering the morning away. He doubts he could follow Madara-sama's example without his mama scolding him for being lazy.

Kagami knows that he should probably do the polite thing and leave, but Kagami hasn't seen Madara-sama for so long. So the man wouldn't mind if Kagami stays for a while longer, right?

With that decided, Kagami walks into the bedroom with tippy toes and makes himself comfortable beside Madara-sama's futon. His tiny hands soon grab a fistful of Madara-sama's hair, pudgy fingers clumsily weaving the soft strands into loose braids while he hums a lullaby mama always sings to him.

Within the blink of an eye, before Kagami was even aware that Madara-sama was awake, he feels the tip of Madara-sama's fingers brush lightly against the side of his neck. He stares in wonderment, enthralled by the older Uchiha's crimson red eyes. Kagami has seen many Sharingan with one to three dots in them before, but he has never seen a Sharingan with patterns inside.

(The Sharingan's thrall distracted Kagami from feeling the cut Madara had made across the boy's jugular. And then healing the injury before the three-year-old could even feel the pain.)

"Kagami," Madara-sama's raspy voice was enough to startle Kagami back into focus, only now realizing that the older Uchiha's eyes have returned to their original state of black.

Kagami pouts, wanting to study the strange pattern longer, but was easily enough distracted when Madara-sama's fingers slid upwards until he manages to cup Kagami's cheek tenderly, a thumb brushing gently across his left eyelid. Kagami giggles and all but snuggles into the heavily calloused, adult-sized palm.

"Good morning, Da-sama!" Kagami chirps his greeting like any other good boy, showing a grin with four missing front teeth. The younger Uchiha then made sure to latch onto Madara-sama's wrist, pudgy fingers holding them in place as he continuously rubs his cheek lovingly over the man's palm, "Mi-kun misses Da-sama."

The corners of Madara-sama's lips curve up slightly in a way that Kagami recognizes as fondness, which makes Kagami return it with a grin of his own, wide enough to stretch from ear to ear. If Kagami was talented enough to draw something better than a stick figure, he would've drawn all of Madara-sama's smiles and collect them as a hobby.

Once again, Kagami laments how blind the adults were to not see what Kagami sees when he looks at Madara-sama.

(Albeit, secretly, Kagami has always thought that Madara-sama was the prettiest when he smiles and laughs and that was the second reason why Kagami tries his best to make the man happy. Mama calls Kagami an esthete when he tries to explain his actions to her. Kagami doesn't know what it means - and Madara-sama only chuckles when he asked the Uchiha head that one time, much to his petulant frustration.)

"And I you," Kagami did his best to not preen like a peacock. But looking at Madara-sama's mirthful eyes, he failed. Not that Kagami minds. Anything that makes Madara-sama was good in his books. "Not that I find your presence disagreeable, Kagami, but what are you doing here? Does your mother know of your whereabouts?"

His grin turns into a sheepish smile. And then he ignores the second question like a champ. Mama knows that Madara-sama's house was the only place Kagami would be at, other than the playground. So that question was irara- irelva- irre...something... oh, right, irrelevant.

"Mi-kun is on a mission to protect Da-sama!" From all the meanies who keep saying bad things about Madara-sama. Despite his young age, Kagami knows to be tactful (unlike Izuna-sama). So he doesn't complete the sentence.

"My, what a gentleman. A man after my own heart. How can I ever repay you for your bravery, shinobi-kun?"

Madara-sama's black eyes were bright with mirth while Kagami giggles. He also keenly notes that Madara-sama made no move to get up or leave his futon.

'Maybe Madara-sama is feeling under the weather today?' Kagami ponders.

But, well, Madara-sama is an old man. So Kagami reasons that he shouldn't ask Madara-sama to get out of bed to play with him. Izuna-sama often mentions that old people need lots of rest, after all, whenever he refuses to release Kagami from his job as a pillow. Once again, Kagami enforces that Izuna-sama was the evilest person ever.

"Mi-kun doesn't need Da-sama to repay him! Mi-kun does this because Mi-kun loves Da-sama! Buuuut, Mi-kun won't mind accepting something from Da-sama if Da-sama wants to repay Mi-kun that badly."

"Hn. Do you reckon I'd like to reward you that badly?"

"Yes!"

"If you insist on it, I suppose I could?"

"Mi-kun insists!"

"Is that so? Very well, bunny. We have a deal. I'll be sure to supply something after you've completed your mission," Madara-sama chuckles, his hand moving to pet Kagami on his head before pulling away.

Kagami pouts, wanting to monopolize more of Madara-sama's warmth, but allows it when he sees how exhausted Madara-sama really looks under all that playfulness. The older Uchiha has bruises on his eyebags, dark enough to mistaken them for ink, and was pallor than Kagami has ever seen him before.

Not liking the sickly image Madara-sama portrays, Kagami pulls out mama's flowery hair comb and begins combing through Madara-sama's long hair with determination. Sleep would make the tiredness in Madara-sama's eyes disappear. And the best method to induce asleep was this - as Kagami always feels sleepy whenever mama combs his hair for him.

It was with the mindset of a child did he do what he felt would help Madara-sama best at this point in time. Madara-sama didn't seem to mind, eyes becoming half-lidded at the ministration.

When Kagami notices that Madara-sama wasn't really falling asleep after some time, he tries to reassure the older Uchiha. Kagami knows that when he himself has nightmares, he would be too scared to fall back asleep. Hence, he assumes that that was the case for Madara-sama.

"Don't worry, Da-sama. Da-sama can sleep without worries! Mi-kun will be here to defend Da-sama from any nightmares like how Kaitou protects Mi-kun from his nightmares. Though Mi-kun isn't naughty enough to steal Da-sama's pillow like how Kaitou steals Mi-kun's pillows. He also pinches Mi-kun's food sometimes... and milk, too...! Naughty cat is naughty!"

Madara-sama chuckles.

Before Kagami could protest about being laughed at, Madara-sama complies and closes his eyes. Kagami snaps his mouth shut and continues combing through Madara-sama's hair.

Kagami would let Madara-sama off this time. Since elderly people like him clearly need to sleep more to ease their fatigue away. Next time, however, Kagami would scold Madara-sama for his rudeness. But now, Kagami happily hums a lullaby and focuses his sole attention on easing Madara-sama to sleep.

Madara patiently waits until his little visitor has slumped over in slumber, breathing evened out, before he opens his eyes and gets up slowly. His body trembles in exertion, but he easily pushes past that with practiced eased and gently arranges the child into his futon, rolling Kagami into a burrito without thought.

With a soft exhale, he walks out of his bedroom, pausing only to throw a fond look behind his shoulder at the sleeping child-

("Mi-kun does this because Mi-kun loves Da-sama!")

-and heads towards the guest room, where he could sense Ryouta's and his daughter's chakra signatures at.

Ryouta looks up from his position next to a wooden cradle, expectant, when Madara enters his brother's bedroom, his face covered in a shadow of tiredness but he was also pleased to note that Madara was already rested enough to walk on his own.

"How long have I been out for?" Madara asks as he seats himself next to the younger Uchiha. His Sharingan soon enough whirls to life and he looks at his baby girl, desperately soaking in her healthy complexion and easy breathing. It makes the tensed lines of his shoulders soften.

"Three days. How are you feeling now, anija?"

"Well rested. Kagami had been a pleasant surprise upon waking, a sight for sore eyes indeed," Madara sighs, "Although I would have preferred a head's up, otouto. It was fortunate enough that I had sensed the bunny's chakra signature and reign in my instincts."

Decapitating someone he cherishes upon awakening was not something he ever wanted.

"Ah. Apologies, anija," Ryouta grimaces. "It sometimes slips my mind that not everyone starts their awareness training at the age of three."

"That is the norm, Ryouta. Our family is simply the exception."

"Hn. Should I be expecting Kagami to be trained by you soon, then? I know that anija thinks of him as an honorary little brother."

"Perhaps," Madara murmurs. Inwardly, however, he doubts that Kagami's mother would give him the permission required to tutor Kagami no matter how 'honored' it would be for a clan head to take a personal disciple, a half-Uchiha at that. "Did you invite him over?"

"No. He came uninvited but wholly welcomed. Honestly, I had feared that he wouldn't dare to come anywhere near us after that event," Ryouta sighs. "As much as I hate being wrong, I'm glad to be proven otherwise in this case."

"The little bunny is stubborn," Madara agrees.

Granted, Madara too had speculated that Kagami would avoid him after the Purge had taken place. Children tend to imitate the behavior of the adults around them due to how impressionable their minds were. And with Madara becoming the clan's pariah, Madara couldn't blame Kagami if the bunny turned away from him too.

In spite of the fact that Madara was pleased to interact with Kagami again, he was still anxious about too many things to be truly contented in spirit.

The first on his ever long list of worries right now was his daughter. It didn't matter how healthy she looked right now. He wanted to know if there were any concerns about her immune system or her vitals.

"How is...?" He trails off, onyx eyes landing on the sleeping newborn lying inside the cradle.

Her head of white hair has grown thicker, which makes Madara's heart swell in pride - perhaps his baby girl would take after him more than Hikari (one could only hope), but she was still too young for him to determine whose bone structure dominates her facial features.

"She's a fighter like her father," Ryouta smiles, proud and full of affection, "From the constant monitoring, there have been no signs of deterioration. Nor does she have any trouble with her breathing. I am in complete awe, anija. I've always known that you are a skilled healer, but this is unexpected - in a completely good way."

"Thank you for looking after her on my behalf."

"I know you'd do the same for me. However, anija, please don't ever scare me like that again. My heart almost leaped out of my chest when you fainted."

"I apologize for scaring you, otouto."

Ryouta glares at him, onyx eyes flicker to red for a split second. Madara places a hand on his brother's head, an apologetic expression replacing his usual frown.

"Yet you're not saying you won't do it again."

Madara ruffles his brother's hair before pulling away and changing the topic.

He dislikes lying to his family. Hence, he would rather say nothing. If he needed to sacrifice his life for any of his brothers or his daughter, he wouldn't mind doing so. Their life was more important than Madara's, after all (and he has already made contingency plans for his contingency plans for his self-assigned Zetsu extermination mission if he ever dies earlier than expected).

"What of the clan?"

Ryouta's eyebrows pinch in annoyance but allowed for the topic to shift. Madara knows that Ryouta would be extra clingy for a month or two, but it was worth it. He would never regret how he went about saving his daughter from premature death.

"Nothing has been leaked. Hisako-san-" At Madara's abrupt and utterly blank look, Ryouta huffed in exasperation. "Uchiha Hisako, the midwife. Honestly, anija, you should memorize the name of your fellow clansmen. No, anija, don't give me that look. Simply committing their faces to memory is not enough. You need to learn their names as well. But, anyway, Hisako-san has proven that she can be trusted with patient confidentiality. There have been no rumors about Hikari going into labor."

"Good to know that there won't be any domino effect this time."

"Don't jinx it, anija. Who knows... There could be a messenger running to deliver yet another unwelcomed news - maybe about the alliance this time," The two brothers exchanged grimaces at that.

"Speaking of alliance... It's been two weeks. Yet I don't sense Izuna anywhere in the compound."

"That's because the idiot has yet to return. Izu-nii has, however, sent me a few letters to keep us up to date with the meetings. I'm frankly shocked that he has enough brain cells to do so."

Madara's lips twitched in amusement at Ryouta's dry tone. Never has a day gone by without Ryouta commenting about Izuna's intelligence, or lack thereof.

"You underestimate him far too much, Ryouta."

"Sometimes, I have a feeling I overestimate him, anija."

"Don't let him hear you say that, otouto. He'll mistaken it for a compliment."

"Abysmal."

"And you ask why Izuna always curses at you."

"Hm? I've always assumed that Izu-nii only knows a small portion of our language and those obnoxious insults are simply spoken to make up for his lack of vocabulary."

Ryouta sniffs haughtily. It didn't take long for the two Uchiha to burst into childish giggling. Madara didn't realize how much he misses this until now. Talking smack about Izuna with Ryouta was truly a therapeutic and bonding experience.

(Just hours away from the Uchiha compound, Izuna has a sudden sneezing fit, his expression turned ugly when the last sneeze causes him to trip over a wayward tree root and faceplant onto the ground. The other Uchiha grimaces at their heir's embarrassing display, dismayed when they hear one of the Senju representatives' let out a rather loud snort.

Izuna lets out a string of curses, blaming his clumsiness on Ryouta. It was always Ryouta's fault whenever Izuna fucks up. He cares not about being unreasonable - it was Ryouta's fucking fault!)

"Alright. Let us get back on track. How goes the meetings?" Madara finally says after their laughter subsides. He also made sure to check if they had accidentally wakened his daughter with their noisiness. When he sees his little girl still asleep, he feels simultaneously relief and disappointment. He so badly wants to make eye contact with his baby girl.

"There had been a lot of... creative word choices used to describe how unpleasant the Senju elders are. But other than Izu-nii's whining complaints, the Senju have come into an agreement of a temporary truce while we smoothen out the treaty. From Izu-nii's last letter - which was a day ago - they'll be returning today, with Senju Tobirama as a representative from the Senju's side, followed by a group of bodyguards.

"I've already set up the tents and have also alerted the clan of our ceasefire with the Senju, along with their expected presence in our compound soon. There have been many who vocalizes their concerns, but I've spread the word that there will be three times as many patrols while the Senju are here, which manages to dispel some of their fears.

"However, there are also some who have been asking - quite loudly - about your condition, anija. You are our strongest warrior, and they worry that with you out of commission, the White Demon might show his hand."

Ryouta reports everything without a stutter, ensuring that his voice was soft enough to not wake the baby. Madara scratches his chin in thought, his mind absorbing his brother's words and processing them at a breakneck speed.

"I see. Why do they believe that I am out of commission?"

"There's no concrete evidence as nobody would dare to spy on our house. However, they've not seen you for over two weeks despite knowing you're home, anija. Even Takumi and Yakumi have not left the house, too worried about you and your daughter. Despite my reassurances, rumor has it that you've fallen gravely ill."

"I'll be sure to parade myself down the streets later on," Madara's tone was as dry as the weather in Suna. Without much effort, he extends his senses and 'sees' that his baby brothers were inside their room. "Are the twins sleeping?"

"Yes. We took turns looking after her," Ryouta gestures to the sleeping baby. "I apologize for dragging them into this, anija. I've had a hard time juggling my, yours, and Izu-nii's workload by myself."

"No. You did good, otouto. You've helped lessened many of my burdens. Thank you."

"Hn. Since I've done well... Can I get permission to play with Hikari as a reward?" Ryouta suddenly asks, his lips curving into a gentle and unassuming smile. Madara huffs a laugh, amused at how bloodthirsty his little brother was.

"Just make sure to leave her intact after two month's time. I want her death to go as planned."

"Will do."

The two brothers shared a smile, one that was demented and sharp and filled with too much sadistic pleasure to actually call it anything else other than a show of teeth, really.

Whilst Madara contentedly listens to how Ryouta went on and on about the cruelest methods to inflict the most pain on a human, concurrently, back at Madara's bedroom, Kagami squirms all over the floor, tears in his eyes as he tries his damndest to wiggle out of the blanket burrito he has been rolled into.

Chapter Text

Tobirama was visibly wiped of emotions, his expression frigid and glacial enough that even Kawarama felt safer traveling at a 10 meters distance away from him. His clansmen (bodyguards, the elders had insisted) followed Kawarama's example, all of them staying at a tentative distance while still keeping him inside a circle of protection.

Tobirama would've normally snorted derisively at the mere thought of anybody succeeding at an ambush while he was actively kneading chakra, but due to how terrible his current mood was, he unfortunately enough didn't have it in him.

While his body moved with tandem, following after the Uchiha delegation at a respectable distance (a few hours away from the Uchiha compound now) his mind was entirely elsewhere. His inner eye was steadily keeping track of Madara's chakra signature, unmoving for the past half an hour, and by the sense of things, was at rest next to Ryouta and an unknown tiny being- a newborn.

At the reminder of the small and very, very distinctly different yet familiar chakra signature, an involuntary scowl made its way to Tobirama's face, causing Kawarama to move another meter away. To be truthful, Tobirama reckons that nobody actually knows that he was able to backtrack a person's antecedents via their chakra signature.

In fact, Tobirama doubts that even Madara (who everyone knows is a certified genius) would be able to pull apart and study a person's chakra signature in depth, at the level Tobirama was able to.

What the masses were ignorant about was that when a child was born, their chakra signature would be a mixture of their parents'. The percentage of who they take after were more randomized, however (he was still researching about it).

Take Tobirama and his brothers for example.

Hashirama has over ninety percent of their father's chakra signature and little of their mother's. Tobirama has about seventy percent of their mother's. Kawarama has about thirty percent of their mother's. And Itama was a perfect blend of their parents'.

As for the Uchiha main family members, Madara has about twenty percent of Tajima's chakra signature. Izuna has a little more than Madara. Ryouta has the highest percentage out of the five brothers; ninety-five percent. Yakumi has sixty percent. And Takumi has forty percent.

If Tobirama's grandparents had still been alive and MIA, he would have been able to track them by using Butsuma's chakra signature as a pointer even if he has never met them before. This made Tobirama quite the tracker, but that was irrelevant.

What was relevant was that the newborn's chakra signature has Madara's in it, as high as ninety percent, in fact, proving that the baby to be definitely Madara's.

Just to be clear, Tobirama had also sensed the remaining ten percent exactly fifteen days ago, on the day Madara had left the Senju compound (Tobirama wasn't a stalker. He had been worried at Madara's abrupt departure). By the sense of things, Madara had been next to her the whole time she was giving birth. And then proceeded to continually cycle healing chakra into the newborn's body up until three days ago.

It was with a rotten realization that Madara had concealed his status as a husband - a married man - from both Tobirama and Itama. And Tobirama was positively irked at the shocking discovery. He knows he shouldn't take it personally since Madara has the right to keep his own secrets, and that Madara, as a clan head, was expected to have many heirs to secure his lineage.

But his hateful heart was not in agreement with his logical mind, causing his emotions to be all over the place.

Just the thought of Madara being with someone else made Tobirama physically ill. It was illogical. He knows it was. But he couldn't help it. Hence, he decided that it would be better to - later in private - congratulate Madara on becoming a father. That way, he could move on. That way, he could be genuinely happy for his best friend.

Gritting his teeth at the uncomfortable tightness of his gut and downright painful pounding radiating from his chest, Tobirama exhales all of those pathetic feelings out of his body and breathes in deeply to clear his mind. He needs to remain focus on the Senju-Uchiha alliance. He has no time for such distractions. He needs to prioritize.

With practiced ease, he pushes all that worthless heartbreak into a metallic box inside his headspace, which goes into another secured box, and then pushes said box into the deepest and darkest corner of his mind, never to be tampered with again.

He was used to discarding his emotions.

After all, Tobirama was a shinobi first and a human second.

Kawarama peeks hesitantly at his older brother, usually so detached and callous, now a bundle of angst. It wouldn't be obvious to outsiders, but Kawarama has known the man his entire life, hence it was easy for him to see that Tobirama was feeling out of it.

And wasn't that just strange? That the cold-blooded ice queen of their clan feels something other than irritation, exasperation, and anger?

Kawarama can't help but wonder if someone had replaced his brother with a more human-version of him. Never before has he seen the albino so... sad... for the lack of better wording. Not even during their parents' funeral or the at the passing of many of their clansmen.

The downright melancholic vibes were freaking him out, honestly.

So Kawarama did what he always did when he didn't want to think about a problem. He ignores them. Meaning, he tries his hardest to ignore the pitiful, doleful eyes of his brother. They've never had a heart-to-heart before, and Kawarama won't start one now. He would leave Tobirama's weird mood for either Hashirama or Itama to deal with. 

Besides, he wasn't really happy with his brother at this point in time. For the past few months, he has been feeling awfully suspicious about Tobirama's easy acceptance of this alliance meetings.

The Uchiha clan have been their nemesis for many centuries. So how could Tobirama, someone who was their father's prized weapon, just drop all the hatred their clan feels for the Uchiha and agree with Hashirama that peace between the two clans was possible?

Hashirama was the dreamer in their family. The Idealist. Tobirama, on the other hand, was the realist. Always clinically detached from any situation and making choices that discomforted many. Tobirama was their family's monster. So why was he so adamant about this alliance? He should be the first one to refuse, to deny, to do whatever it takes to stop Hashirama from accepting.

'He's planning something', a voice in his head whispers, has been for quite some time. 'This alliance is a mistake.'

Kawarama purses his lips, wholeheartedly agreeing with the voice in his head.

Yes, there was something suspicious going on with Tobirama, something everyone had overlooked. But Kawarama wasn't the second-in-command. Even if he questions Tobirama, Hashirama nor Itama would not listen. His voice, too, played little part in the clan's politics.

If only he was stronger, he could challenge Tobirama for his position and do his best to persuade Hashirama that this was all one big mistake.

The elders would agree with him.

Kawarama simply needs a chance to take Tobirama out of the picture-

No.

He physically shakes his head to rid such thoughts from his mind.

Why was he thinking of such vile things? An usurping? Fucking hell, Kawarama. Tobirama may be a cold-blooded killer, but he was still his brother, his family. He was not a kinslayer - he wasn't going to assassinate his older brother!

'What if he's planning something with the Uchiha? Do you remember that your dearest brother had talked privately with Madara back then? How suspicious... Do you reckon he's planning to betray the Senju? What if this is all a trap?' the voice continues, bringing many unpleasant scenarios to mind.

Biting his lower lip, his gaze lingers on his brother's armored back, his fingers twitching to reach for his blade. But in the end, he clenches his fists and inwardly yells for the voice to shut up. For now, Kawarama would keep a close eye on his brother. Nothing else.

He ignores how the voice mocks him for his sloppy and soft decision.

With a baby cradled in his arms, Madara makes his way to his backyard with Kagami at his side, pudgy fist bunching the fabric of his hakama. He was still lethargic, but his partially wet hair played a good part in shadowing most of his weariness from sight and his haori covered the tired lines of his shoulders.

A hot soak in the bath had also done him good, though he could've gone without Kagami swimming mid-soak. The toddler was never one for stillness and Madara dreads the thought of (officially) teaching the boy how to meditate in the future.

"Who is Da-sama carrying?" Kagami finally asks after many curious looks. "And why does akachan have old people hair?"

Madara snorts, amused at the toddler's simple mindset. Not that he blames the child for his ignorance. All Uchiha, after all, have dark hair, disregarding the elderly.

Privately, he wonders if Kagami would call Tobirama Tobi-ojiichan or something equally funny after Madara introduces them. Wouldn't that just be hilarious? To call a man in his prime an old grandpa just because he has white hair... Sage, Madara really wants to see that.

For that reason alone, Madara would not enlighten Kagami on albinism.

"Before I answer your question, bunny, may I have a look at that?" Kagami obediently complies, parting his lips and sticking out his tongue. Madara's Sharingan whirls to life for a second, confirming the legibility of the seal, before he nods. "This here is my baby sister, the princess of our clan," Madara lied with a straight face, idly brushing off the discomfort he feels at seeing the Cursed Tongue Eradication Seal on someone so young.

As much as Madara tries to be a better person, he couldn't afford to have Kagami witness the secrets of his household and leak them due to carelessness. There were plenty of skeletons in Madara's closet, too many to hide from a frequent visitor. This was also one of the reasons why Madara refuses to accept servants now that he could afford them.

It would have been easier to deny Kagami access into the Uchiha main family house, but Madara chose to be selfish (and hates himself for it). He likes having Kagami close to him. Furthermore, Ryouta, another person Madara has placed the seal on, says that the seal doesn't hurt when applied.

So yeah, better to be safe than sorry. It wasn't paranoia if the whole world was really out to get him.

"Oooooooohhh!" Kagami gaped cutely. "That's awesome! Can Mi-kun be her friend even if she's our princess?!"

"There's nothing stopping you from being her friend. I know this is exciting, but let us use our indoor voice, alright bunny? She's sleeping."

"Oopsie," Kagami adorably puts the hand that was not holding onto Madara's hakama on his mouth. "Mi-kun is sorry."

"That's alright, child. Now, what would you like to do whilst we wait for your mother to fetch you?"

"Can't Mi-kun stay over?" Kagami pouts.

"I'm afraid not."

"Tomorrow?"

"Not this month," Madara gently declines the sleepover.

For one, they would all be far too busy with entertaining the Senju. Two, Kagami's mother was adamant that her son not spend time with Madara after the Purge. Even now, he could sense her chakra signature pacing up and down the street, no doubt worrying herself silly at Kagami's disappearing act.

Madara takes pity on her and decides to exhaust Kagami enough for the boy to be suasible, before letting Izuna drop the boy home. Izuna, at least, wasn't unwelcomed by the masses like Madara was.

"But Mi-kun hasn't stayed here for so long..." Kagami looks up with teary eyes, his gait slowing. Madara sighs inaudibly and slows his steps so that Kagami won't trip to keep up with him.

"I know, bunny, and we'll figure something out. But for now, how about we continue with the dance lessons? You enjoy them, don't you?"

The toddler immediately perks up, bouncing energetically at the suggestion.

"Yes! Mi-kun misses dancing with Da-sama!"

After replacing their slippers with something more appropriate for outdoor wear, they walked to the middle of the backyard with Madara balancing his daughter in one arm.

Madara retrieves a tessen from his tattoo seal as soon as Kagami finishes with his stretches and warm-up, which consisted of a set of ten push-ups, sit-ups, and squats, followed by one round of running around the backyard (small stuff that would help Kagami's physical state whilst at the same time making him look healthy rather than well trained).

The war fan looked harmless like any other folding fan, but it was heavy with iron plates, and when he snaps it open, there was a hideous painting of a black bunny on it, which looked more like a rat, courtesy of Kagami's lack of drawing talents.

He gives it a few test swings - the force of his swings causing the trees to groan and bend like a rubber band, much to Kagami's glee - before snapping it close and handing it to the toddler, handle first.

Kagami eagerly reaches for it, and despite the fan's heaviness and dwarfing length, longer than the boy's arm, the sweaty toddler holds it single-handedly without much strain.

"Take your stance," Madara orders.

The younger Uchiha promptly adopted the proper posture, wielding the fan as if it were an extension of his arm. Madara nods in approval, and at the wave of his hand, Kagami begins his kata. Kagami was usually clumsy and childish, but right now, he appears sophisticated and graceful, eyes sharp and full of discipline, knowing that playtime was over.

"Keep your movements sharp despite the fluidity of this exercise," Madara asserts as he circles around his student, fixing a few holes every now and then. "Tessenjutsu is a dance that utilizes your opponent's strength against you. The fan itself is mostly used to fend off kunai, shuriken, or senbon, but a weapon, no matter its size, is a deadly tool in trained hands."

When his daughter started to whine in her sleep, Madara begins to gently rock her whilst lowering his volume, not stopping at circling around the sweating toddler. 

"Keep your elbows tucked, Kagami. Are you that desperate to become an amputee?"

Madara snarks whilst pulling out his own wine red tessen, worn and scratched from the many battles it has seen, and unhesitantly stabs the blunted butt of the weapon into Kagami's inner elbow. The boy flinches and scrunches his face in pain (blinking his watery eyes rapidly), but continues without a single word of complaint, wisely aligning his elbows to prevent them from flapping like a duck's.

"Abysmal footwork! No student of mine will have two left feet," Madara barks, mercilessly throwing a number of kunai at the boy.

Judging by the trajectory, Kagami's feet would be skewered if he continues to move in that direction. The boy quickly reacts, however, eyes narrowed in determination as they quickly take in where the kunai would land and correctly fixes his footwork. His right foot narrowly avoids the fate of becoming a pincushion.

It made Madara hide a proud smile behind his open fan.

Kagami, despite many of the abusive whispers gossiping about his status as a half-blood, was a prodigy like Izuna and Ryouta. Madara has only started the boy's training not too long ago; a month before the Purge happened, and he has already progressed far into the basics of tessenjutsu.

It was really too bad Madara could only teach him sparsely and not fully, blotches of knowledge he tries to squeeze into the boy's brain despite the short time frame. 

When the elders found out that Kagami has been visiting the main family house frequently, they believed that Madara was merely giving Go lessons to the half-Uchiha (which was half-true), what with Madara having gifted the boy a normal wooden fan used for decoration purposes rather than battle.

Kagami, from what he has observed from afar, would use the fan to train in his bedroom, wisely keeping his lessons a secret, knowing that his mother would prevent him from learning more if she realizes the truth. Especially since she was a civilian, disliking the mere idea that her little boy was training to become a killer.

Madara understands her hesitancy, as he himself was a parent and would prefer to keep his daughter free from the horrors of the battlefield. However, he would not succumb to such gooey emotions. In this era, men tend to look down upon women, seen as weak and easily controlled. And Madara seethes at the thought of anybody taking liberties with his daughter.

Even if her albinism and premature birth bring forth a physical fragility, making her more vulnerable to being targeted by men, Madara would train her harder to overcome such hurdles. Nobody, and he means nobody, would best his daughter if he has anything to say about it.

At the feeling of a soft pat on his chest, his gaze strays to his albino daughter, who was sleepily blinking her cherry blossom eyes at him, one fist flailing about and hitting at his chest ever so often. He smiles at her, happy to see her awake and in awe at the adorable color of her eyes. The shade was mesmerizing, and at the right angle, they would have a reddish tint at the edges.

He was tempted to name her Sakura there and then.

"I-Is she... huff... awake?" Kagami asks breathlessly, still executing one of the tessenjutsu techniques.

Seeing that Madara was in a good mood, he told Kagami to go and cool down so that they could have a short break and makes his way to the kitchen. After preparing some refreshments, he sat on the edge of the engawa, holding a baby bottle to his daughter's lips. Kagami slumps next to Madara not a moment later, thoroughly soaked in sweat but has a wide, refreshing grin on his face.

"Mi-kun forgot to ask just now. What is hime-sama's name?" Kagami blinks curiously and reaches for a glass of milk.

"Yes, aniki, what is the name of our princess?" Izuna butts in, slumping bodily over Madara whilst wrapping his arms around the older Uchiha's waist and settling his chin on Madara's shoulder. "Woah. No offence, aniki, but you look like you've just given fucking birth. Look at them dark circles. Damn."

"... Thanks," Madara gives the cheeky brat a dry look. "Took your time, didn't you?" He had sensed Izuna's chakra signature entering the compound hours ago.

"What is Izuna-sama doing here?!" Kagami latches onto Madara's haori with a pout. "Let Da-sama go! Da-sama is Mi-kun's today!"

"Possessive little shit, aren't you?" Izuna blew a raspberry at Kagami. "This is my home. Where else would I fucking go?"

"Language," Madara sighs.

As usual, Izuna ignores his reprimand and continues to tease the toddler, riling the boy up until Kagami screeched in anger and all but threw himself at the smug looking Izuna, who releases Madara to jump out of the boy's leap.

"Meanie! Stupid ugly bald meanie! Izuna-sama is the evilest adult ever!"

Izuna dances circles around Kagami, slipping out of the boy's grip like a slippery eel. With a devious glint in his eyes, Izuna swoops in for the 'kill' and dangles Kagami like the boy was some kind of disgruntled kitten. Cute.

"Behave, children," Madara rolls his eyes when they, again, ignore him. "Alright. I'm going."

He skillfully ducks underneath Kagami's wayward limbs, pockets the boy's tessen, and walks to the front door. Izuna would remember to report to Madara after he has had his fun. For now, he should let in the guest that Izuna has left waiting at their entrance.

"Tobirama," Madara greets, eyes crinkling in happiness. It was a thrilling sight to see his childhood friend and the clan's number one enemy standing outside his home. "I apologize for the wait. Come in, we have much to discuss."

The Senju's lips part, ready to return his greeting, but halted. Those ruby red eyes blinked as they gaze at the baby Madara was feeding, a myriad of emotions flashing across his features until, finally, they settled on pleasant surprised. Somehow, it felt as if there was something off about Tobirama, but Madara wasn't sure what it was.

"I dread at the idea of you caring for a child with special needs," Tobirama slips into a pair of offered slippers and raises a judgemental brow at the snow leopard design.

"That's why you're here, Tobira," Madara smirks. "You're Kazuha's godfather, after all."

Madara's Sharingan whirls to life as he smugly soaks in the utterly gobsmacked expression the older albino was wearing on his face. It feels infinitely satisfying whenever he manages to shatter this loveable iceberg's poker face.

Chapter Text

Two men were engaged in an intense staring contest inside Madara's office. Neither one of them wanted to yield in this battle of wills. It was only when the infant in Madara's arms started to squirm and whimper did her father break eye contact with the Senju.

Disgruntled at being rebuffed (and losing the staring contest), Madara this time refuses to even look at his friend, an involuntary pout playing across his lips as he rocks his daughter in an attempt to calm her from the beginnings of a tantrum.

"Be reasonable, Madara," Tobirama started, sounding simultaneously exasperated and exhausted. "It's not that I am unwilling-"

"But you are," Madara cut in mercilessly, his gaze focused solely on his tearful daughter. "There is no one near my office. And I know for a fact that you can sense that. Nobody will enter this wing unless I permit it - not even my brothers. The only reason left is that you simply prefer not to hold Kazuha. Why? You are her godfather."

Madara would prefer to not admit it even in his own mind, but it irritates him that Tobirama refuses to hold his daughter. Or even accept the position of Kazuha's godfather. What sort of person would reject the position of the Uchiha princess's godfather? Nobody sane, that's who.

(And if it hurt Madara to have his best friend in this life went ahead and turned his offer down, it was nobody's business to know but his own.)

"I am unfit to be her godfather, Madara!" Tobirama finally lost all patience and forcefully turned the stubborn Uchiha's head so that they could look each other in the eye. The Senju didn't let go of Madara's cheeks, steadily asserting his reasonings with a calm he did not feel. "Think, my friend. Our clan, I have no doubt, will become allies soon enough. But currently, the Senju and the Uchiha are still enemies. Disregarding the armistice, we are technically still at war! Please tell me you have kept this foolishness to yourself.

"You cannot, in your right mind, as the clan head, elect me - a Senju who is also an heir - as your heiress's godfather. What would the elders perceive from this verdict? What about your brothers? What about your clan? What about mine? This is madness, Madara. Your decision is farcical at best - rationalize with your mind, not your heart.

"I know that becoming a father is a new experience for you, and while your sentiments are appreciated, this is not the time to allow your emotions to cloud your clinical judgment. Prioritize the alliance."

By the end of Tobirama's tirade, Madara had long chewed his bottom lip raw in an attempt to keep his thoughts from leaving his tongue. He knows that if he were to speak right now, he would be yelling at the top of his voice - and it would no doubt startle his daughter into a crying fit.

It did not, however, stop him from trembling in utter rage.

How dare he?! How dare Tobirama believe that Madara chose him as godfather just because of self-indulgement?! Madara has his reasons! Logical ones!

Perhaps his facial expression had morphed into something ugly, for Tobirama did not hesitate to release the tight grip on his face and take a step back, finally giving Madara some needed space to breathe. With a stuttering exhale, Madara, with as much gentleness as he could muster at this point in time, places his sniffling daughter in a crib next to his desk and moves to stand just by the window with his back to Tobirama.

He couldn't bear to look at Tobirama right not. If he did, he might be tempted to throw his desk at the Senju in a fit of rage. Madara didn't want to be like Tajima - constantly violent in front of his children.

Apart from the infant's barely audible sniffles, the office descended into a pregnant silence, filled with heavy tension so palpable it could be cut with a kunai.

"I understand," Madara finally said after many long minutes, his tone clipped and his entire body taut. "It was my mistake. Forget everything I've said. I apologize for causing you unneeded stress."

"Madara-"

"Uchiha Kazuha's birth is a secret. I'd appreciate it if you kept her existence to yourself."

There was a pause.

"Yes, of course, Madara. You have my word. But why-"

"You must be tired from your travels, Senju-dono. We can talk about the alliance another day."

Madara refuses to turn, not deterred by the feel of Tobirama's (safe) warmth near his back. The Senju had moved until he was standing close enough for them to share heat, but still leaving a gap, wary of breaching the barrier of touch when Madara's whole body was filled with tension.

"Madara I... Please forgive me for the denouncement I had previously made. It was petty and childish of me to take my frustrations out on you. My words had come from a place I am not proud of. I... was being a hypocrite and spoke out of turn. Please believe me when I say that I truly do appreciate your offer, that I truly do feel honored to be chosen as your daughter's godfather. I can't apologize enough for allowing my jealousy to take hold of me."

Madara turns sharply to face Tobirama, a sneer on his lips and arms wrapped around his stomach as if the gesture alone could protect him. "Jealous? What could you possibly be jealous of?" If Tobirama wanted to bullshit, he should've used another excuse. There was nothing in Madara's life that Tobirama should be jealous of. He had been abused, maltreated, and raped, to list a few.

The only singularity he has that anybody should be jealous of was his family, all alive and healthy in this war-torn era. But Tobirama, too, has an intact family. So, really, it wasn't worth mentioning in this instance.

"Her," Tobirama spoke with such sadness Madara was taken aback.

"Kazuha?" Madara blinks confusedly, unsure of how to react if that were the case. "You have... nothing to be jealous of, Tobira. I'm sure that you'll one day have a child to call your own as well." Although from memory, then-Tobirama had remained single all his life, focused solely on his shinobi career, village duties, and students. "However, being a godparent is also considered-"

"Not her, Madara," Tobirama halts him before he could rant about the pros of being Kazuha's godfather again. "Your wife."

It took a couple of seconds for his brain to register, but when it did, Madara made a face as if he had just taken a bite of something rotten. "Why on earth would you be jealous of that bitch?!" He all but shrieked, his hands twitching as if they wanted to grab Tobirama's collar and shake the Senju back to his senses. "If you're into the shite Ryouta is into, I won't judge, but to want to be in the victim's shoes is freaky as fuck. I had thought only Itama had extreme masochistic tendencies, but I suppose it runs in the family, huh?"

The face Tobirama made when Madara called his wife a bitch was bafflement, which changed into confusion when Madara talked about Ryouta's hobby, and finally settles on dry amusement and denial at the last bit. Tobirama's expressions would've been highly amusing if Madara wasn't currently trying to piece together a puzzle that has too many missing pieces in it.

"No, I assure you that I have no masochistic tendencies to speak of," was Tobirama's dry response. "And I'd rather not know how'd you even become aware of Itama's bedroom kink. For my own sanity, I'll pretend to have not heard that. Anyway, are you and your wife not on good terms?"

Madara all but rolled his eyes, sidestepping past the Senju to check on Kazuha. His voice had been a tad too loud just now, but thankfully, the babe wasn't startled into a crying fit.

When he turned back, ready to go on a tangent about his so-called wife, Tobirama was practically in his face with how close the Senju was standing. He would've taken a step back if there wasn't a crib behind of him. But he made do by throwing an evil eye at the adult albino.

"Not on good terms is putting it lightly," Madara scoffs. "Our relationship hasn't been a consensual one from the start. She has been groomed from a very young age to become the clan head's bride, so she knows no other path than to marry me, the current clan head. However, I hadn't the option to refuse the marriage; Tajima and the elders would never have allowed for it."

"If you have had the option..."

"I would have declined. For now, I'll settle with becoming a widower."

"Judging from your words, I'll assume that there has never been love involved."

'As if I could ever love a person who had taken liberties with me.'  Was what was on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it down and reconstructed his words.

He was becoming increasingly wary of this topic - what if he slipped? Madara would rather take all of his dirty secrets to his grave than to show his friend how broken he was on the inside. How much self-disgust he feels for himself, how defiled he feels on a day to day basis, the need to bath until his skin was raw always present in his head.

"No, never. If you're done playing twenty questions, I'd rather we go back to discussing how you'll be accepting the offer of becoming Kazuha's godparent."

The feelings of wariness increased when Tobirama places his hands on the crib's bars, successfully trapping Madara in between his arms, and leans forward, which made Madara lean away with little results. The space between them was practically non-existent, their chests brushing against the other and their breaths mingling.

"Tobira?" Madara was sweating, unsure about this situation. His heart was doing somersaults inside his chest and he just knows that the Senju could feel it beating a mile a minute. He was self-conscious enough to contemplate headbutting the albino away from him. "What are you doing? Why are you... hugging...? me?"

Tobirama suddenly laughs, his lips pulled into a wide smile and his ruby red eyes squinting in apparent pleasure.

There was relief in his expression, combined with the weird-angry-contemplating look then-Tobirama used to have whenever they would be paired together for a mission or whenever they got into each other's faces during one of their infamous shouting matches.

"I'm in love with you, Uchiha Madara."

... Tobirama-san say what???

"I fear that if I do not take this opportunity to tell you that I am in love with you, another person would steal your heart away. I'm not adverse to us becoming an item, Madara. In fact, I'd love for us to be romantic partners if you'd allow us the chance."

... Senju-san say what again???

The office, once again, descended into silence.

This time, however, it wasn't a silence that made them both skittish and downright murderous, but it was nevertheless uncomfortable to Madara. His mind was blank, completely empty of thoughts, with only those words repeating in his head like a broken recorder.

"You don't need to come up with a response at this point in time, Madara. Take as long as you need to think through my confession. Additionally, don't feel pressured to respond in any way because I'll accept the offer of becoming Kazuha's godparent regardless - if you're still willing to choose me after this. No matter your answer, I promise that there won't be any awkwardness between us. Although I do hope it'll be a favorable one?"

Tobirama presses a chaste kiss against Madara's cheek, before leaving the office after another one of those weird-angry-contemplating looks directed at his dumbfounded form.

Madara dazedly places a hand on the cheek that had been kissed, the warmth of Tobirama's soft lips still linger in his mind. His face and ears felt burning hot and his heart was jumping up to his throat. The kiss didn't feel disgusting like Hikari's or brotherly like Ryouta's. It was endearing and fond and... and... Madara covers his face with his hands, feeling embarrassed and ruffled yet content at the same time.

Peeking at his daughter from between his fingers, he makes a confused noise that vibrates from his throat.

"Did that just happen?"

She sneezes cutely.

Madara needs a bottle or ten of saké right now.

Chapter Text

"Izuna?"

"Hn?"

"Just to sate my curiosity, has anyone ever confessed their love to you before?"

Izuna abruptly spewed, covering the entire table - food and all - with watermelon juice and saliva. Takumi and Yakumi immediately shouted their disgust whilst Ryouta leans away from his bowl of now soggy, pink rice. Madara reacted the same way as his second younger brother, quickly pulling away from the table before Izuna's nastiness could cover Kazuha's tiny body.

"How many times have I told you, nii-san, that if you really must spew whatever is inside your mouth, you would do well to look away from the table first?" Ryouta's utterly sarcastic tone did not match his gentle smile, darker now that dinner has been ruined.

Izuna was unresponsive apart from the strangled noise he let out, his pair of onyx eyes wide as they continued to stare at Madara in blatant shock. When Ryouta abruptly turns to Madara, the eldest shuddered at the chilling glare he receives. "And you, anija. What did I say about asking perturbing questions whilst we are feasting? Especially when we've only just started eating?"

"Not to...?" Madara smiles nervously, awkwardly shifting away from Ryouta without seeming too obvious that he was retreating.

"Yes. Not to," The third Uchiha brother throws the two culprits equally dark looks before he pinches the bridge of his nose as if to ward off a headache. "Takumi, Yakumi, come. Assist me in whipping up something quick for us. As for you, big brothers, I expect this mess to be cleaned right now. If the table remains covered in watermelon juice upon my return... I'll leave that to your imagination."

Izuna and Madara both squeaked an affirmative at Ryouta's sadistic and twisted smile whilst the twins followed after their third older brother like obedient ducklings, wise enough to not attract Ryouta's wrath upon them by whining.

As soon as the three left the living room, Izuna practically jumped at Madara with zealous eyes. "Who's the motherfucker that confessed to you?! Are they a man or a woman?!"

"... Why does their gender matter?" Madara warily responds whilst placing Kazuha on a zabuton and cushioning her between two small pillows.

"So that I can rip their fucking balls off or bitchslap them, depending on their gender, brother mine! Now tell me who!" Izuna all but snarls in protective fury.

Madara gives Izuna a very judgmental look. "You didn't bitchslap Hikari when we got married."

"An error that I've already fixed some time yesterday," Izuna makes a sharp gesture as if swatting away a fly. "Don't try to sidetrack me, aniki! I'm not that easily distracted."

"Could have fooled me," Madara mumbles as he removes his gloves and begins cleaning the table. In a louder voice, he spoke, "What are you standing around for? Hurry up and help me. Or are you really that keen to find out what Ryouta's plans are for disobedient people?"

Izuna's lips part, as if to yell, but when Madara's words fully register, he was quick to snap his mouth shut and move in tandem with the older Uchiha. All the while muttering profanities directed at their third brother. Foolish little brother, always grumpy and irritable, Madara thought fondly.

When they were done, Izuna immediately went back to poking Madara for answers whilst the latter slips on his pair of customary leather gloves.

"It's only a question, Izuna," Madara grits out. "I'm simply curious if you've ever been confessed to before. There is no other purpose than that."

"But you're never curious about relationships!"

"Oh for the love of- I'm not asking about relationships! Don't go putting words in my mouth."

"Then are you asking me for advice? Love-related advice?" Izuna wiggles his brows, before realizing something and quickly banished the expression. His demonic look returned with vengeance. "I'll. fucking. kill. them!"

"I'm only asking you out of pure curiosity, Izuna! There is no one out there for you to kill, okay?!"

"No... There's definitely someone! My brotherly instincts are screaming at me that there is!"

"No, there isn't!"

"Yes, there is!"

"There isn't!"

"There is!"

"There isn't!"

"There is!"

"There isn't!"

"There i-"

"Okay, that's enough from the both of you!" Ryouta cuts in with a loud and reverberating clap. "Naughty children are prohibited from eating at the table, so if you would rather starve, please, continue."

"I'm not a child, Ryouta!" Izuna yells indignantly, easily sidetracked despite stating otherwise. "Don't treat me like I'm Kagami!"

"If you argue and act like a child, I will treat you as such. That includes you, anija," Was Ryouta's dry response. "Now, are we all done with being children?"

Madara has enough self-preservation to remain quiet as Takumi and Yakumi set the table with plates of grilled shishamo, tamagoyaki, and stir-fried vegetables, along with five bowls of rice. The lack of their usual broth was telling of Ryouta's mood (Izuna loves miso soup, especially Ryouta's handmade miso soup that was filled with an extensive amount of abura-age in it).

Izuna, on the other hand, has zero self-preservation instincts in his body - all but screeching his dissatisfaction at Ryouta.

Madara worries about his heir's IQ at times like this.

The twins seem to agree with his mental thoughts, as they both gave Izuna pitiful glances - though for only a split second - before they started stuffing their faces, ignoring whatever drama was going on at the table, more concern about filling their stomachs than their second older brother's health. Madara almost coos at their cuteness.

By the end of dinner, Izuna had had his food eaten by Ryouta and the twins whilst he watches from his seat and wasn't able to retaliate due to the ninja wire wrapped around him like a cacoon.

Izuna was then sent to bed with only a small bag of peanuts to keep his stomach from shriveling, clearly upset yet unable to change Ryouta's mind on his punishment. Madara wonders if this would finally make Izuna realize that it was ill-advised to anger the chef of their family, but he doubts it. Izuna was daft like that.

"It's the White Demon, isn't it?"

Madara looks up from the mission reports to see Ryouta standing in front of his desk, a contemplative look having replaced his usual gentle expression. Madara blinks slowly, unsure if he was hallucinating or if this was real. A quick look out the window shows that the moon was red in color.

Real, then.

It wasn't often that anybody could successfully sneak up on him. Thus, Madara was pleasantly surprised that Ryouta had managed. He inwardly praises his brother a job well done and silently promises to ship more toys as a reward.

"What are you doing up, otouto? It's late." As in ass o'clock late. "You shouldn't be pushing yourself too hard," Madara says with a deploring frown. Boys his age shouldn't be losing sleep when there wasn't a need to.

"I should be the one disapproving you for toiling the night away, anija. It isn't me who is doing paperwork at 4 in the morning."

"Well," Madara smirks. "I'm an adult so it's fine."

"... That's discrimination at its highest, anija. Just because my body has yet to reach adulthood does not mean I am still a child in mind," Ryouta huffs with crossed arms. "But, whatever. I did not come here to debate about your poor sleep hygiene - I'm here to appease my curiosity. Tell me, anija, is it the White Demon?"

"You'll have to be more specific than that, otouto."

"As if you don't already know what I'm talking about. But, fine, I'll be a good little brother and indulge your need to be as difficult as possible," Ryouta rolls his eyes here. "The one who confessed to you. Is it that Senju?"

Madara was too much of a shinobi to react outwardly to Ryouta's accurate guess. He only sets aside his calligraphy brush and stretches in his seat, slowly working out the stubborn kinks in his trapezius to delay his response.

"Why do you say so?"

"It's rather obvious," Ryouta says drily. "After Kazuha was born, the only people who you have interacted with outside the family is the White Demon, Kagami, and Hisako - the midwife, if you've forgotten. From what I've heard, you've had two private meetings with that Senju during this alliance talk. Two meetings, anija. Once is Happenstance. Twice is Coincidence. Third time is Enemy Action. And I'd rather it not become that."

Madara sometimes wishes that Izuna would not rant to Ryouta about everything that dissatisfies him. Izuna, that blabbermouth, had no doubt whined to Ryouta about how his bastard of a rival (Izuna's words) had pulled Madara aside at the Senju compound gate and talked for quite some time, and then once more yesterday afternoon.

Well, he should've expected this. Ryouta has always been an astute person. It came with the job of T&I captain, he supposes.

The corner of his lips twitches upwards, bare fingers splayed across the lower half of his face as he observes his little brother's visually relaxed form. Madara would have believed that Ryouta was unconcerned if he did not know his little brother so well.

"Indeed," Madara confirms the teen's conjecture, onyx eyes sharpening at the slight sign of displeasure flashing past Ryouta's face. "With your expertise in mind, what can you tell me concerning his confession?"

"As much as I loathe to praise my enemies, credit should be given when it's due. Senju Tobirama is a genius beyond any comparison, and it makes tangoing with him extremely aggravating. To be honest, I haven't the barest idea of what is going through that Senju's head.

"However, I suspect that he is attempting to play mind games with you, anija. It's not that I believe you would be fooled by him that I'm here, I am simply worried that you might be thrown off by his sudden exclamation of affection. Just give me the order, anija, and I'll interrogate him for you. Discreetly, of course. Nobody will find out about it and the alliance would not be shaken."

Madara wasn't at all put off by Ryouta's words, having completely understood his brother's logic. If he was currently living his previous life and then-Tobirama suddenly confessed his undying love to then-Izuna or something equally as horrifying, then-Madara would've gone straight to the Senju to rip his balls off and threaten him to never come near his precious little brother again.

Because of that, he only feels touched that Ryouta would go so far for him.

Folding his arms across his chest, he tilts his head slightly and asks in a soft and gentle voice, "Do you trust me, Ryouta?"

"With my life," Was the immediate answer without hesitation.

He closes his eyes and weighs his options.

One, he could lie. Madara was an excellent liar. He was already keeping many secrets from his family, as such, should it matter if he added another skeleton into his cupboard?

Two, he could tell the truth. But in turn, he would have to inform Izuna and the twins as well if he shares his and Tobirama's relationship with Ryouta, as it would be unfair if he only reveals that to one of his little brothers.

Three, he could avoid the topic in general. However, Ryouta would not be distracted or tricked easily, unlike Izuna.

Four, he keeps his silence and allows Ryouta to come up with something on his own. Although luck would play a big role in this option, and Madara hates leaving his fate to Lady Luck (she hasn't been kind to him from the day he was born).

Madara discards option four immediately.

Option three would be troublesome in the long run.

Option one seems to be the easiest, but Madara was tired of being dishonest to his family.

That only left him with option two.

Hopefully, this choice of his would not come to stab him in the back (literally). But if it did, Madara feels that he would not come to regret it. It was high time he starts letting his brothers see a side of him they have never seen before. And if it repulses them that he has been cozying up with one of their most hated enemies, Madara just has to live with it. He has made his bed, now he was prepared to lie in it.

"Tobirama was being sincere when he told me he has... feelings... for me. And although I know not if he is just going through a phase right now and those feelings would pass soon, I know that he wasn't lying - since I've known him since he was ten years old," Madara looks away as Ryouta blinks madly at the info bomb dropped on his head.

"We've been having rendezvouses at the creek at the edge of our clans' territory for the past decade, and during that time, I've learned many things about him. I know his favorite foods are grilled fish and blueberry tarts. I know his hobbies are training, reading, and inventing new jutsu. I know that he enjoys that his squinting is always mistaken for anger. I know that when he's nervous, he would tap on the hilt of his sword. I know that when he lies, his voice would be higher in volume but softer in tone.

"Ryouta, I... I am ashamed to admit that I hadn't the will to kill him despite the fact that I knew him to be of Senju origin as soon as I laid my eyes upon his boyish features. Even when Tobirama grew and matured into an exceptional shinobi who has killed many of our clansmen, who has become a threat to our family, I couldn't bring myself to end his life. He is the only friend I have outside of family, Ryouta, and I can't lie to myself - I am fond of him.

"But I know that such sentiments are not a good excuse for this betrayal. I am guilty by associating with the Senju heir, and I would understand if you come to hate me for it, just like how the rest of our clansmen would. I will not hold a grudge, as I very well deserve it."

Madara didn't look up from his hands the entire time, incredibly tensed as he waits for Ryouta's judgment. There was a shift of fabric before a sigh was heard and Ryouta's face appeared directly in his vision. Madara would have flinched backwards if his muscles hadn't been pulled so taut.

"Usually, anija, I find your poor emotional quotient cute and endearing. At time like these, however, I find you to be as daft as Izuna. Do you really think I give a damn who you become friends with? Or judge you for it?" Ryouta drawls, leaning back whilst still keeping eye contact.

If this was any other day, Madara would have been offended. In Ryouta's books, comparing someone to Izuna was the highest of insults. Now, however, he only laughed weakly, unsure of where this was going and how to take Ryouta's words in. Had he just been complimented, insulted, or both?

"I hadn't cared when you placed a seal on my tongue. I hadn't cared when you knocked me out and placed another seal on the back of my skull without my say so. I hadn't cared when you replaced my molar with a false tooth that has fast-acting poison inside. I hadn't cared when you killed our father. I hadn't cared when you ordered the Purge. Pray tell, anija, why would I start caring or judging you for those deeds now?

"By now, should you not have already known what kind of person I am? Please, anija, please tell me you know who I really am underneath all the smiles and what I care about the most. Because if you give me a wrong response, I will slap you, serious conversation or not."

Madara tilts his head to one side.

Yes, Madara did know that despite Ryouta's angelic appearance, the younger Uchiha has an apathetic nature. He was many times more dangerous than Izuna, not because he was stronger, but because he was cruel. To both enemies and allies. And the only thing he truly cares about was...

"You are my sadistic little brother, and family is what you care about the most."

"Precisely. Family," Ryouta emphasizes. When the younger saw that his brother still has yet to understand, he continues forcefully. "Other people's opinions matter not to me. If you say you are friends with the White Demon, even if our clansmen scorn you for it and call you a betrayer, I won't. I trust you, anija, so I will accept that the Senju is important to you, but I will continue to mistrust him. I'll be at his throat the second he missteps."

Madara hides his face in his wrists, and if the sleeves of his yukata felt damp after he presses his eyes against them, then it must have been his mind playing tricks on him again. He didn't bother to hide the relief from his expression, nor stop himself from flinging himself over the desk just to hug the living soul out of his brother.

"Thank you, Ryouta. Thank you so much." For being alive this time. For trusting me. For accepting who I am. For always having my back.

"O... Ok... You... You're... we-wel...come... J-just... pl...please... let... go... yo-you're ki...killing... me..."

Madara squeezes tighter, ignoring the dying sounds Ryouta was making. No way was he releasing his brother anytime soon. If he lets go now, Madara wouldn't be able to hide the tears welling in his eyes again.

It took a while for Madara to calm down, but once he did, Ryouta heaves a sigh of relief and sat next to Madara on the floor, all but leaning on his older brother.

"So, what're your thoughts on his declaration of love?" The last part was said with a sneer, skillfully hidden by the shadows of Ryouta's hair. Madara was blissfully ignorant to his little brother's many schemes of leaving Tobirama frustrated in more than one way.

"I'm still in the midst of... processing his confession, to be honest. As you know, I am wholly unfamiliar with the concept of romantic relationships and thought it best to ask our family's expert. Clearly, I was wrong. I honestly did not expect Izuna to react the way he did."

"It's not surprising," Ryouta sighs as he rubs his temples. "Sorry to say this, anija, but Izuna has a rather fierce and unreasonable protective streak when it comes to you. I've seen him skewer a civilian who had eyed your ass for one second too long during our previous outing together. It was really bad, anija - I had to bribe a ton of samurai law enforcement officers to turn a blind eye to the crazy Uchiha shinobi who was cackling over a bloodied corpse."

Madara looks at Ryouta as if he was crazy.

"Ryouta," he talks slowly as if speaking to a rather dimwitted child. "I wear nothing but baggy clothing. It would take someone who could literally see through clothes to see any parts of me."

"That's what you think, anija. Unfortunately, you tend to walk on rooftops during our trips to the Capital. And sometimes, when the wind pressure is just right, your, and I quote a passing civilian, 'perfectly sculptured ass' end quote, is put on display for those walking on the streets underneath you. Now do you understand why Izuna always nags at you to wear your longest haori whenever we take a vacation to the Capital?"

Madara, without another word, grabs his brother by the collar and all but throws the little shite out his window and, rather conveniently, directly into the koi pond, usually reserved for Izuna. Ryouta sputters, which soon turns into full-blown shrieking. Madara smiles evilly as he sees the koi fishes nipping angrily at the human invading their territory, some had even managed to swim into Ryouta's thin yukata.

"Now, off to bed with you, otouto. We have a long day ahead of us. Oh, and you should really stop swimming in such chilly weather. We wouldn't want you to catch a cold now, do we?" Madara says sweetly, his words coated in sarcastic honey.

Ryouta, so unlike himself, begins letting out profanities as he crawls out of the pond, looking much like a disgruntled wet kitten.

Happy to see someone else miserable, Madara retrieves his hidden stash of saké and his knitting basket and gets comfortable on the windowsill. It was time for him to mull over the various reactions he would receive once he tells Izuna about Tobirama and Madara being friends.

Funnily enough, Madara has all buts forgotten about Tobirama's confession once daylight hits.

Chapter Text

Kawarama didn't bother to disguise his blatant staring, his pair of chocolate brown eyes had sharpened as they assess the person sitting to his left. For one, Tobirama did not seem to notice the weight of his gaze; which was a first for his paranoid, always on guard second older brother. To Kawarama's eyes, it looked like Tobirma had been practically living inside his head since breakfast.

If Kawarama wasn't disturbed by how weird the older Senju had been acting during their journey to the Uchiha compound, he would be now. Never has he seen Tobirama without a frown or a scowl on his face before. It was downright bizarre, actually, especially after that impressive display of melancholy during their depressing journey.

While nibbling on the tip of his brush, Kawarama finds it hard to tear his gaze from Tobirama's face, softened by the lack of frown lines as the older Senju read through a drafted version of the treaty. And with nobody and nothing else inside the main tent to distract him from the odd picture non-scowling Tobirama made, Kawarama could not help but notice how much younger his brother looked right now.

Shaking his head at the random thoughts he was having, his eyes returned to his own version of the draft, written from top to bottom by their clan's leading arch nemesis (with haphazard doodles of venus flytraps at the edges drawn by yours truly, of course).

Uchiha Madara sure does have some neat handwriting, his mind comments idly.

It also kind of reminds him of Mito's, if he squints at the right angle. There was just something about the way the characters align that made Kawarama think of Fūinjutsu. But that was impossible. The Uchiha clan aren't allied with the Uzumaki clan, and thus, should not have any access to high-end Fūinjutsu scrolls and/or tutors. Even basic storage scrolls were hard to find in the market. So why does the way these characters were written remind Kawarama so much of those proficient, Uzumaki Fūinjutsu masters?

Realizing that he was, yet again, distracted by something random, Kawarama couldn't help but frown.

For these past few months, it had been getting progressively harder for Kawarama to concentrate on anything or meditate to clear his mind (yesterday and today have been a blessing for him, however. His mind, for once, quiet). Perhaps the stress was getting to him and he should release all the excess energy by sparring with Itama, but he would rather not if he could. Whoever had taught his little brother how to fight must surely be an escaped resident of a loony bin, because clearly, they have a problem with their head. Only an insane person would teach Itama how to crack someone's skull open with a flick of a finger.

Who would teach healers how to fight, anyway? Kawarama mentally complaints. Or rather, who would teach an excellent male shinobi how to become a pansy healer? Clearly, there was something wrong with Itama's 'mysterious' shishou for encouraging a little boy to have dreams about healing rather than killing. The former was a woman's job, dammit!

His glare soon found their way to Tobirama's straight-back figure.

In Kawarama's opinion, everything was Tobirama's fault. If their family's ice queen had not convinced their father to allow Itama some space to grow into his talents in the first place, their little brother would not have become a swishy healer.

In the first place, how exactly did Tobirama even find a skilled teacher outside the clan for Itama? Or how had he convinced father (strict, unbending father) to allow an unknown and potentially dangerous person to teach Itama? They don't even know who this teacher was or what clan they hailed from or how skilled they were at the art of Iryō Ninjutsu. Even after all these years!

Although Itama now has a reputation as The Legendary Healer, Kawarama was still pissed that Itama chose to have such a pansy designation. Was he not ashamed of purposefully undertaking a female's job? Curse Tobirama for putting such stupid ideas into Itama's head.

Ah, right. Speaking of Tobirama, Kawarama has a feeling that he was missing a crucial piece in the puzzle about his brother. And he would not rest until he figures out what it was. And in order to dissolve this nagging sensation in his gut, Kawarama would try to dig for the cause of this very un-Tobirama-like behavior via his normal means; chatting.

Disguises and espionage have always been Kawarama's forte, and he has succeeded in many covert infiltration missions over the years. The only difficulty he would be facing during this subtle interrogation would be that Tobirama wasn't like his normal targets, as the ice queen was far too intelligent for his own good.

"You appear to be in a good mood. Did something interesting happen?"

Kawarama made sure that his tone remains lackluster as he shuffles through a stack of documents, not bothering to look away from the scrolls even when he feels those eerie red eyes (insert shudder) on his person; as if he wasn't really interested in the answer but was asking anyway because of boredom.

"Perhaps it is I who should be asking you that question, Kawarama," Tobirama drawled. "It isn't often that you deem it significant to open a conversation with me. Has something noteworthy happened to have garnered your curiosity?"

The 'chat' has only just begun and Tobirama was already in the midst of twisting their position around, casually steering their conversation to be about Kawarama rather than himself with an ease that took Kawarama years to master. How utterly infuriating.

Fortunately for Kawarama, he has already prepared for this; having predicted that Tobirama would be tight-lipped and distant even with family ('cold-hearted bastard that he is', an echo of a voice said in his mind, piercing yet dim, as if it wasn't really there but he was too used to its commentaries to notice).

Kawarama shrugs his shoulders and turns to Tobirama while playfully rolling his eyes, ensuring that his body language remains lax and open as he tries to subtly take the reins again, "You being in a good mood while in Uchiha land, duh. I think that's enough of a reason to make anyone curious, no?"

"Indeed?" Tobirama hums dispassionately, lazily shifting to rest his chin atop a fist with his eyes half-lidded as he inspects another scroll, looking blatantly disinterested in furthering their exchange. "I suppose that paperwork has always had a calming effect on my bearing. To say that I appear to be in a buoyant mood is rather unexpected to hear, however - though it is rather understandable for others to mistaken my lack of expression with that of contentment."

It took a while for his mind to remove all those excessively big words and restructure them into easier-to-understand phrases. After it did, Kawarama could feel a boiling need to puke blood. Truly infuriating.

If Kawarama was a lesser man, he would have already been gnashing his teeth at the lack of enthusiasm his brother was obviously broadcasting, as well as the not-so-subtle jab at his new habit of avoiding Tobirama; started not a few months back. Brothers, they may be, but Kawarama and Tobirama's relationship was beginning to take a deep dive into an active volcano.

Of course, it wasn't Kawarama's fault. Tobirama was entirely to blame for behaving so suspiciously as of late.

Rather than showing his irritation, however, Kawarama made a show of grumbling petulantly, "You're my big brother. Can't I take interest in what makes you happy? Why do you have to make it sound as if I don't care about you?"

"Because you haven't as of late," Kawarama could only gape at the other Senju's blunt (and factual) accusation, said in a dispassionate monotone. "However, when you put it in that way, I suppose I could set aside a minute or two of my time for my dearest little brother."

With that, the ice queen finally sets aside his brush and turns to Kawarama with an indulgent expression on his stoic face (or so Kawarama assumes since his brother's expression was still as cold as an ice statue), though it was painfully destroyed by the condescending tone he had used.

Kawarama could feel his blood pressure rise at the blatant sarcasm rolling off of Tobirama's tongue, and all he could do to remain calm was to remind himself of his objective, his very important objective. He finally has Tobirama's attention. It would not do to lose his temper now, of all times.

After taking a deep inhale, he forces his lips into a brotherly smile.

"Thanks, I guess," Kawarama shrugs, discreetly forcing down the tensed lines of his shoulders to retain his appearance of relaxed. "So, care to tell the class why you're so cheerful this morning? Did something exciting happen?"

"Does something have to happen for me to be in a good mood? Am I not allowed to be, as you so eloquently put it, cheerful, once in a while for no apparent reason?"

... and Tobirama was doing it again; answering a question with another question. Kawarama couldn't help it. He deadpanned.

"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" Kawarama accused while trying not to sound as if he was accusing. If anyone was wondering, yes, he was failing badly at it.

"And what, exactly, am I doing on purpose?" That condescending tone was back again but this time, it was with one white brow raised.

"That! You're doing it again!" At Tobirama's calm silence, Kawarama has no choice but to play along and elaborates with clenched teeth. "Answering a question with another question, brother dear."

The other white brow joined the other. Tobirama's ice queen persona and haughty disposition were really starting to get on his nerves. Rather, it had fried so many of his pet peeves that Kawarama has to wonder how he hadn't exploded just yet.

"I have always been like this, Kawarama. You should have known that by now," Tobirama pauses, his lips curving into a mocking smile. "Or have you recently developed retrograde amnesia these past few months? What has driven you to forget all of my mannerisms, Kawarama? This is... disconcerting, to say the least. Are you in need of assistance, little brother?"

Again with those backhanded comments! Sage damn it! Why was Tobirama so keen to throw shade at him, anyway?! Kawarama's head hurt from thinking about the way his brother talks. Or rather, it was beginning to get harder and harder to concentrate now - as if someone had rattled his head with a sledgehammer.

Suddenly, as if he had just been struck by a carriage, Kawarama was reminded of the fact that Tobirama has always been a vindictive bastard. All of this grievances he was receiving was probably due to all of the pranks he had dropped onto his brother's bleached head and the borrowed items he had lost.

"Are you being difficult on purpose? If this is about that red sword I borrowed from you..." He tested tentatively, unsure if he had metaphorically stepped onto Tobirama's toe with that question, but at the same time, confident that he must be wrong.

After all, it had been ages since that incident. His brother has a lot of weapons, anyway. A mere sword, especially if it was something Kawarama suspects had been looted from an enemy, shouldn't be that important (despite Itama's nagging that that red sword was a gift from Tobirama's beloved. As if his ice queen of an older brother has the heart to fall in love. That was laughable at best).

When Tobirama pretends to think for a moment, Kawarama was immediately on high alert. After a while, the palpable tension was broken at Tobirama firm nod, not at all denying that he was just being a petty bastard for holding onto such a stupid grudge for so long.

He grumbled angrily.

"Kawarama, you-" Tobirama seems to forcefully cut himself off by biting his bottom lip. A frown appeared in between his brows, but they disappeared just as fast as they appeared. "I was beginning to worry that there has only been hot air inside that head of yours," Before he could so much as to throw a fit at that utterly unnecessary and mean opinion about his intelligence, Tobirama picks up his brush and returns to his scrolls, but not before dealing the verbal death blow to his ego as an infiltrator. "If only your desire to return me my Akabane is as burning as your desire to interrogate me. I try my best to give you the benefit of the doubt, little brother, but it is of no surprise that you continue to disappoint me. Unfortunately, it has become a rather familiar feeling as of late. Now if you would excuse me, I have paperwork to go through."

Knowing a dismissal when he hears one, Kawarama didn't hesitate to storm out of the main tent with clenched fists and a tight jaw, the brush in his hand had long shattered. He knows that if he had stayed any longer, he would have committed a foolish act of attacking their clan's heir. It would have labeled him as a blood and clan traitor - and what good would that do when he was trying to catch the real traitor red-handed?

He would take a step back for now, but soon enough, he would figure out what Tobirama was hiding. And if his suspicions about Tobirama and Madara were confirmed to be true, he would take action. Brother or not, Kawarama would not tolerate betrayal.

Unfortunately, he was too blinded by rage and suspicion to notice the pair of red eyes, full of upset and worry, drill into the back of his head as he took to the rooftops, along with a pair of crimson eyes and three tomoes doing the same, but with alarm and dismay.

Madara had been minding his own business, drinking saké by the windowsill on his lonesome and watching how the surface of the pond has slowly been turning a beautiful shade of orange as the sun rises when he jolts to a stand, the wards having sent him an alarm; alerting him of Zetsu's fleeting presence.

An unpleasant chill was crawling up his spine as he bundles Kazuha into his arms and swiftly ran into Ryouta's bedroom. He didn't bother to say anything, only handing his startled little brother the now-crying infant and fled through the window.

As soon as his feet touched the grassy ground, he leaped onto the rooftops and rushes towards the direction of where his wards had sensed Zetsu, his own chakra compressed to its limits. Better safe than sorry.

Another sense into the general area of Zetsu's appearance made Madara almost trip on his own feet. Why Tobirama's chakra signature was within touching distance from the flare concerns him greatly. Anxiety made his mind conjure an image of Tobirama being possessed by Zetsu, which made him push himself to run faster.

It took a few tries to shake off the nerves and compartmentalize those dreadful thoughts away, but he manages whilst pulling out his gunbai from his storage seal tattoo and lands silently atop the main tent's roof. He senses Tobirama and another person inside, their chakra familiar to Madara but not quite as well.

It didn't take long for the other chakra to spike ever-so-slightly, becoming agitated and muddled - a distinct sign that Zetsu had latched firmly onto their mind and was beginning to play puppet master. After a moment, Madara was alarmed to see that the familiar chakra belonged to Kawarama, the adolescent having thrown himself out of the main tent, face flushed red with anger as he rushed off into the direction of the compound's main gate.

His teeth had bitten the bottom of his lip so hard that Madara wasn't at all surprised to taste blood in his mouth. Dismayed at the discovery that Zetsu's victim was someone he couldn't just kill, Madara clenches his eyes shut.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

To have Zetsu penetrate through his defensive wards after only a day meant that Kawarama has been its host for quite some time. It could have been years, for all Madara knows. What a miscalculation! For him to have forgotten to secure Hashirama's family with protection seals from Zetsu was a lapse of judgment and a basic mistake that could potentially cost him everything.

Hashirama had been his brother from another life, for Sage's sake, and he knows that Zetsu was after one of them in order to use them to put the Juubi back together again and free Kaguya from the moon. He knows all of it (despite how he was struggling desperately to stay alive 'inside' of Kaguya, he was aware of what was happening 'outside'), yet he hadn't taken steps to protect Hashirama, his then-best friend.

"You stupid piece of self-centered shite, Uchiha Madara!" He hisses angrily to himself as he uses his right hand, bare of gloves in his haste to eliminate the dangerous threat, to cover his clammy and pale face. He needed to think of a plan to fix this, stat!

["No, Madara, you're not the savior... and it's over."]

He throws his gunbai, uncaring of the noise it made when it landed somewhere in his haste to press a palm against his chest, right over his heart; where it throbbed angrily at the phantom sensation of a hand penetrating through his left shoulder blade and exiting through the front of his chest.

["Yes... The stone monument left by Hagoromo. I changed its text. I wrote that the Infinite Tsukuyomi is what would save the Uchiha."]

Madara fought to breathe through the nauseating pull of his gut, through the taste of metal on his tongue, through the echo of the fucking voice whispering manipulations in his head.

["When Uchiha Madara and Senju Hashirama became transmigrants... I was certain... that Madara could do it. And that it'd be my first step in my mother's revival."]

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" He growls, his whole body trembling from the onslaught of memories as he claws angrily at his chest.

[ "For shinobi, Madara's corpse was like a treasure box. Tobirama, who was studying the Sharingan... decided not to dispose of the body..."]

"He should have... He should have..." Madara mumbles deliriously, unaware of his surroundings and how he had fallen to his knees. At the tentative touch of a hand on his bicep, Madara dazedly looks up, the dilated pupils of his Mangekyō Sharingan meeting narrow red eyes. "You should have disposed of me, Tobirama."

Without any warning, Madara abruptly collapses with his eyes rolled to the back of his head and blood leaking from his tear ducts. Whilst his exhausted body rests from the effects of pushing itself well over its physical limits after the suicidal stunt Madara had pulled following Kazuha's birth, his mind was filled with never-ending memories of his past and present remorse.

Chapter Text

Itama slowly came to a halt in front of the intimidating double wooden gates with a giant uchiwa painted on it, smiling nervously at the guards he sees watching him at their post on the watchtower. He avoids directly looking into their dazzling Sharingan orbs, knowing better than to hold their sharp gaze.

Exhaling a shaky breath, he parts his lips while revealing a crumpled letter in his hands, "I am Senju Itama. Uchiha Ryouta-sa...-ma invited me over."

The guards whispered to each other, their lips barely moving before one of them jumps down and strides confidently towards him.

'The guards sure are pretty' he couldn't help but take notice, all pale skin, delicate features, and lithe figures, the opposite of many Senju who were olive-toned, sharp-featured, and broad-shouldered. Not as good looking as his shishou, obviously, but definitely above average. It increased their intimidation factor. Beautiful people do that, he reckons. Roses have their thorns.

When the guard stopped just two steps away, Itama politely nods at the shorter man and hands him the letter. While the guard scans the contents with his intimidating kekkei genkai, Itama inwardly whines about how Dara-shishou would have his skin for acting so timidly.

But he couldn't help it.

Their clans have been warring for centuries. Other than Dara-shishou, other Uchiha shinobi scare the living crap out of him, having never personally met any of them outside the frontlines, where bloodlust and killing intent dominated the entire field.

Itama was a field medic, never once has he attended his clan's council meetings. Although he was the head of his department, he was often too busy and left it to his assistant. Hence, he has no prior experience in any diplomatic settings. Even now, he was clueless about what to do after having handed the letter over.

Should he say something else?

Thankfully, before he could do something that would make Dara-shishou dropkick him out of sheer embarrassment for having a dunce for a disciple, the guard made a hand signal and the giant wooden gates part.

"I'll guide you to where Ryouta-sama is. Stay close, Senju. Do anything and..." The guard made a cutthroat gesture to emphasize his warning. Itama swallows nervously with a nod, Adam's apple bobbing. Seeing such a delicate, pretty man do something so vicious, in a way, was scary. With Uchihas, one can never trust their outer appearance.

Dara-shishou and this guard were such examples.

As they were walking through the compound, he discreetly observes the people in their surroundings. There didn't seem to be many children out and about, but he reckons it has something to do with his clan's presence intruding upon their home. As for the ones who were, all of them seemed trained, even if it was slightly, and within an adult's reach.

They were cute little tykes, too. With big, innocent eyes and chubby cheeks. Super adorable!

Tobi-nii and Hashi-nii would have loved to play with them. Kawa-nii, though, dislikes children younger than fifteen (despite being 16), thinking them too immature and bratty. Itama could only sigh at that, seeing that Kawa-nii was an immature brat himself. He loves his third older brother, but sometimes, the urge to clothesline him to high heavens was high, especially as of late. There was just something... wrong about Kawa-nii. Puberty, maybe?

"Ryouta-sama is waiting inside." The voice of his pretty guard guide snaps him out of his musing.

Itama turns to smile at the Uchiha, bowing politely. "Thank you, Uchiha-san."

"Hn," was the gruff response before the man gestured impatiently for him to get a move on.

Itama enters the two-story building and, on habit, switches his sandals for an indoor guest slipper, which, cutely enough, has a smiling crocodile design. He laughs at that.

"Madara-ani was the one who made them. Comfortable, aren't they?"

Itama starts, unaware that another person had been observing him.

He bows quickly to whom he presumes to be Ryouta, Dara-shishou's second younger brother. When he straightens his back, he simultaneously did a quick sweep of the interior and his host, who was wearing a beige haori atop a plain black yukata and a pair of smiling lion slippers (was that an Uchiha thing? To wear cute animal slippers indoors?).

Uchiha Ryouta was short for a 16-year-old boy, standing only at 5ft 3inches. Itama himself was a year younger but a foot taller. Or perhaps he shouldn't compare an Uchiha to a Senju. From what he has witnessed while walking through the compound thus far, the majority of the men weren't taller than 5ft 7inches, which was considered short for a Senju man. Even Touka-chan was taller!

Ryouta had his ebony long hair tied up in a high ponytail, the ends sweeping his lower back and bangs falling over his forehead. And whereas Dara-shishou has sharp almond-shaped eyes, Ryouta's corners were more circular, his thick eyelashes and straight eyebrows making him appear gentle. Add in his dimples and round, plump lips, Uchiha Ryouta could be depicted as an angel.

If Itama didn't know any better, he wouldn't have believed the person standing in front of him was older than him - or a shinobi!

"Do you fancy a drawing? It'll last longer," Ryouta says, his tone gentle and expression soft. Yet, Itama could feel chills running down his spine. He shudders.

Rubbing the back of his neck in a sheepish gesture, Itama inwardly jots a 'DANGEROUS' next to Ryouta's name. Despite the angelic aura Ryouta was full-on emitting, Itama knows that he would need to watch his back with this one. Actually, didn't Dara-shishou say something about Ryouta being in charge of T&I?

Again, Itama shudders.

"S-sorry," he meeps while wiping the sweat from his forehead, hoping to log that his staring had not angered the Uchiha. "I'm Itama, Senju Itama."

"Uchiha Ryouta. A pleasure to meet your acquaintance. I've heard a lot about you, Senju-sensei. You are quite the healer from what I've gathered."

"Hahaha... I'm still learning. And please, call me Itama."

"Modest too, I see. Not a bad quality for a medic to have, Itama-sensei." Ryouta's voice turned so sugar-sweet that it gave him chills, especially when the Uchiha purred out his name like that.

"U-uh, thank you?" Deciding that he should really avoid being alone with Ryouta any longer, he immediately goes straight to the point. "In the letter, you said something about Tobirama-nii asking for me?"

"Indeed. If you would follow me, I'll guide you to Tobirama-san. He is with Izuna-nii right now, so it would be wise if we do not dally."

With that, Ryouta turns on his heels and moves deeper into the house, all grace and confidence. Itama quickly catches up, his longer strides doing him a huge favor.

They arrive shortly outside a bedroom on the second floor.

Ryouta slides the door open and strides in with Itama following just a step behind. What greets him was a group of people surrounding Dara-shishou, who was tucked into a futon, his cheeks flushed from what seems to be a high fever and a wet rag folded on his forehead.

Tobi-nii was seated at Dara-shishou's left (where's Kawa-nii?), while Izuna (who looked mighty irritated yet worried) and two younger Uchiha twins (Takumi and Yakumi, was it?) were at his right. Behind Izuna was a Moses baby basket with a sleeping infant inside. Regretfully, Itama didn't get a good look at the tiny thing since he was swiftly ushered towards Dara-shishou by his guide. Idly, he wonders if Izuna had just become a father.

Seeing Dara-shishou up close, however, made him forget all about those idle thoughts, immediately turning serious. He took over Tobi-nii's seat, with his brother now leaning against the wall behind him and Ryouta behind the twins.

Frowning, he asks, "What happened?" Itama places a tentative hand on Dara-shishou's clammy neck, eyebrows furrowing deeper at the high temperature he feels. The hand moves lower to rest on his mentor's chest, glowing green as he performs a diagnostic sign jutsu.

Itama narrows his eyes warning at Izuna when he saw how his action has caused the Uchiha to tense in preparation to pounce on him.

Despite how meek he had been just moments ago with Ryouta, he wouldn't hesitate to break Izuna's legs if he became a hindrance to healing Dara-shishou. When it comes to his patients (his loved ones especially), he has no mercy towards those who interrupt his work.

It was Tobirama who responds to his query, breaking the stilted silence that had appeared after his glare, "I found him outside the main tent, dazed and incoherent. He collapsed soon after without proper cause."

"So you keep fucking saying," Izuna growls. "Who knows if you were the cause of this."

"Stop antagonizing him, Izuna-nii. One more dumb word from you and I won't remain courteous," Ryouta rebukes sharply, smile long gone as he gazes coldly at his second older brother.

Izuna's expression turned ugly at the reprimand. Itama was expecting him to blow up from being scolded by someone younger than him, but unexpectedly, he didn't. The second Uchiha brother only drew in a deep breath before loudly exhaling, shoulders loosening.

The twins, young little things they were, huddle deeper into their big brother's side, their faces pale from worry. Izuna hugs their shoulders in return, physically composing himself to comfort them. Itama approves. That was how a big brother should act - prioritizing their younger siblings' well-being.

"My supplies are stored inside a storage scroll in my pouch. Will all of you remain where you are when I pull it out, or will we have a problem?" Itama asks seriously, knowing how paranoid and jumpy shinobi could be.

Ryouta waves a hand, completely relaxed. "It is of no issue. Do what you must, Itama-sensei. My brothers will cause you no trouble." Izuna nods, albeit jerkily, and the twins followed his example.

Seeing that Ryouta has his brothers handled, Itama didn't hesitate to retrieve his storage scroll and poofed his supplies into existence.

He prepares his equipment while simplifying his findings.

"Da- Madara-sama has a temperature of 42°C, a blood pressure of 148/95mmHg, a heart rate of 120 beats per minute, and a respiration rate of 25 breaths per minute. First, we'll need to lower his temperature. If it goes any higher than 42.4°C, it can cause long-lasting adverse effects. By lowering his fever, his BP, HR, and RR will hopefully return back to normal. Excuse me, but can I ask one of you to grab a thinner blanket, a jug of cool water, glass and straw, as well as a basin of warm water?"

While Itama went ahead to remove the blanket that was covering Dara-shishou, rolls up his left sleeve, and ties a tourniquet around his bicep (it felt wrong how unresponsive Dara-shishou was), it was the twins that hurried off to retrieve the requested items.

When the two 10-year-olds returned, Itama has already set up an IV stand which holds a bag of normal saline infused with a calculated dose of acetaminophen. All that was left was to insert an IV cannula into Dara-shishou's dorsal arch vein.

"Thank you," he smiles kindly at them. One of the boys returned his smile while the other ducked behind Ryouta. They were cute.

After making sure that the site and his hands were cleaned, he performs the procedure with professional and steady hands.

"We'll leave the drip going for 15 minutes and check to see if he needs another dose in four hours. For now, we need to keep him hydrated and fed. Ryouta-san, can I ask you to prepare a nutritional broth for him?"

"Will chicken broth suffice?"

"Yes."

"Very well."

Ryouta left with the baby basket in hand and one of the twins chasing after him.

"Izuna-san-"

Itama was cut off by a fierce scowl before he could request anything, "I'm not leaving."

"Very well," Itama didn't bother to argue, knowing how protective a family member can be towards their sick relative. "Then, may I ask your younger brother..." he trails off, looking cooly at Izuna to fill in the blank.

It took a moment, but Izuna finally gritted out stubbornly, "... Takumi."

"... Takumi-kun to bring some towels, a basin of tepid water, and a change of clothes - something thin?"

"Why?" Izuna glares, eyes full of suspicion.

"I'll need to give Madara-sama a sponge bath-"

"No."

"Izuna-sa-"

"No."

"This needs to-"

"NO!"

Itama bites his lower lip, fists bunching the fabric of his pants in a way that would help him resist the urge to punch Izuna's face in. Damn it. He made the wrong choice. He should've asked Izuna to prepare the broth, not Ryouta. Should he knock Izuna out?

"Pathetic, Izuna. Can you be anymore petulant? Did Ryouta-san not tell you to stop being obstructive?" Tobi-nii drawled.

Izuna immediately snaps his glare towards Tobi-nii, a spike of KI radiating from the Uchiha. "You want to repeat that, eh, fuckweed?"

"You are being obstructive. Madara-"

"Don't speak his name with that rotten mouth of yours, Senju! The fuck you think you are?! Coming into MY house, acting like yoU'RE ALL THAT, HUH?! I'LL FUCKIN-"

"IZUNA-NII!" Unexpectedly, it was Takumi who shouted over Izuna's loud voice. The youngest in the room was tugging at his brother's sleeve, teary-eyed. "L-Listen to the nice healer, please, nii-san. Ani-ue needs to get better. He needs to. Okay, nii-san? Please? For ani-ue?"

Izuna's expression did a 180, KI dissipating in an instant. His onyx eyes softened as he gazes at his younger brother, tone gentle and apologetic, "Sorry, Takumi. I didn't mean to frighten you. Were you scared?"

It was obvious that the boy was scared, but he still shook his head and responded with a quavery, "N-no, I wasn't scared. I just want ani-ue to get better." The second eldest Uchiha brother was nodding along with his words, hands smoothening over the younger boy's trembling arms.

"He'll get better. Aniki is strong. A mere fever won't keep him down for long. Do you want to go grab the things the nice healer requested?"

"... Okay. But will nii-san behave?" The cute boy looks up warily at his brother.

"Of course," Izuna laughs. "Now, go get them. I'll be here to keep an eye on aniki."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

With that, Takumi quickly rushes to get the items.

Itama, on the other hand, was sending his own brother disapproving stares, before turning to Izuna to try and explain why it was important that they give Dara-shishou a sponge bath. It took a bit of convincing (he was so very tempted to punch him), but Izuna finally agreed after a while, though he insisted on staying in the room just in case.

Seeing that everything was finally settled, he breathes out a sigh of relief.

Izuna's too darn overprotective.

When Takumi returned, he places all the items next to Itama before running off. Tobi-nii excuses himself then, knowing that Itama would have shooed him out to retain his patient's privacy, anyway. Mumbling a soft 'excuse me', Itama starts to undress his mentor.

His hands remained thoroughly professional as he baths his patient, easily ignoring Izuna's eyes that never left his person.

As Itama sips his tea, he couldn't help but wonder out loud, "Why didn't you ask a healer from your clan to look at Madara-sama?" Tobi-nii was currently sparring with Izuna right now while the twins were nursing Dara-shishou, so only the two of them (plus the baby) remained in the dining area.

Ryouta only smiles mysteriously, his tone gentle when he responds, "Being anija's student, should you not know that he loathes strangers invading his personal space?"

Itama did a spit-take, spraying tea all over the table, "E-eh? H-how?!" Suddenly, as if just realizing that he has just admitted to a huge secret, he quickly tries to say otherwise, "I-I mean, noooooo... What are you talking about? Hahaha...ha..."

"Silly. You should find better ways to hide that seal on your forehead. Simply hiding it behind your hair isn't enough."

Ryouta stretches out a hand to poke him on the forehead. His cheeks flush a bright red as he quickly wipes his chin, embarrassed about his reaction and apologizing softly for the spill. He hopes that Ryouta couldn't hear the intense beating of his heart - that would make him wish for the tatami mats to open up and swallow him whole.

"This could've been a tattoo, not a seal..." He mumbles dejectedly.

"You need to work on your poker face, Itama-sensei," Ryouta laughs, a sound that was like chiming bells. it made his ears feel hot.

"Y-Yeah."

"If you ever need help," Ryouta suddenly leans forward, plump lips whispering words into his reddish ears. "You can always come to me. I only bite when requested."

Itama squeaks at the feeling of a wet something glide over the shell of his ear.

His face burned as he stutters some kind of excuse he couldn't remember and ran out of the dining area as if his ass was on fire. All the while, he could hear Ryouta's angelic laugh echoing in his mind. He touches his ear, shivering at the remembrance of the sensation.

Definitely a dangerous person.

Chapter Text

When Madara wakes up blinking, it was with watery eyes at the sunlight peeking around the curtains. He would've groaned, but shinobi training made him stifle his need to voice his discomfort.

Contrary to his habits, his arousal from sleep was slow and it took a few moments for his eyes to adapt and realize that he was in his bed-chamber, alone. As soon as they did, he braces himself into a seated position, starting when a damp cloth flopped onto his blanket-covered lap from his forehead.

Madara couldn't remember going to bed, which wasn't a good sign.

The only time that this would happen was when he fainted from sheer exhaustion or sickness. Though judging from the damp cloth, it would be the latter this time. The sluggish movements of his chakra flow, the heaviness of his limbs, and the pounding in his head also suggest that he hadn't recovered enough to avoid bed rest.

Madara rolls his eyes. As if he would allow something so inconsequential to keep him in bed, anyway. He has too much to do.

(He needs to find a way to kill- help Kawarama. He needs to plan a countermeasure to keep Zetsu from digging its claws into another Senju's mind. He needs to attend meetings with the Senju delegates. He needs to check inventory and budget. He needs to read through his pile of letters and assign missions to his men. He needs to write a response to the shogun soon. He needs to assure his brothers that he was fine now. He needs to-)

Already, he was out of his futon and walking sluggishly towards the door, having to bite back his pride and depend heavily on the walls as a crutch. Disregarding his blurred and spinning vision, he just needs a moment to adjust and he would be okay again.

He slides the door open and walks straight into a wall, nose smashed as he unintentionally let out a soft noise in surprise. Momentarily dazed, his reaction to something unexpected was to take a step back, which, with how uncoordinated and muddled headed he currently was, meant that he tripped over his ankle in the process.

Whilst inwardly cursing whoever dared to place a block of brick to obstruct his exit, Madara expects to fall on his arse or something along those lines. What he got was an arm that snaked around his waist to pull him flush against a muscular body.

Madara reacted instantaneously by blindly punching the throat of whoever it was that had grabbed him, with whatever amount of chakra he could manage pooled at his fist to give him a better chance at crushing his enemy's windpipe in one blow.

His wrist was, however, unfortunately, caught. Before he could bring forth more violence, his interloper flares their chakra.

Belatedly sensing the familiar chakra signature, Madara halts all attacks and docilely slumps further into Tobirama's hold, digging his face in as if trying to mold himself into his friend's chest. He couldn't find it within himself to care about how embarrassingly needy he was behaving. Tobirama makes a good bolster. Solid, warm, and comfortable. He was completely at ease as he balances his chin on the muscled chest to peer at Tobirama through his lashes. The albino's face was akin to rippled water in a blob of white.

His head was beginning to throb harder and his limbs felt like jelly after having exerted himself. Madara airily reasons that a short break would fix this. Just for a minute.

Eyelids flutter shut as he falls into Morpheus's embrace, trusting Tobirama to keep watch. The arms holding him upright tightened as if to agree with his mental assessment.

Madara trustingly settles against his chest with a soft snuffle.

It was utterly adorable.

"You, Uchiha Madara, are such a tease. At times like this, I speculate about the quality of your self-preservation instincts. Most would take this as an invitation." Tobirama sighed in exasperated fondness. Madara was a frustrating man. Whenever he acted this way, docile and soft, Tobirama couldn't help but be left wanting.

He pictures soft lips on his, milky white thighs wrapped around his hips, and leather-gloved hands clawing up his back and- wants to headbutt a wall to get rid of those images. Or take a cold shower. Either way, he knows that it would be years to reach that stage. But he would wait. Madara was worth it. He just needed to be patient with his courting, go delicately slow as to not scare Madara off.

With a silent reprimand to his lower body, he gathers the unconscious man into his arms and gently arranges the Uchiha clan head into the futon, his hands lingering on the covers just a tad longer than necessary. His eyes flicker to Madara's parted lips, but he shakes those not-so-innocent thoughts away. Madara, Tobirama suspects, had once been a victim to nonconsensual sexual activities (white, scorching anger flushed through his veins at the mere thought of his oldest friend, the man he loves, be forced against his will). So It felt twice as wrong to take advantage of the man's unconscious state.

He brushes back Madara's bangs to press a chaste kiss on the intriguing diamond seal on his forehead instead, an affectionate gesture rather than one full of desire.

He leaves the room shortly after to return to the dining area, intending to finish his late-night dinner. At the feel of Ryouta's presence, however, Tobirama pauses for a moment to nod at the younger shinobi - waiting for Ryouta to give an indication of discomfort or otherwise - before he settles next to the short Uchiha who has Kazuha in his arms.

They didn't talk. Both of them were quiet as they nibbled on their respective food. It didn't take long for the baby to make a fuss, however.

Tobirama spectates from the corner of his eyes as Ryouta rocks the babe while checking her nappy. He almost starts when Ryouta releases an amused huff, too engrossed in mapping Kazuha's facial structure and comparing them to Madara's to notice he had stopped paying attention to his body language.

He feels embarrassed at his lapse of control, but he made sure to show nothing but a stony wall for a face. Itama always teased him for being a softie towards children, he didn't need another one.

"Can I trust you to keep her calm while I prepare her bottle?" Ryouta asked, tone polite and smile gentle. Tobirama wasn't fooled; the teen's angelic appearance belied a ruthless ego. There was no mistaking the threat in those onyx eyes.

Tobirama agreed and was handed the precious bundle. He marvels at the tiny person in his arms as he gently rocks her, an unintentional smile playing across his lips when his index finger was wrapped in a pudgy fist.

"Hello, Kazuha-chan," he whispered, making sure that his voice would not carry to Ryouta. The babe's pair of pinkish eyes focus on him as she gurgles, perhaps a greeting. "You look just like your father when he was younger. It's adorable. I wonder if your hair will be like your mother's once you've grown a little more? I hope not. I much prefer Madara's, although mind, do not take it the wrong way. I'll love Kazuha-chan unconditionally either way."

The babe only blinks her innocent pinkish eyes. Tobirama's heart melted under the onslaught. Idly, he wonders if Ryouta would allow him to feed her?

Once the Uchiha came back, They exchanged small talk through his meal.

And yes, Ryouta did allow him to feed her in the end.

Madara groggily clutches at the blanket around his shoulders, shivering at the cold breeze that had caressed his cheeks. Feeling a source of heat near him and smelling the familiar, safe scent of ink and choji oil, he curls into the body next to him. Their fingers start to comb through his hair, scratching at his scalp pleasingly. It was soothing enough for him to fall back into the cold grip of memories clawing at his ankles.

The calming, circular motion of a large, calloused hand on his back never ceased.

The rest of the week passed in a muddled headed blur. Other than vomiting from time to time, Madara couldn't remember much of his time when he was conscious. All he knows from the brief bouts of clarity was that Itama was his primary caretaker.

The Senju stayed in the furthest guest room and was under 24-hour guard rotation overseer by Hikaku. Usually, Madara would have been too paranoid to sleep when Zetsu was running free in his backyard via Kawarama. He was distinctly aware of his vulnerability. However, that option had been taken from him no thanks to the sudden onset of sickness.

Paranoia made him shuffle out of his futon to physically examine both his body and mind to ensure no tampering had been done whilst he had been unconscious. Madara trusts Itama with his life, but his disciple was currently unprotected and that left him susceptible to Zetsu's influence. Who knows if Zetsu had made any other Senju his puppet without Madara's knowledge?

After performing many tests, the conclusion was that he was fine. There hadn't been any alternations done to him (or if there had been, he didn't notice and he was going to become a puppet again and- no, stop. He should remain cautious, not anxious). He would check on his brothers when he sees them, of course, but first, he needs to find his disciple and give Itama's mind some much-needed protection against otherworldly influences.

Stretching, he couldn't help but moan in pleasure. He felt properly rejuvenated for once. At least one good thing came out from this entire mess. Thinking back, this was exactly what his body needed. The first real sleep after pushing it past its limits. Now all that was left to feel secure again was to rebuild his disgustingly faded forehead seal.

Before he could make himself feel human again via a bath, the twins entered his room. His baby brothers had their eyes wide open.

"Yakumi? Takumi? Are you- oomph!"

Yakumi jumped into his personal space and embraced him with his short arms, his twin following shortly after. Madara didn't push them away, rather, it was the opposite. He wraps his arms around his youngest brothers and rocks them in a comforting manner.

Well, he could take a bath later. The twins were his priority.

"Itama-sensei? Aniue is awake."

Itama turns to look at the youngest of shishou's siblings. The boy was fidgeting by the doorway, tiny hands playing with the hems of his kimono shirt. Itama has to clench his hands into fists to stop himself from gushing all over the adorable sight.

"Yakumi-kun, was it?" He asked.

"It's Takumi. B-but it's ok, Itama-sensei!" At Itama's sheepish expression, the boy quickly assured while flailing at the same time, much like shishou whenever he was flustered. "You don't have to feel bad. We're identical twins so a lot of people confuse us! I'm used to it."

"Even if you are, it's still rude of me to mistake you for your brother. Twins you may be, but you're both different people," Itama rose from his seat and placed a hand on the boy's fluffy head. "You said something about Madara-sama waking up?"

"H-hai," Takumi nodded. His cheeks were warm as he fiddles with his fingers. In his mind, Itama-sensei was kind and gentle, just like Ryouta-nii, so he likes this particular Senju. He wasn't like the Senju monsters in the stories other adults would tell him whenever he left the manor to play.

"Let's go check on your brother." Itama gently takes Takumi's hand into his and they both made their way to the Uchiha clan head's bedroom.

On the way, Takumi started to unconsciously swing their linked hands together. It was childish, yet so very precious. Itama couldn't remember the last time he held hands with his brothers.

Hashirama-nii was a hugger, preferring to pounce on anyone and squeeze their organs into misshapen pancakes. They've never actually held hands when they walked together, or at least, he can't remember ever doing that with his eldest brother. Kawarama-nii dislikes prolonged physical contact too much to hold hands with anybody. The only times he would initiate contact was whenever he wanted to act cute (which, ew). Tobi-nii would often hold hands or carry him around when he was younger, but after he had grown, Tobi-nii's show of affection changed to shoulder pats, since Itama was now bigger and taller than all of his siblings.

Sometimes, he wishes that he wasn't the youngest. He wanted someone to spoil. Maybe shishou would let Itama spoil his baby? Fingers crossed!

Entering the bedroom, he releases Takumi's hand and took the seat to the right of shishou's futon. The little one didn't enter, only bowing before taking his exit.

Itama turned his attention to the main person. Shishou was awake, looking far too pale and exhausted, but coherent. It was a relief to see that he had snapped out of his delirious state, which had lasted a week too long. His eye bags were darker than ever and his hair limp, making him look smaller than usual. Itama hated how fragile his strong shishou appeared.

Fortunately, Itama had been allowed to become the Uchiha clan head's primary healer. It was worth delaying his return just to get shishou healthy again.

Tobi-nii, along with the rest of their clanmates, had already left five days ago. Tobi-nii, as the heir of their clan, was needed back home due to the Uzumaki clan's presence in the Senju compound ahead of schedule. The only reason Itama, being a member of the main family, was allowed to remain behind was because Tobi-nii approved it, stubbornly refusing to listen to the Elders when they spoke their disagreement. So foolish. Shishou was someone they both cherish. Of course, Tobi-nii would want him here.

As for the Uchiha clan, Ryouta's words pretty much convinced them that Itama, being the greatest healer out there, could only bring benefits with his stay.

Itama had blushed bright red at the praise but didn't deny it because technically, he was the best, as shishou hadn't been in the condition to fight him for the title then. Now that shishou was in the condition to mould chakra, Itama would happily deny being the best in his field. That title belonged rightfully to his honorable shishou.

"How're you feeling?" Itama queried.

Without waiting for a response, he automatically places a glowing green hand on his shishou's chest, silently collecting data and vital obs. Everything seems to be within normal parameters, thankfully. He removes his appendage and turns his attention to the Uchiha when he sees shishou make a move to speak.

Shishou breathes out a sigh. "Tired. I apologize for the trouble I've caused you, Tama-bo. What's the diagnosis and how long have I been down for?"

"It is no trouble at all, shishou," he responded with a soft smile. They were the only ones in the room, so Itama decided to call him master out loud. "You've had a sudden onset of hyperpyrexia. You've been out for a week, with intermittent vomiting and delirium. How does your body feel now? Any lingering aches? Do you have any trouble breathing? The risk for aspiration pneumonia had been high with the bouts of vomiting. Any headaches? Your temperature is above where I'm comfortable with, still in the range of normal, of course, but just in case..."

Shishou, who had remained quiet through his questioning with his eyes closed in thought, opened those dark, intimidating pair of black orbs abruptly enough to cut him off. They seemed to pierce his very soul. Itama held back a shiver and quickly sealed his lips. Okay, too many questions at one go. Understood.

"No, nothing unusual. Just tired. Have you taken a look at my daughter?"

"Yes. She's beautiful!" Itama had been in awe when he first saw her.

He grins goofily at the remembrance of such a gorgeous baby, her cherubic features identical to shishou's but with Tobi-nii's coloring. It was as if fate wanted them to be together. Itama very much approves.

"Kazuha-chan is as healthy as can be. A little underweight, but Ryouta-san is working on that. Her lungs have been a concern, I've heard. However, I've done a full body assessment and have found nothing worrying. I've taken her albinism into consideration and have procured a few jars of sunscreen for her. They're Tobi-nii's recipe when he had been younger and hadn't had full control over his chakra. I'm sure that'll be useful to her. Of course, I've already written the recipe down and given it to Ryouta-san."

"Thank you." Shishou had his lips tilted upwards into a tiny little smile, eyes soft and full of love at just the mention of his daughter. "To have a second person confirm her health is assuring, especially when it's you. Pass my gratitude to Tobirama when you return, would you? His recipe would make Kazuha's life easier."

"It's my pleasure! I'm sure Tobi-nii will be delighted to hear that."

"Ah, speaking of Tobirama, where are your brothers?"

"They've already left. Tobi-nii told me to tell you that everything is going as planned, and you need not worry about the peace meetings as he has it handled. He wants you to focus on recovery and leave everything to him until you're healthy again."

"He worries too much. I'll be up and moving soon." Itama purses his lips in disapproval, but shishou ignored him. Stupid shishou, always uncooperative when it came to his health. "What about Kawarama?"

Itama blinked, confused. "What about him?"

"The last I saw him, he stormed out of the tent in a fit of rage."

"Oh. Shishou doesn't need to worry about him," Itama waves a hand as if swatting an annoying housefly away. "Kawarama-nii has a prissy fit all the time. I'd say he was being childish and leave it at that. He has trouble admitting his faults and was probably annoyed at something Tobi-nii said."

"... Do I need to be concerned about the risk of sabotage?"

"Nah. Kawarama-nii may be a childish wanker, but he's loyal to a fault. He'll never betray us or do anything to bring our clan down."

"Hn. So he has always been short-tempered?"

"Ye-" Itama paused, eyebrows furrowed as he rethinks his answer. Simultaneously, he assists shishou change out of his damp yukata, picking up a dry cloth to help wipe the sweat from his body. "No. Kawarama specializes in reconnaissance. He usually has good control over his emotions."

"I'm hearing a 'but' in there," Shishou raises an eyebrow.

Itama tentatively hummed his agreement while helping him into a clean yukata. He shuffles behind his teacher, a comb in hand.

"He has been throwing tantrums more often as of late. Although he tends to be loud and childish at home, he knows the danger of uncontrollable bouts of anger. Especially during missions. It's... concerning enough that Tobi-nii had pulled him out of our active duty roster and put him on heir-guarding duty to keep a better eye on him. I want to blame it on puberty, but sometimes, it feels as if I don't know him as well as I thought I do."

Black mane combed to the best of his abilities, Itama then hands a pair of leather gloves to the Uchiha before standing. After delicately smoothing his yukata, he stretches a hand out to assist shishou to his feet.

"Anyway. It's probably just Kawarama-nii being Kawarama-nii and Tobi-nii and I are just being paranoid. We're all still in the midst of growing up. Who knows how our personalities will evolve in due time?"

Whereas Shishou gave a distracted nod, Itama supported his shishou while they both walked to the dining area. Takumi would have already informed Ryouta of shishou's state so they'll probably have food on the table by now.

Just before they entered the dining area, shishou pulled him to a stop. He made a noise of inquiry.

"If I remember correctly, you said something about Hashirama getting married soon, didn't you?"

"Uh, yes? Everyone has been preparing for his wedding for some time now. It's actually in a couple of days. Mito - Hashirama-nii's soon-to-be wife - is already there with her family and most of her clan. Too early, if you ask me. That's why Tobi-nii has to leave on such short notice."

"Say... isn't it about time I showed my face to your family?"

Shishou's sudden question almost gave him an arrest. His heart was thumping violently in his chest and he could only blink in confusion, a stupid, "Huh?", leaving his lips. Suddenly, he was getting a bad feeling about this. Let's put a stop to whatever schemes were inside shishou's head.

"B-but you've already met them?" He tries as politely as he could manage, his tone borderline pleading.

"Tama-bo, you couldn't possibly think to exclude me, your honorable shishou, from attending your brother's wedding, could you? It has been years since I've taken you as my apprentice, yet officially, your family and your iryo instructor have met not once. That simply won't do! This is a prime time opportunity to formally introduce us, my dear deshi. What a happy occasion! We must simply celebrate! Ryouta will prepare the most glorious cake for the party."

"W-wait... shishou..."

"It's decided," the great Uchiha Madara curved his lips into a diabolical grin, baring his teeth and looking deviously full of schemes. Devil, Itama inwardly cries. "I expect an invitation on my desk come morning. You understand, right, my cute little student?"

Itama could only nod meekly at the threats hidden between those lines, inwardly crying rivers of blood. One could never say no when shishou was like this unless they have a death wish. And Itama, despite being a trembling M, wasn't someone who seeks death. No siree.

As if that diabolical grin was not enough to torment him on sleepless nights, it stretched wider. Fearing for the worst, Itama purposefully cleared his throat loud enough for the people in the dining area to hear. Lady Luck must have been shining her light upon him, for Ryouta appeared abruptly, concerned face hovering mere inches away from shishou's.

Of course shishou's first instinct would be to slap the face away. Of course.

"Anija!" Ryouta squawks while holding the growing bump on his forehead. "How dare you slap someone who has been taking care of your workload for the whole week?! Do you know how insanity-inducing it was to be your representative at the peace conference?! I cannot believe this. This is the reward I get for all my hard work - a slap. Unbelievable."

Shishou, with embarrassment coloring his cheeks red, awkwardly brushes his fringe to cover more of his face, "My apologies. I mistook you for Izuna."

However, rather than be placated, Ryouta looks more offended.

"Nii-san. Really? I look like nii-san?" Ryouta stresses the word 'nii-san' like it was a vile expression, a tick forming above his left eyebrow.

Just as shishou was about to apologize again like the weak-willed pushover he was whenever it came down to any of his little brothers, Ryouta bulldozed over him. Itama sighs in relief at the angry berating that took the attention off of him, with shishou meekly folding like wet toilet paper.

Safe.

No more nightmare-inducing grins, thank log.

Chapter Text

For the nth time, Senju Yoshimaru couldn't withhold yawning.

Gate duty was the worst. Especially when three-quarters of his clan were already getting drunk at Hashirama-sama's wedding. Tilting his chin up, he glares peevishly at the sun, wishing that it would move faster. He so badly wants his shift to end so that he could enjoy whatever was left of the feast (if there were any. The majority of the clan have bottomless pits for stomachs).

Argh, he seriously wants to see the beautiful, blushing bride (from rumors, Uzumaki Mito has a face that even a goddess would envy) while getting dead drunk with his comrades... Well, Yoshimaru silently comforts himself, at least he wasn't unlucky enough to get the evening shift. Tobirama-sama had prohibited them from even taking a sip of saké. To not be able to drink on such a happy occasion was a travesty! Poor cousin Eiichiro, he smirks (misery sure did love company).

Checking the position of the sun, Yoshimaru deduced that the ceremony would soon begin. He crosses his fingers. Hopefully, the ceremony would drag and delay. He seriously wants to see the bride! And eat free food. And get drunk. Yoshimaru petulantly kicks the dirt beneath his feet.

So boring! So boring so boring so boring soboringsoboringsoborin-

His inner complaints were abruptly cut off by a yawn so loud he started to tear up. That was how boring it was to be on gate duty. The morning couldn't pass any slower.

Ascertain that he would fall asleep on his feet if this continues, Yoshimaru decides to climb the watchtower for the heck of it. Since the action was still within his scope of practice, he wouldn't get in trouble for stretching his legs a bit. Apart from the usual gate duties, he was also the doorman, responsible for checking invitations. Hence why he had to imitate a statue by the gates for most parts.

Yoshimaru slaps his cheeks mid-yawn. Stop, damn it. If Tobirama-sama were to see him yawning away, the Senju heir would give him The stink eye, with a capital T. And Tobirama-sama's stink eye was really, really scary. Yoshimaru shudders by just remembering it (and no, he wasn't being childish! He was already sixteen! Too old to act as such!).

With a groan, he pulls out a spyglass. Better to do something productive than to fiddle his thumbs.

N, no abnormalities detected.

NNW, no abnormalities detected.

NW, no abnormalities detected.

WNW, no abnormalities detected.

W, no abnormalities detected.

WSW-

Wait a second.

He re-positions the spyglass back to the direction of West.

Bemused, he removes the spyglass to rub his eyes. He must've seen wrong. Must be the boredom. Yes, definitely. After agreeing with himself, he uses the spyglass and points it to where he had seen the anomaly.

... Alright. He didn't see it wrongly.

That was undoubtedly an oiran[1] he sees. No other women would wear their hair in an elaborative datehyougo style and dress in so many layers that even looking at her could make others feel sweaty. But why would an oiran be sauntering towards their compound? Yoshimaru could understand if the clan had hired a geisha or two to provide entertainment for the guests during the feast, but an oiran - a woman of pleasure - has no place at a wedding.

Yoshimaru's eyes couldn't help but stray. The oiran's kimono, probably made of the purest silk, was in bold red with delicate patterns in vivid gold. The layers upon layers of kimono did not swallow her frame and figure, however. It only made her exude a certain sex appeal that only mature women could. Yoshimaru could only swallow drily at the bold show of shoulders and collarbone - and if his spyglass wasn't playing tricks on him, he could make out a pattern of some kind inked across the back of her neck. It was stimulating, that was for sure. Even in a pair of sanmaiba geta, she was graceful as she makes her way over.

The oiran, unlike the ones the had seen in the red-light district at the Capital during an Oiran Dōchū[2], wore only light makeup and did not smear white base on her skin. Her eyes, which were already beautifully shaped, were accented black to make them appear coquettish, her lashes curled in a way that made her onyx orbs pop, and lids highlighted with red eyeshadow that contrasted seductively against her pale skin. There were slight bags underneath her eyes that couldn't be fully concealed by makeup, but that added to her charm rather than diminish it.

On the center of her forehead, between those fawn eyebrows[3], was a light purple rhombus no bigger than the nail of his pinky. Her lips, pouty and delectable, were painted the same shade as her eyelids. Her cheeks were slightly cherubic, though it was more of an indication of youth rather than weight, and a jawline that could cut. All in all, her features were exquisite and she was the most gorgeous woman Yoshimaru has ever laid eyes upon, no joke.

Seeing that she would reach the gates in a couple of minutes, Yoshimaru fumbles to put away his spyglass and quickly jumps back to the ground. He nervously wipes the sweat on his neck, straightens his back, and puffs out his chest to make himself look manlier.

Even if this oiran has the wrong address, he wanted to make a good impression. Who wouldn't want to in the face of such a pretty person? Yoshimaru, as a hormonal teenager, didn't even suspect anything else, too busy drooling and thinking with something that was not his brain.

He was kinda, sort of, spellbound. She was that captivating.

"Good morning -de arinsu," the oiran greeted. Her voice was deeper than he had been expecting, but it still made a pleasant tingle run down his spine. "I've come to attend the wedding of Senju Hashirama-sama and Uzumaki Mito-sama -de arinsu."

Yoshimaru dazedly wonders why her accent seemed familiar yet not. It didn't take him long to discern where he had heard it from, however. If he wasn't wrong, the sociolect of prostitutes was kuruwa kotoba, something hailed from the red-light district at the Capitol, used by yūjo[4] to hide their origins.

It was only when the oiran politely cleared her throat did he remember that staring was not considered polite. Embarrassed, he quickly raises a hand, palm up. "Right. Yeah. Can I see your invitation? Uh, please," he added the last bit in a stumble, ears red at his poor manners.

He was a frontline shinobi, damn it. He has never needed to be polite nor diplomatic before since all he was required to do was cut down his enemies. Even his table manners were atrocious. Hence why he was usually the target of Tobirama-sama's stink eye whenever they were at the communal canteen at the same time (so what if he eats with his mouth open and talk at the same time? What a cabbage, sheesh!).

"Of course -de arinsu," the oiran smiles, her red painted lips curved in a coy manner. It made his mouth run dry and he had to shift his sight to her shoulder... which was worse so he quickly brought his line of sight to her forehead. Damn, he didn't know where to look to stay polite. No doubt, Yoshimaru would lose himself in her eyes, her lips did things to his gut, and her shoulders and collarbone were bare.

While he was internally writhing at the obscene images playing in his mind, the oiran unhesitatingly pulls out a rolled parchment from the wide sleeves of her kimono and places it delicately atop his outstretched palm. Returning her smile, albeit more twitchy due to his nerves, he swiftly unrolls the parchment and did a quick scan with his eyes. Due to the protocols Tobirama-sama instilled, he made sure to check for tampering via seals, genjutsu, and other methods his clan heir deemed 'adequate' enough (the paranoid bugger).

Everything looks real. Just that... "It says here to send for Itama-sama to escort you in?" Yoshimaru asked, perplexed.

"Indeed. I apologize for the inconvenience caused, shinobi-san. Tama-bo has specifically requested that I wait for him by the gates. Would you be so kind as to fetch him for me -de arinsu?"

Tama-bo[5]?!

Okay, Yoshimaru wouldn't have choked on his spit if it had been Itama-bo, at least. But. She called him Tama-bo. Not even Itama, but Tama. What was their relationship?! W-wait. Was Itama-sama her client?! That lucky basta-

"Uhh. Yeah. I mean, no. I can't leave my post but I can get my summon to get... Itama-sama," Yoshimaru had to control his expression when he said Itama-sama's name out loud. "What's your name?"

"Oh my, how impolite of me," the oiran snapped a fan open and positioned it so that the lower half of her face was, unfortunately, covered. "I am called Daraku, Deai Daraku -de arinsu. A pleasure to meet your acquaintance -de arinsu."

... Depravity[6]? Debauchery? What? Who would name their child that?! And what kind of family name is Deai[7]?! If he were to combine the meaning behind her name together, her introduction was akin to cursing him to encounter depravity. Despite her regal appearance, Yoshimaru kind of wants to take a step back now that he knows her full name.

Yoshimaru didn't know if he should laugh or cry at the revelation, his mind immediately cleared of any previous naughty thoughts. In the end, he decided that neither option was appealing and played ignorance. "... Yeah. Nice to meet you too... Deai-san. Wait here. I'll summon someone."

At her nod, he sighs in relief and moves away to perform a summoning jutsu. A poof of smoke and a few murmured orders later had a lemur run off with its tail wrapped around a piece of parchment. Yoshimaru didn't return to her side. He acted as if he was busy by pulling out a random scroll (guard rotation schedule for the day) and reading it.

Fortunately, the oiran didn't speak. The golden fan that had branches of sakura blossoms painted on it - which was looking suspiciously more and more like a tessen in his eyes - was still covering the bottom half of her face as she looks around in a completely shinobi-esque manner.

It made Yoshimaru anxious. Suddenly, he wonders if he had been too quick to judge her by her appearance. What if she was an assassin aiming for Itama-sama's head? Itama-sama was their clan's treasured medic-nin. There had been a lot of attempts at his life but none have succeeded due to the bodyguards usually situated around the main infirmary.

Just as his shoulders began to ache at how tensed they've become, Itama-sama appeared.

Upon seeing the woman, the medic-nin blanches, an expression one would wear when constipated appearing on his face. Yoshimaru discreetly placed a hand on the hilt of his katana, ready to draw at a moment's notice. It would be a pity to kill such a beautiful lady. But a job was a job. He was duty-bound to protect the members of the main house.

Yoshimaru's lips part, suspicion on the tip of his tongue. However, Itama-sama cut through his budding words with a squeaky, high pitched yelp. "Shi-Shishou?!"

Wait, what?

While Yoshimaru was gaping in disbelief, Itama-sama was pointing at the oiran- no, the lady who was his teacher(?!) in a way that would make Tobirama-sama give his little brother the stink eye.

"Retract your finger, Tama-bo, lest you wish I cut it off -de arinsu?" Oh, he'd rather receive Tobirama-sama's stink eye than being reprimanded by her. She seems to be the brutal, violent sort whenever angered.

Itama-sama instantly did as instructed, looking twice as sweaty as Yoshimaru feels. He still doesn't understand what was going on. Was this woman Itama-sama's mysterious teacher, the one who taught him those revolutionary iryōjutsus?! How?! She was clearly an oiran!

"Uhm, shishou. You're early."

"Hn. Let's go, Tama-bo. I've been dying to meet your brothers -de arinsu." He didn't know it was possible for Itama-sama to turn another shade pallor. It was. Before Yoshimaru could react to anything else, the woman (he truly did not want to call her by either name or surname) turned to him. "I thank you for your assistance, shinobi-san. I, along with my disciple, shall take our leave now -de arinsu. Good day."

He could only murmur an incoherent response as he watches them leave.

Itama-sama had offered an arm to his master and was leading her to the shrine, where Hashirama-sama's wedding ceremony was soon to take place. The height difference between master and disciple required Itama-sama to lean down when they conversed. Funny enough, this action didn't help Yoshimaru in unseeing Itama-sama as a client to an oiran despite knowing the two's relationship.

Their silhouette soon disappeared at the next corner.

... At least she didn't mosey like an oiran during a dōchū...?

Eh, let's just go back to gate duty. He won't be yawning anymore after this beguiling encounter, that was for sure.

Chapter Text

Itama was sweating unsightly, much akin to a pig, as the gazes of his clansmen penetrate his core being. Undoubtedly, they were curious about the courtesan he was escorting personally by the arm, and judging him for it. From the civilian portion of his clan, many they passed gave him disapproving and/or scandalized glances. Never has he shrunk into the collar of his robes so much before, in some way, feeling chastised despite having done nothing wrong.

"Shishou," Itama couldn't help whinging, though he kept his voice down and lips unreadable. "Why are you dressed like this?"

Rather than answering the question, Dara-shishou deflected, "How do I look?" he asked in a voice that was too coy for Itama's liking. It made goosebumps appear everywhere.

Unsure if he should give his honest feedback or not, he silently cursed the Uchiha in his heart while smiling shakily, "It... suits you." And somehow, oddly enough, his words rang true. "But isn't this getup too risky? I mean, that's your face - and isn't your face well known? You have a reputation that exceeds Hi no Kuni."

"You would think it is," shishou huffed, a bemused expression appearing on his lightly powdered face. "I would think it is. But apparently, even my own clansmen recognized me not. I did encounter quite a few of them on my way here. Some even had the gall to ask me how much I'd cost for an hour. I am, thoroughly, disturbed by their attempts to bed me."

"… Really?" Itama asked doubtfully, feeling slightly unnerved himself. Surely, regardless of the strange choice of disguise, they would recognize their own clan head, right...? Despite how concealed his chakra was, shishou wasn't even wearing that much makeup!

(Within the confines of his mind, Itama secretly had this tiny desire to see what kind of expression shishou had made when the first Uchiha came to him with that proposition. That would've, undoubtedly, been hilarious.)

"Really."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

Itama could only shake his head at that, feeling somewhat helpless at the news. "Uh, at least Tobi-nii will be able to recognize you from a mile away?" He tried to console.

Shishou, rather than realize his attempt for what it was, snapped his fan closed with a scoff, almost scaring him half to death with how loud of a sound it made. Wait a second! Was that folding fan made out of iron? Did shishou really bring a tessen into their compound?! That was such a security breach! Tobi-nii would definitely punish the guard on duty if he found out! Poor Yoshimaru. Itama could already hear his clansman's wrongful weeping in the back of his head.

"Tobirama does not see people with sight, idiot disciple. We both know how... delicate his eyes."

… That wasn't what he meant, but Itama already knew how dense his shishou was. Before he could try and correct the misunderstanding, shishou had already provocatively wrapped an arm around his waist, which caused him to break into cold sweat.

His clansmen's gazes were now twice as painful and cutting. And judging by shishou's smirk, the Uchiha was having a great time acting coquettish right now.

Itama wants to cry.

This damn devil of a master…

Madara was having the time of his life.

As Daraku, not only was he able to act as he pleased without a care for his reputation, he was also able to walk alongside his student practically in enemy territory. Life was good. Itama, on the other hand, has long worn a funny expression, as if bitten a particularly sour lemon and couldn't rid the taste of it.

Madara loved the idea of having the freedom of choice - and if that involved causing Itama to be miserable, all the more for it.

The master and disciple pair came to a stop at the entrance of a busy courtyard. The people within were singing, dancing, and joyfully drunk. Madara freely observed them as they continued their journey towards the buffet table, filled more with alcoholic beverages than food. Probably Hashirama's influence than Mito's. She was more of a tea person, from what Madara remembers.

Many conversations jarred haltingly when they walked by, the majority doing a doubletake at the pair, but Madara paid them no mind, his eyes focused solely on the glass of wine just a few meters away. He was parched.

When he finally consumed some much-needed party drinks, Madara went back to observing the crowd. Half the attendees were redheads whilst the other half had earth-toned hair, and despite hailing from different clans, the Uzumaki and Senju got along like a house on fire.

One day, Madara promised, the Uchiha would be the same. Whilst Madara could not have the pleasure to enjoy such thrilling experiences due to his plan to leave future-Konoha on his mission to eradicate Zetsu, he would make sure his brothers, daughter, clansmen, and their descendants would on his behalf.

Madara used to be indifferent about the mission, at the idea of leaving his family, friends, and clan to fulfill the subjugation. However, after gaining so much from this second life of his, he somehow feels reluctant to leave it all behind. His mischievous little brothers, his fragile yet strong daughter, and his deadly loyal Tobirama- Just the thought of leaving them dampened his mood. But it was for a peaceful future. He mustn't be selfish.

"What does shishou want to do now?" Itama's sudden question brought him back from his depressing thoughts. Fortunately, his student was too busy scanning the crowd to pay him any mind, thus missing his split-second dour expression.

A flick of the wrist was enough to snap his fan open. Madara covered the lower half of his face with it to ensure that that one moment of inattention was hidden from view.

"Why so tense, Tama-bo?" Madara queried with a practiced kuruwa kotoba lilt. Due to the intense acrobatics his vocal cords had been put through prior to his crossdressing, his voice could pass for a woman, albeit one with a contralto. Anything higher than that would make him sound off.

"Because one wrong move could cost us everything," Itama responded with a whisper so soft Madara had to strain his ear to hear despite their close proximity. In addition, his student was mindful of his lips, aware of the possibility that they could be read. Good boy. Madara trained him well. "With so many eyes on us, what if someone notices?'

"Oh my. For daring to doubt my skills, it seems that my naughty disciple needs to be disciplined." Madara leaned his shoulder against Itama's chest, not minding that the latter was becoming pale as a sheet. "Howbeit, this merciful master shall hold back in this joyous occasion, just this once."

"T-This disciple thanks shishou for his benevolence," Itama laughed nervously whilst trying to disengage from Madara without making it too obvious. Amateur.

Madara tutted, "Tama-bo, be mindful of pronoun, please. We wouldn't want someone to question what's under my dress."

"S-Sorry, shishou," Itama, with all his youthful innocence and purity, squeaked and blushed to the tips of his hair, akin to a shy maiden in the face of depravity. Looking at this bear-like teenager behaving in such a way made for a funny picture. Madara was thoroughly amused.

Smiling at Itama, more so with his eyes than the covered part of his face, Madara placed a dainty hand upon his student's chest and drew circles with a painted finger. Under his touch, Itama's face instantly turned 囧, probably beyond disgusted yet not brave enough to slap his hand away.

Madara wondered if this was considered sexual harassment. Judging by how the expressions of their peeping observers were borderline scandalous, probably a yes.

Having teased his student enough, lest the boy dies from embarrassment, Madara removed his hand and snapped his fan close. The sound was sharp, crisp, and attention-grabbing. With most of the nearby people looking at them, Madara politely made sure that his prostitute-ish accent was thick enough for even a deaf person to hear, "Tama-bo, let us use our bodies to dance the day away -de arinsu."

Itama's expression, which has finally returned to normal when Madara took back his coquettish claws, puckered again. Madara smirked behind the metal of his closed fan. Sure enough, his student's reaction was gold. Now, all he needed to see were Hashirama's and Tobirama's reaction to complete his day - the latter's especially, since the albino would undoubtedly recognize him despite his ingenious disguise.

And oh look. Speak of the devil.

Tobirama was with the bride and groom, the three of them including Touka, from what he could see, appeared to be in a pleasant conversation as they made their way to the buffet table, near where Madara and Itama were idling about.

Madara, the genius that he was, had made sure that his chakra signature was concealed and adjusted well before even making this trip to the Senju compound - all to trick Tobirama's senses. Fortunately, the seal had worked as he had intended and the albino seemed oblivious to the trap Madara had become.

In under a minute, the group halted a comfortable distance from the duo. Guards down and entirely focused on their own conversation, the group did not notice the master-disciple pair.

Whereas Itama unintentionally let loose a sigh of relief, Madara used this opportunity to observe the two women. Apart from Tsunade (the one who completely destroyed his absolute defense), those two were the only women Madara had ever acknowledged in his past life.

For one, Touka had been able to go toe-to-toe with Hikaku and even beat him if she was in a good condition. From what he remembered in his previous life, Senju Touka had many accomplishments under her belt. One being Konoha's first-generation ANBU commander. Whilst Tobirama did create that division, he was far too busy to actually run it. The person that could assume the mantle, out of all the soldiers in Konoha, was Touka despite how heavily male-dominated their village was with their military power.

Of course, the majority of the clan heads had disapproved of her at first, especially the clans that have never faced Touka in battle before. They refused to have a woman stand higher than them in rank and power. She, without backing down, accepted their challenge and defeated each and every one of their clan's representative in a one-to-one sparring match (that went on for a whole month) and left many young kunoichis to idolize her.

But that wasn't what made Madara respect her first and foremost. No, it was that one time when they had been but teenagers. He had witnessed her brilliant dominance on the battlefield. One of his clansmen had jeered and spat that she should stop playing shinobi and return to the kitchen. Touka, of course, wasn't too pleased with that comment and Madara was the one who had to save his kin's life. His clansman had been crippled by her, and after that incident, nobody underestimated her ever again.

As many said, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

On the other hand, different from Touka, Uzumaki Mito had not entered the kunoichi life until much later in life. She had been brought up, thoroughly, as a noblewoman since birth. However, behind closed doors, she had secretly learned the art of combat from who knows where, her desire to become a kunoichi stronger than her desire to listen to her father, the clan head at that time.

Madara had loathed her guts. It was hate at first sight, and the feeling was mutual. But, undoubtedly, she had earned his respect after that one damning time.

She had stood tall as she faced off against the Kyuubi whilst Madara fought against Hashirama. Many wouldn't have the courage to even do that. Hashirama had indeed weakened the Kyuubi, but Mito had still managed to survive long enough to invent - on the spot - a seal strong enough to secure a tailed beast in her gut. Thus leading to Madara's defeat.

Afterward, Uzumaki Mito became the pioneer for future kunoichis everywhere. When word of her prowess got out, many clans decided that if a woman from another clan face down a tailed beast and lived to tell the tale, why couldn't their women stand strong as well? Thus, from being a male-dominated profession, kunoichis began to slowly balance their numbers.

Grudgingly, respect must be given when it was due. He still hated her personality and attitude, though!

Madara shook his head lightly to return to the present. That was enough reminiscing for the day.

His movements were small, but it caught a certain albino's attention. When Madara saw Tobirama turn this way, he gleefully noted the way the Senju had done a doubletake as red eyes widened in disbelief. Pity that he couldn't record that with his Sharingan.

The others in the group noticed Tobirama's reaction and turned to the duo in confusion. Hashirama, innocent Hashirama, completely missed when everyone else had question marks on their faces at the sight of an oiran next to Itama. Rather, he strode forward until he was in front of the duo.

"Itama!" Hashirama beamed at his youngest brother a smile so bright, Madara had to squint to prevent white spots from appearing in his vision. "Where have you been? We were looking for you! Oh yeah, have you seen Kawarama anywhere? I haven't seen him since breakfast!"

Rather than pay attention to Itama's nervous reply, Madara stared right into the eyes of his friend. He couldn't quite control the way his painted lips quivered into a smirk, so he covered them behind his fan.

Tobirama looked none too pleased with his attendance.

Madara smiles harder in response. 

Chapter Text

The crisp sound his tessen made when Madara snapped it open immediately garnered Hashirama's attention. 

The Senju head gave him a subtle once-over, before meeting his eyes, the only part of his face that wasn't covered behind his fan. Idly, Madara wondered if Hashirama would have willingly done the same if he'd known he was looking into the eyes of the strongest Uchiha alive right now. Probably not. Whilst monstrous in his own right, this-Hashirama has never once made eye contact with Madara on the battlefield before.

It was kind of disappointing if he was honest. Then-Hashirama wouldn't have hesitated to look Madara dead in the eye and shout about peace and friendship.

Anyway. It wouldn't do to dwell on the past or the what-ifs. He could always befriend Hashirama again (even if briefly) after their clans have become allies. With a smile, he bowed in greeting towards the Senju head, mindful to remain elegant rather than sensual - getting on Mito's bad side has always had its repercussions.

As if oblivious to what Madara's garment represented, Hashirama returned his bow and smiled sheepishly. He spoke as if he was in a conversation with a person of noble standing (which was technically true. The head of the Uchiha clan was a member of the aristocracy since ancient times. But that was more of an empty title than anything that held meaning, since they were seen as violent-loving shinobi, first and foremost, to the rest of the aristocrats).

"Oh, pardon me. My eyes must be going blind to have not noticed such a graceful person standing so close to me. I hadn't meant any disrespect by failing to greet you. Senju Hashirama, at your service, my lady."

Hn. It seems Hashirama was at the beginning stages of minding his words in the game called politics. Something then-Hashirama excelled at – and if Madara was being honest, he might even say that his then-best friend has a glib tongue. Although no one would look at then-Hashirama and say he was manipulative, his closest friends and family members knew otherwise. After all, it wasn't realistic for a Hokage to run an entire village on rainbows and sparkles alone. The ANBU corps was approved for that very reason.

Madara misses his then-best friend, glib tongue and all, more than ever right now.

"Ara, this one, a lady? You flatter me –de arinsu [1]," he forced a titter, and from the corner of his eye, he saw Itama shudder (probably from repulsion) at the sound he made. That boy... always so rude. "I've heard much of you from Tama-bo, Senju Hashirama-sama, and am pleased to finally make your acquaintance –de arinsu."

Hashirama blinked, more so when Madara ended his sentence with '-de arinsu', appearing confused as he turned to Itama in inquiry. His student got the message and introduced him, albeit red-faced and in reluctance, "Hashirama-nii, Touka-chan, Mito-neesan, this is Deai Daraku-sensei, my venerable shishou. Shishou, these are my esteemed family members and in-law."

Everyone, including the eavesdroppers, fell silent at his student's unexpected words. Many eyes landed on Madara, on his abounding hair ornaments, his powdered face and painted lips, and his attire, before fixing a funny stare at Itama as if he was insane to call an oiran his venerable master.

Itama shrunk into himself, beyond uncomfortable at the attention he garnered with that introduction. Madara placed a calloused but well-manicured hand on Itama's shoulder in a show of support and smiled with teeth. He was feeling rather protective of his chick.

"Indeed, my disciple is highly talented in the art of healing, and I am proud to have him as my student –de arinsu. It would have been such a shame to leave him in the hands of those with lesser potential –de arinsu."

Those that understood his doublespeak grew agitated. They removed their gaze from Itama to glare at his arrogance. Madara let his painted lips turn smug. His barbed tongue was a gift at times like this, a complete opposite of then-Hashirama's glib tongue.

Before things could escalate, the woman of this hour stepped up and showed herself to be fit for the position of a future politician's wife.

"It is, indeed, a pleasure to meet your acquaintance," Mito gave him a polite, closed-eye smile. "I have always been curious about the mysterious teacher Itama-kun has been raving about. Deai-san, you simply must join us for tea inside. My husband, in-laws, and I would love to get to know more about you."

Madara, for the first time ever, was glad for Mito's high EQ and IQ.

"Of course, Uzumaki-sama. Shall we –de arinsu?" He made a gesture for her to lead the way. The Uzumaki nodded, and with a sweep of her elegant, pure white wide sleeves, turned to lead their group away from the crowd of onlookers.

Hashirama quickly caught up to walk by his bride's side to escort her, Itama and Touka following a step behind. Just as Madara made a move forward, Tobirama expressionlessly extended his left arm out. Without much thought, Madara wrapped a hand above the offered elbow. His (ungloved) fingers twitched in startlement at the sudden and unexpected skin-to-skin contact, having not realized that Tobirama was wearing a short-sleeved blue kimono shirt until now.

Madara couldn't help but discreetly sweep his eyes up and down his friend's frame, having never seen adult Tobirama in casual wear before. Even back then in Konoha, the albino was always in standard shinobi wear, ready to slap on his armor at a moment's notice.

Usually, by now, Madara would feel uncomfortable with such prolonged skin-to-skin contact, but not today, apparently. It must be the attire and person he was personating – he felt more comfortable acting like someone who had not had their freedom and consent taken away from them.

"Are you alright?"

Madara had not realized he had slowed down in his thoughts until he heard Tobirama's voice. "I'm fine –de arinsu," he answered on reflex as he quickened his pace, not wanting to fall behind. He was always fine. "Are you alright –de arinsu?" He returned smugly.

Tobirama, as expected, frowned deeply. "Cease that way of speaking. It doesn't suit you."

"Heh," Madara smirked behind the safety of his fan. Tobirama, of course, wasn't pleased with his response and continued to glare at him. "Alright, fine, I'll stop. Now quit glaring. You'll ruin your good looks."

"... Anyway, what are you doing here? And what the hell is that attire?" The albino's ears were slightly red as turned away with a huff, clearly bothered by Madara's choice of garment. Madara preened harder.

"Why, I have been eager to meet my student's family, of course, and this wedding brought such a great opportunity to do so. I even wore my best clothes! Surely, an understanding young man such as yourself will not scold this feeble woman for such small desires, hm?" Madara leaned more bodily against Tobirama's side as he coyly ducked his head and looked at the albino through his long lashes. He had seen many courtesans do this to their clients, which melted said clients into puddles of goo.

Unfortunately, his opponent was Senju Tobirama, renowned for his stone-cold attitude and bearing. The albino, rather than melt, only scoffed derisively. "You're up to something. What ulterior motives do you have for coming here, Dara?" To chase Zetsu away, was not something he could say without bringing up the whole time-travel thing. "Your ill choice of disguise does not even cover your features. What would your clansmen say if they saw you walking down the street in such a... provocative getup?"

Gleefully, just to prove the albino wrong, Madara retold the story of his 'journey' to the Senju compound.

"Nevermind. Forget I said anything. It slipped my mind that the Uchihas are all dense idiots," Tobirama deadpanned.

To show how offended he was at the comment, Madara discreetly dug his sharpened, red-painted nails into Tobirama's flesh. The latter didn't even flinch, much to his displeasure. He reluctantly withdrew his claws just before blood could be drawn. It wouldn't do to draw eyes to his mischief, especially when it was aimed at the Senju heir in Senju territory.

As they reached their destination, a rest house near the courtyard that was away from the public eye, Madara grumpily turned away from the albino... who wasn't having any of that.

Tobirama, in just a split second, stole his tessen, grabbed ahold of his chin, and brought his face forward, so close that their breaths mingled. The high toothed geta helped even their height, causing Madara to stand at eye level with the Senju (for the first time since puberty hit).

"No. Do not give me that attitude when it is you who is in the wrong," the albino all but commanded, slanted red eyes narrowed in contemplation. "We're changing your attire." His tone was firm, leaving nothing up for debate.

Without care for the current company, Tobirama kicked off his warazori and stormed off to the only bedroom in the building with Madara in his grasp (who was struggling to remove his own pair of sanmaiba geta without looking uncouth, since it would be impolite to walk indoors with them). The latter smiled politely as they passed the bride and groom, but once they were behind closed doors, he grumpily kicked Tobirama's shin with a huff, more to show his displeasure than to hurt.

"What do you have against my clothes, Tobira? Ryouta, for one, helped design this outfit. He would be sad to know you hate it." Not that his little brother knew that Madara would be the one to wear it. Such things should be kept to himself, lest Ryouta changed their menu to something... unique just to spite him.

Tobirama wasn't fazed by the kick. The albino simply crossed his arms over his chest and stared him down. Madara already misses the added height his shoes had given him.

Tobirama opened his mouth and out came words that oozed sarcasm so thick Madara could practically taste it, "Please, by all means, do send my displeasure to Ryouta-san. I'm sure he would be delighted to know that I've put him on the same list as Izuna."

Curiosity got the better of him. "What list?"

"My shitlist."

"... You have a shitlist?"

"Unfortunately. Hashirama has a permanent spot in there, right next to Izuna and our clan elders."

"... I don't even want to know," Madara stated drily, more amused than he let on. Well, the elders he could understand. Additionally, if Hashirama was his blood-brother, he would've wanted to throw that giant oaf into the koi pond every day too just to lessen his frustration.

Izuna, thankfully, has developed some brain cells to actively not aggravate him after being on the receiving end of his koi pond dunking. Although retaining those brain cells were another story altogether. Ryouta would sometimes get dunked, but that was a rarity in itself.

Brothers, what else could he say but that?

Fortunately, he has two other obedient little brothers he could dote and spoil to counter Izuna's and Ryouta's stubborn personalities.

When he felt cool fingers brush against his forehead, Madara blinked and came back to the present. He must be getting old to keep getting lost in thought.

"Have you any other outfit to wear?"

"Do you take me for an amateur? Of course, I do." It was basic shinobi 101 to have a contingency disguise just in case things went sour.

In fact, Madara always had a dozen outfits and wigs prepared in his storage seal at any given moment. He also checks on them prior to any mission he leaves for. Regardless of Madara having not actually retreated from a solo mission before, it never hurt to arrange for all situations in advance. Even Izuna, who disliked wearing anything other than their battle garment, knew the benefits of keeping women's clothes at hand. As much as they wanted to deny it, all his brothers could pass for women if they tried – and many do underestimate the fairer sex during this time period.

As for his secondary choice of guise, it was an onmyoji. 'Her' backstory would be: 'she' had come to 'her' disciple's brother's wedding and coincidentally noticed an evil parasite in the Senju compound. That would then lead to Daraku putting up seals to 'drive the evil away' or something akin to that.

As for why he came dressed as an oiran... Well, everyone has their own secrets. Why should he have to explain himself to strangers? The less they know, the more real his persona became.

"Did Ryouta-san help you with this elaborate hairstyle as well?"

"No. Reluctant as he is to admit it, Ryouta can only do one hairstyle, and that's a ponytail. I went to a whorehouse to get this masterpiece done." And what an experience it had been. Madara has no idea how Izuna could stand the heavily perfumed stench in those buildings.

Tobirama's expression turned frigid at his words. The albino promptly sat on the only futon in the room and pointed at the spot in between his legs. "Sit," he commanded, his tone hard and unyielding.

Madara decided to obey him just this once if Tobirama was so against him dressing as a courtesan. If it was somebody else, he wouldn't have cared nor allowed them to position themselves at his blind spot. However, this Senju was an exception. They were childhood friends, and if Tobirama had wanted to betray him or kill him, there had been numerous opportunities to do so in the past.

Hence, he sat with his back to his friend and obediently kept still as the Senju heir removed all his ornaments and began combing out the kinks in his hair. Madara huffed and puffed at first but quietened not long into Tobirama's soft ministrations.

Being taken care of didn't feel too bad...

The process took about, give or take, half an hour for his hair to return to how it usually was and tied into a messy bun. Madara was already drifting off by the end of it, no thanks to the sudden head massage Tobirama had instigated. Those thin, calloused fingers scraped against his scalp so pleasantly that Madara was beginning to slouch into his touch with how relaxed he felt.

With his guard completely gone, he didn't react when Tobirama's fingers changed their course and slid down his neck to begin massaging his shoulders. Due to the way his garment bared his shoulders, the heat that radiated from his friend's palms were almost scorching. Madara shuddered, his breath hitching from the contrasting sensation.

His friend continued to unknot his tensed muscles and slowly, Madara began leaning most of his weight against Tobirama's palms. Those skilled fingers would sometimes just rest on his skin, probably from tiredness, before they caressed down his back, stopping just at the base of his spine, and returned to his shoulders without letting him feel an ounce of discomfort.

"Madara..." Tobirama whispered his name, voice slightly hoarse from their paused conversation.

"Hn?" Was all he could murmur in his daze, eyelids drooping as he fought to stay upright.

Rather than say anything else, he felt Tobirama rest his forehead on his nape. The albino's lips were lightly hovering above his T2, and his warm breath was causing that area of skin to itch. Tobirama's hands had long stopped moving, and they rested on his stomach, with fingers that played and tugged on the obi of his yukata.

Madara decided to leave those fingers be and lean into his friend's chest. He silently used his body to give Tobirama permission to help him change into his secondary disguise. It wasn't as if the albino had not seen him topless before (15, when Tobirama had been practicing his water dragon jutsu and accidentally drenched Madara from head to toe).

Just as his obi was halfway untied, the loud bang made by the door being kicked in caused Madara to startle from his dazed state.

He heard Tobirama sigh before the weight on his nape disappeared. Madara was slightly disappointed. With his body aches and chronic exhaustion (his soul was too old, too weary), anything that could make him relax was a godsend. He should ask Tobirama to massage him more often in the future.

"Anija, need I remind you again - for the nth time - that if a door is locked, it equivalates to Do. Not. Enter," the last three words were said through gritted teeth. Madara was reluctantly amused. Hashirama was too much like Izuna in that regard. If they see a locked door, their childish curiosity made them want to sneak a peek inside.

"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..." after a long, dumb sounding something that tried to pass itself as a word, Hashirama, with a face that was bright red from probably too many drinks, stuttered, "S-Sorry to interrupt!" And with that, the door was slammed shut and re-locked... from the outside.

Madara wanted to facepalm. If they had been civilians, they would've been trapped inside by this stunt of his.

"Your brother is... something," he couldn't help but deadpan.

"Something annoying," Tobirama tsked.

That was irrefutably undeniable.

Hashirama breathed in, and out. In, and out. And promptly dashed to the living room with an intense gleam in his eyes.

"IITAAMAAAAAAAAAAAAA-" Hashirama tackled his seated youngest brother from the back, uncaring that his actions had caused the latter to faceplant the table. "JFPOAJFIKAJKSFPOAIUFHAPOFGEQIRUJHOQWFPIFJHO!" o(≧▽≦)o

His blabbering was met with an amused gaze from his pretty wife, an unamused one from cousin Touka, and an angry scowl from adorable Itama – whose face and neck were covered in cake frosting.

Hashirama paused ( : ౦ ‸ ౦ : )

"Why are you covered in frosting?" He asked, bemused. Before Itama had the chance to respond, Hashirama side hugged Itama and cut his youngest brother off. "Wait, I have something to share! Something BIG!" ヽ(￣ω￣(。。 )ゝ

"Congratulations, Mito. You just married a man-child who always speaks in innuendos," Touka deadpanned.

"Yeah, congrats. Mito-neesan gets to spend forever with this juvenile," Itama hissed while wiping his face grumpily.

Hashirama ignored them both. He was already used to their sharp words and poisonous tongues. Fortunately, Tobirama wasn't here to join them in mocking him. Well, of course, he wasn't here. He was busy... being intimate just next door!

Kyaaa, kyaaa, kyaaaa~! (⁄ ⁄⁄ ▽ ⁄⁄ ⁄)

He blushed brighter at the memory of Tobirama being so intimate with a lady. That position! Those hands! Tobirama was practically half-way through undressing their guest! Such a scene was, wholly, unexpected. But it was, nevertheless, a pleasant surprise! Now, he wouldn't have to worry about his dourest (but cutest!) brother living a lonely, unmarried life!

Although he didn't expect Tobirama (cool-headed and practically an iceberg) to be so quick to make a move on someone they just met. Yeah, Itama's teacher looked and spoke like a courtesan and was a beauty that would turn heads everywhere she went, but surely Tobirama had more self-control than that?

Pondering with his eyes closed, he placed a hand on his chin and began to use his critical thinking skills. σ(￣、￣〃)

"What do you reckon he's thinking about so seriously?" Distantly, Hashirama heard Itama say.

"Probably something dumb. But, hey, at least his brain is getting some much-needed exercise." Mean! Touka-chan, you meanie!

Suddenly, as if enlightened, Hashirama snapped his eyes open and exclaimed excitedly, "They're already close, to begin with!" He recalled the introduction Itama had done. Tobirama's name had been excluded, and he hadn't question it up until now.

Was Daei-san Tobi's lover?! There must be a reason why they kept it a secret! What if they were star-crossed lovers who hailed from enemy clans, hence why they had to keep an undisclosed relationship?!

How romantic! (ง ื▿ ื)ว

Hashirama was weak knee from all the fantasies he was envisioning.

"Okay...? Mind explaining what you the hell you're going on about, oh great Senju head-sama?" Touka snarked.

Hashirama, more than happy to oblige, dived next to his cousin and grabbed her hands in an unyielding grip. He was oblivious to her struggles as he gushed, "Tobirama and Deai-san are lovers! I saw him in the middle of undressing her!"

Itama abruptly sprayed tea all over the dining table.

Mito covered her (beautiful and alluring) pink painted lips with the sleeve of her bridal kimono, eyes alight with interest.

Touka had her mouth agape with incredulity.

All in all, chaos ensued as the three began bombarding questions at him. Hashirama was happy they shared his enthusiasm. The only one left to complete their impromptu mini-celebration was Kawarama. Now, he just needed to somehow find that wayward brother of his before Tobirama finished...

Chapter Text

Scarred, pale fingers aligned the garments of his outfit as Madara stood docilely at the center of the room. Tobirama’s assist was appreciated as his latest disguise had many layers. With a final pat on his chest, Tobirama took a step back and gave him a one-over.  

“Better,” the albino drawled with a firm nod.  

Madara huffed, a wisp of laughter escaping his parted, red-painted lips. His friend must have really despised his previous disguise. Whilst still hilarious in its own way, Madara knew when to quit with his teasing.  

“Be a gentleman and hand me that hat, will you,” was Madara’s only response. His voice was pitched the same as when he spoke as Daraku, along with his mannerism. He moved more elegant than deadly, sensual than intimidating.  

Tobirama, though frowned at Daraku’s mannerism and speech, did not dissuade Madara from acting as such and peacefully passed the hat – a   tate- eboshi. They were shinobi. They knew the importance of a perfect disguise, right down to the fake bosoms Madara had stuffed into his garment. It was a modest amount, just to show that Daraku did possess feminine charm – albeit slightly. 

With his hair tied into a ponytail braid and his fringe combed into the hat, his powdered face was in full display. His cheeks were contoured to be sharp enough to cut metal, but other than that, he left his face alone, as it wasn’t a full oiran makeup to being with.  

Impeccably dressed, Madara exited the room with a swaggering gait that exuded confidence and charm. Tobirama followed a step behind since the hallway was narrow, and when they arrived at an open kitchen living room, Tobirama fell into step with him.  

Hashirama was the first to notice them, but Mito was the one who got the first word in. 

“With how quick you’ve detached from your family in favor of entering the bedroom, some might mistake your intentions, brother-in-law,” Mito spoke from behind her fan. Though her tone was mild and jesting, the swords in her eyes conveyed a different story as they glared down the only non-family who was in this building.  

Madara made no effort to move away from Tobirama despite having heard the warning hidden behind Mito’s careful wordings. In fact, he did the exact opposite and hugged the albino’s arm, firmly squashing the muscled appendage between his fake bosoms.  

Tobirama’s reaction was as entertaining as a boulder’s. His best friend probably wasn't curious about the sexual side of the human body. Tobirama was the type to experiment with cadavers than anything else, from what Madara knows of then-Tobirama.  

Itama’s reaction, on the other hand, was akin to a steamed tomato. It was pure gold. 

“Pardon our rudeness,” Tobirama nodded his head slightly in apology. “Daraku had desperately needed a change of clothes after her vast travels to our compound.”  

“I can see that.” Mito’s pair of chocolate brown eyes, whilst softened when looking at Tobirama, appeared judging when she turned to face Madara, her bright orbs roaming up and down Madara’s frame. “Please, if I may be so bold to ask, what do you do, Deai-san? I must admit, I am confused over the change of attire and speech. You had a  kuruwa   kotoba   accent if I heard correctly.”  

Aren’t you a prostitute?  Why bother hiding it?  Are you purposefully concealing your origin? What a disgraceful position you hold in the red-light district.   

 Madara had to fight a scowl from appearing as he understood her barbed inquiry. Despite intentionally coming here as an oiran, he wasn’t a fan of being looked at with such condescension. As per usual, Mito was such an unlikeable bitch. Their personalities often clashed, and if love at first sight existed, Mito and Madara loathed each other at first sight, no matter if the latter was in disguise.  

Two can play at that game.  

“Uzumaki-sama is brazen indeed,” Madara responded with a lilt, his lips curling into a foxy smile as he fearlessly met her eyes. “Some might call it impolite for a woman to behave as such, but I do not dislike such qualities. Senju-sama is lucky to have such a wife.”  

For a lady from a noble clan, you sure are ill-mannered.  I pity  Hashirama for having such a  rude cunt  as his wife.   

“Indeed. Unlike some men who only pursue bodily desires, I am quite lucky to have met my husband and have him wed me for love. It saddens me to see those less fortunate when I roam the streets.” 

Oh? Well, at least I’m not a fuck and throw.   

The vein on Madara’s, or rather,  Daraku’s temple throbbed with the desire to make Hashirama a widower. This bitch sure has a way with words. Madara’s smile turned sharper as he snapped his tessen open and acted with nonchalance as he fanned his face to physically cool off his rage.  

“Not everyone is entitled to live a good life. Whereas some are born with golden spoons, others can only swallow their bitter tears and live with the hand fate has dealt them with. With hardships come experiences, and with that comes growth and wisdom. Those who roam on the streets for a year could potentially see and endure more than those entitled could ever in their entire lives. Perhaps they are the less fortunate when in the face of a dangerous situation. However, Uzumaki-sama need not concern yourself over such boring scenarios. The Senju shinobi and kunoichi are most talented, from what I hear.” 

A  privileged person like you could never understand the deprivations I have endured. My one year of life experience equivalents to your entirety.  When I face danger, I stand on my own and survive without care for pride and dignity.  When you face danger, the only reason you’ll survive is due to your husband’s protection.  Pathetic in comparison, no?  

Despite having half her face covered behind her fan, the angered flush that colored the bridge of her nose ran all the way to the tip of her ears. Madara was gleeful. It was, however, unfortunate that he could not capture this pleasant scenery with his Sharingan. 

Before Mito could form any more wretched words to retort, Tobirama stepped forward whilst lightly guiding Madara to sit in between Itama and himself at the table. Whilst Touka, who was seated at the opposite of him, looked like she was seriously contemplating getting popcorn, the albino was quick to de-escalate before a full-on catfight could appear.  

“Daraku is an onmyoji. She apologizes for the confusion she has caused due to her poor choice in the previous garment.  Doesn’t she ?” Tobirama directed the question at him with a pointed look in those red orbs of his.  

Madara withheld his poisonous tongue and simpered with a titter as he hid a derisive scoff behind his tessen. Only because Tobirama had given him a prime opportunity to begin his ‘ Zetsu -is-an-evil-spirit ' plan, albeit unintentionally.  

“Of course, of course. It is as Tobirama says. It was wrong of me to subject my disciple’s family to my mischievous side on the first meeting. How about I make it up by warding the compound from vengeful spirits. Trust me when I say this, Senju-sama; there is a suffocating scent of maliciousness in the air, so vile it is practically tangible.”  

Hashirama, as predicted, yelped.  Loudly. Then- Hashirama had been terrified of ( non-existent ) ghosts since was young. This-Hashirama, by the looks of it, was the same.   

“G-G-Ghost?! There’s a ghost here?!” Hashirama squeaked. The healthy tan of his skin has turned ghastly at Madara’s words.  

Hook.  

Before anyone could contradict him, Madara left his seat and practically teleported to Hashirama’s side. “I jest you not, Senju-sama. If you let the miasma fester, it will turn into a curse. Possession will not be far into the future... If it has not already happened. Tell me, Senju-sama, has anyone been acting  strange  as of late?” 

“C-Curse?! P-Possession?! W-What do you mean by s-strange?!”  

Line. 

“Strange as in a sudden or gradual withdrawal from the community. Strange as in muttering weird things to themselves. Strange as in always so easily agitated. Strange as in developed a mistrust for loved ones. Strange as in... just looking at the person and feeling that they’ve grown distant, distrustful, and overall;  strange .” Basically, a description of himself when Zetsu got ahold of him.  

 “ GASP !”  Hashirama, like an idiot,   gasped whilst saying the word itself.  It made  Madara want to facepalm, but It wouldn’t do for a mysterious onmyoji to suddenly facepalm at the climax of their conspiracy theory.  “ Oh. My. Log!  Tobirama! Quick,  find  Kawarama! He has been acting...  strange !” 

Sinker. 

“...” Tobirama literally had the expression of ‘sucked on a lemon’. Itama and Tobirama sure were brothers alright. “Anija-” 

Nope. Madara wasn’t going to allow Tobirama to ruin this for him.  

With a swiftness that indicates shinobi training, Madara grasped Hashirama’s wrist and pulled him to his feet, forcing Tobirama to cut himself off when Madara purposefully bumped his bottom into the albino’s side. Without further ado, Madara pointed at the window and announced, “We must make haste, Senju-sama! This  Kawarama  you speak of could be in grave danger!” 

Hashirama did not waste any time in jumping out the window he pointed at to drag him along in seeking his possessed brother. Madara pressed his lips tightly together to prevent a shriek of laughter from escaping. Like the cat that ate the canary, Madara threw a mischievous salute at the gaping group they left behind.  

Life was good.  

Chapter Text

The table was silent for a few moments. A beat later and Touka broke it with a deadpan, "So... That just happened."

There was a pinched expression on his face as Itama turned to face his cousin. At her dead fish-eyed stare, Itama resisted the urge to apologize profusely for his shishou's eccentric behaviour. Rather than own up to having secretly sent an invitation to a weird individual, Itama decided to focus on more important matters, one that concerned him deeply.

He turned to his sister-in-law. "Mito-oneesan," he called in hesitance. When she quirked a questioning eyebrow, Itama squared his shoulders and asked, "Do you dislike shishou? Dara-shishou might be brusque and stubborn to a fault but h- they're really, really good person once you get to know them." And that wasn't bias talking, they were his true feelings. 

His sister-in-law, rather than do anything mean, placed a well-manicured hand atop his head in a placating manner, a funny image when he was the taller one between them. There was a soft smile playing on her lips as she shook her head from side to side. "No, Itama-kun. I do not dislike her. You need not worry about us being hostile."

"But..."

"On the contraire, I find her interesting. Her personality, or what I could interpret from our short meeting, is like my dear husband's. They're both very dramatic," she tittered. It was a pleasant sound that soothed his nerves, very much unlike shishou's. They both ignored Touka when she laments about there being two of them now. "It makes them irresistible to tease."

Itama sweatdropped.

Teasing Hashi-nii, Itama could understand the fun of watching his oldest brother flail like an idiot. But his monster of a shishou? His sister-in-law sure owned some big balls – bigger than his, at least. Itama wasn't sure if she was courageous or simply clueless to the danger Madara-shishou presented. Probably the latter. Ignorant people were scary.

"That's, uhm, good, I guess."

"I am curious, however. Is Deai-san truly an onmyoji as Tobirama-kun claims her to be? Not that I doubt you, Tobirama-kun. She moves much like a kunoichi to be anything but," Mito asked curiously whilst idly brewing a new pot of tea.

"Uh... Shishou's a very eccentric, warrior. Their hobbies aren't something Mito-oneesan should pay attention to."

If he remembered correctly, the only hobby shishou has that wasn't weird was knitting. The rest... Yeah, they were better left unvoiced. Apparently, crossdressing should also be included in that unspoken list of hobbies. Shishou kept getting more and more whimsical as he aged, and Itama wasn't quite sure what to do with this information.

It wasn't like anyone would even believe him if he were to spread the word that Uchiha Madara was into drag. Itama himself couldn't quite believe it or call his esteemed teacher by female pronoun, hence he made do with gender-neutral ones.

"Does that include entertaining men-"

Mito was cut off by a firm, "No." by Tobi-nii whilst Itama wiped his sweaty forehead with the sleeve of his yukata. His older brother continued with arms crossed and face stern, "Disperse such thoughts from your mind. Dara has-"

"Dara, eh?" Touka butted in with wiggly eyebrows. She leaned forward with keen interest. "Someone sounds mighty possessive. Got something to share, little cousin?"

"Dara has no desire for coitus, least of all with strangers or for money," his brother ignored their cousin's not-so-subtle attempt at fishing for info. Tobi-nii's stony expression gave nothing but his annoyance away.

"Coi- Seriously, little cousin, can you be any more of an old man? Just say sex. Say sex. No? Then c'mere you! Eat my fist of love!"

Itama was quick to scramble away from Touka's war lunge. The Amazonian woman had no care for manners as she pounced on Tobi-nii over the table, her intentions of giving his head a noogie quite clear. Itama had no choice but to relocate next to Mito, away from Touka's unforgiving limbs and Tobi-nii's flailing ones.

Suddenly, a cup of steaming green tea was shoved under his nose. Itama smiled on reflex and took the offered beverage from the pretty fingers of his sister-in-law. "Ah, thank you, Mito-oneesan."

"You're welcome," Mito hummed as she returned his smile from behind her own cup of piping hot tea. "Come, Itama-kun, let us change locations. I'd rather preserve our tea from their violence."

He didn't need to be told twice.

Itama carried the tray that held their tea set and snacks and followed his sister-in-law, relieved at the growing distance from the two roughhousing cousins. Settled at the edge of the engawa with his feet brushing the dirt, Itama stretched with a satisfied groan. Peace was, indeed, the best.

"How did you meet?"

Itama startled at Mito's abrupt question. It took a few moments to realize who Mito was referring to, but when he connected the dots, he laughed sheepishly whilst palming the back of his neck.

"Dara-shishou stumbled across me bleeding out in a cave. It was raining heavily that day, and Dara-shishou decided to heal me on a whim. Told me that I looked too pathetic to leave alone when I asked why."

"Although we've just met, it does sound like something she'd say," Mito tittered. She used the hem of her kimono sleeve to cover her lips as she continued to converse with him. "She must be an amazing healer to have taught you all that you know."

Itama beamed, "Yes! Dara-shishou is the best! All the techniques Dara-shishou invented are innovative and revolutionary!"

"Which ones, might I ask?" she sounded curious.

Itama thought about it for a while before answering. "Too many to list all out. But the majority of my iryou-jutsus was taught by Dara-shishou. The rest are the clan's techniques."

"Then, did her creations inspire you?" Mito, unexpectedly, used a finger to poke his forehead. "I doubt this is a fashion statement like mine is. I saw the same rhombus on your teacher's forehead. Did you use Tobirama-kun's knowledge on fuinjutsu and Deai-san's repertoire of iryou-jutsu to create this? What does it do? Why is it shaped that way? How much fuinjutsu and iryou-jutsu are incorporated to form it? I apologize if I seem nosy. I've just noticed this not too long ago, and as a seal master, it has piqued my curiosity."

"Uh, that's alright. Your curiosity is understandable. But you're wrong to think that I was the creator; this is also my shishou's creation. It's called the Byakugou no In and it's symbiotically linked to my summon. In its passive state, it allows me to use healing techniques without wasting chakra, and if the seal is released, it'll amplify the power of my techniques. I can't tell you how to manifest this seal without shishou's explicit permission though sorry."

"That's... extraordinaire. Does it only work for iryou-jutsu?

"Specifically; chakra manipulation and control."

"Fascinating. Would it be rude of me to ask for a demonstration?"

"Oh, not at all."

Itama didn't even have to concentrate much. The seal activated as soon as he thought about it. The rhombus disappeared and black lines branched out from it. It went four ways with the lower two lines extending down till his cheekbones. He didn't combine it with Creation Rebirth, lest Dara-shishou scolds him for wasting the stored chakra for show and tell. It was supposed to be an ace in the hole.

"Fascinating." Mito looked enthralled as she reached out and touched his face. Her delicate finger traced the lines on his face, completely transfixed. Itama smiled, proud of his master for creating this mind-blowing technique, and him for mastering it. "It does, however, make me wonder about her proficiencies with fuinjutsu. Those seals inked at the back of her neck, from what I've gathered, are beautiful. I was almost tempted to pull off her clothes just to trace them with my finger... Do you reckon Hashirama will agree to a third?"

Itama felt like he had just heard something dangerous, something he should forget lest he gets dragged into something traumatic. He pulled back nervously and deactivated his seal.

"I don't know much about fuinjutsu as a whole to make a good judgement about Dara-shishou's level." Itama took out a kunai to ease his fidgeting fingers as he shrugged. "You should ask Tobi-nii to get an accurate level."

"Speaking of that; Tobirama-kun must be close with Deai-san." It was more of a question than a statement. "Could be a problem if I desire her as a third..."

Itama could feel a buildup of sweat on the back of his neck from all the jumping jacks his nerves were doing. "Tobi-nii and shishou get along well enough."

"Itama-kun, I am not blind. Let me bluntly ask; are they lovers? We both know that Tobirama-kun treasures his personal space, but he seems indifferent to it when it comes to Deai-san. Should I be ready to welcome a fellow sister-in-law, or am I good to court? Hashirama, I reckon, wouldn't mind."

The kunai that he had idly been playing with fell to the wooden floor when his fingers unintentionally spasmed. That words: sister-in-law and court, really threw him off balance.

"Hahaha..." He released a strained chuckle past his teeth and forcefully directed the conversation away from those mentally scarring pictures. He hadn't known Mito was into women as well as men. "Mito-oneesan sure is caring. But speaking of in-laws, I should go find your wayward husband. Hashi-nii should stick by his wife's side, especially during this grand occasion! What a dumbo! I'll be back with that oaf, onee-san!" 

"Wait, Ita-"

Itama body flickered away as if he was being chased by malicious ghosts, pretending to have not heard her call via the activation of his selective hearing technique. Albeit clumsily done, the crisis had still been averted. It was 'bout time he retreated into his tortoiseshell (bedroom). Itama felt traumatized enough by today's events, and there was no need to scar himself further by listening to his sister-in-law's... shuddering intentions.

Chapter Text

His brothers (mostly Izuna) might be shocked silly if they witnessed this, but Madara didn't mind being dragged around by Hashirama.

Senju Hashirama, unlike many others, breached other people's personal space without ulterior motives and deception, innocent like a child with only pure thoughts in mind. That was why Madara did not find Hashirama's hand-holding behavior uncomfortable or odd. These thoughts, however, did not extend to Hashirama's clan, unfortunately.

"Hashirama!" Someone shrieked, tone utterly scandalized. "What kind of wretched behavior is this?! On your wedding day, no less!"

Madara and Hashirama both came to a screeching halt. They turned as one with twin looks of confusion etched across their face. The person who had shrieked was an elderly woman who appeared to be in her 60s, with greying hair and a sharp gaze, her slitted eyes and angular features brought a sense of familiarity to Madara. She wore a regal-looking pink kimono and had her hair up in a tight bun, tight enough to give her a facelift. The expression on her face could burn water.

"Hiiobaa-sama!" Hashirama called out to the elderly woman, more so in surprise than anything else.

Madara himself was surprised.

Ah, after squinting for a bit, he could somewhat see the family resemblance between this woman and Tobirama. No wonder those penetrating chocolate eyes brought a sense of familiarity with it. Then-Tobirama held that exact expression when angered beyond reason.

"Is this your sousobo, Hash- Senju-sama?" Madara asked belatedly. His lips were quirked into a pretty smile, polite and respectful towards his friend's elder. "How do you do, madam? I am –"

"Shameless!" The elderly finished for him, which left him baffled. She forcefully separated their joint hands and stood to face Madara head-on, an enraged look on her graceful features as she pushed her great-grandson to her back in a protective gesture. "Begone, harlot! I may be old, but I am not afraid to claw your face into ribbons. Don't test me!"

Madara was stupefied. He blinked, unable to comprehend her words as he made eye contact with the equally dumbfounded Hashirama.

"You...! You still dare bat your eye at my grandson?! Wench! Over my dead body will I overlook your inappropriate behavior!" The elderly woman roared. Fortunately, they were alone at the edge of the Senju compound, far enough from the celebration and attendees to be left unheard.

Madara, having realized that they were being misunderstood, quickly took a step back, hands raised in a placating manner. "Please, calm yourself, hiiobaa-sama –" was apparently the wrong thing to address her by. She completely blew her top.

"Who are you to call me great-grandmother?! I do not have harlots in my family! Get lost! You are not welcome in this compound. I don't know how a shameless trollop like you have managed to seduce my great-grandchild to this extent... it must be genjutsu. My Hashirama will never betray his wife without foul play brought by green tea foxes!"

Hashirama choked, the oblivious Senju having finally caught up. "Hiiobaa-sama, no!" He flailed with a shriek; the pitch of his voice high enough to match a pre-pubescent girl's.

"No? No?!" The elderly woman turned to Hashirama so fast Madara almost doubted her age. Her nostrils flared as she grabbed ahold of her great-grandchild's forearm and raised a hand. "What no?! Are you defending this wench?! I. Did. Not. Raise. You. To. Be. Unfaithful. To. Your. Wife!" With every word she spoke, she smacked her palm down his back.

"Ahh! It hurts! Wai- stop! No, hiiobaa-sama, you're wrong- Ouch!"

Poor Hashirama, who stood at a towering height of 185cm, with a bulky frame and broad shoulders to match, was hunched over and crying out in pain as he was smacked repeatedly by a 150cm elderly woman. It would've been a comical sight if not for the humiliating misconception fueling her action.

Madara was horrified enough to take a few extra steps back. It, apparently, was the wrong move to make. His movement caught the elderly woman's attention. "And you, I will discipline you in place of your mother! I will beat that despicable nature out of you!" She gave a war cry before lunging at Madara.

Flustered as he was, Madara didn't know if he should catch her mid-leap to prevent her from accidentally hurting herself or hightail out of there before she could get her wrinkly claws on him. The decision was taken from him when a woman their age swooped in and carried the elderly lady away from him.

The two women stood at Hashirama's side, one calm whilst the other agitated. "I implore that you calm yourself, Masa-sama." The kunoichi asserted stoically. "You must be conscious of your blood pressure."

It was easy to tell that this tall woman was a kunoichi. She stood and moved like any other trained warrior of the Senju clan, her posture unbending and full of confidence. She wore the Senju clan's standard green armour and was visibly armed with a naginata strapped at her back. Her short dark brown hair was shaved at the sides, ears abundantly pierced, eye color a similar shade to Hashirama's, and an eyepatch that covered the entirety of her right face.

Madara recognized her. He wasn't, obviously, acquainted with her to know her name. However, he had seen her on the frontlines enough times to be familiar with her face. Although she wasn't one he could enjoy dancing with, she was without a doubt strong to have lasted this long against Madara's bloodthirsty clan, especially for those in their age group. Their generation was full of prodigies from both sides of the battlefield. A normal shinobi would have long been buried/cremated depending on the clan they hailed from.

The elderly woman, Masa(?), cried out angrily whilst slapping the kunoichi's armoured stomach, the only place she could reach without exerting her reach. Unlike the overly dramatic Hashirama, the kunoichi didn't so much as flinch. "I shan't calm down, at least not until I see that homewrecker dead!"

Madara covered the lower half of his face with his hand and looked away, too embarrassed about this misunderstanding to react otherwise. Unfortunate for him, his reaction only poured oil into the flames. Hashirama choked, his eyes intent and his hands did some sort of silent communication, not at all discreet.

Thankfully, before Masa could shatter their eardrums with more of her enraged screeching, the kunoichi took it upon herself to cleanly fix the misunderstanding without embarrassing both sides (further, on Madara's part).

"Deai Daraku-sensei, was it? It is a pleasure to meet Itama-sama's famed and distinguished master. I am Niko, please call me as such," the kunoichi stated in a monotone. "You have our clan's eternal gratitude for passing your teachings to Itama-sama."

The elderly woman, as if she had just realized her misunderstanding between Hashirama's and Madara's friendliness, pressed her lips firmly together. There was a slight blush dusting the bridge of her nose.

Madara quickly held onto the lifeline that had been thrown at him. He returned the kunoichi's greeting as if the past five minutes had not happened. "You flatter me, Niko-san. It is a pleasure to meet another one of my student's fellow clansperson. If it is no trouble, might I ask for an introduction?" Madara deliberately turned to the elderly woman and purposefully quirked his lips into a benign smile.

"Of course, Deai-sensei. This is Masa-sama, she is the main family's eminent elder. Masa-sama, Deai Daraku-sensei – as you've heard – is the person who has claimed Itama-sama as her disciple." The kunoichi, Niko, took care of the introduction beautifully and bought time for Masa to collect her composure.

"R-Right!" Hashirama pipped in. He coughed rather dramatically to clear his throat. "Hiiobaa-sama doesn't need to worry. I will always be faithful to Mito! Sensei and I are just friends. In fact, I think she's already dating someone else! I'm not someone who will interfere with other's love life."

Madara's eyebrow twitched, Masa wore a frustrated expression, and even the cool-headed Niko turned away to facepalm at Hashirama's idiocy. The most annoying people in the world, in Madara's eyes, were the ones with loose lips, no tact, or were righteous. Currently, Hashirama was acting like all three.

The daft Senju did not realize that they had all moved away from that delicate misunderstanding, and had brought said subject back with the finesse of a rampant elephant. Sage, Hashirama, quite apparent, has the emotional quotient of a wooden teaspoon.

Madara snapped his fan open to attract their attention. He wasn't ready to breach that misunderstood topic, so he would focus on another point of Hashirama's foot-in-the-mouth syndrome. "I have a daughter, yes." Whilst still omitting a lot of facts, Madara's response held true. "In fact, Tobira-"

"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Hashirama's sudden, ear-shattering, high-pitched screech cut Madara off before he could happily inform them of Tobirama's status as his daughter's godfather, which would then have reassured Masa to never doubt Madara's intentions towards Hashirama again.

"Hashirama! What in the world are you shouting so loudly for?!" Masa's expression was fierce, her eyes were expressive in their tale of hating iron for not becoming steel. As if that was not enough to show her ire, her hand latched onto Hashirama's forearm and she began another round of smacking him in the back.

"Ouch! St- ah! Hiiobaa-sama pl-ease, oh Log it hurts...! Ow!"

"Why. Can't. You. Conduct. Yourself. Appropriately?!"

"But-!"

"You dare talk back?!"

"Niko halp!"

Madara covered the lower half of his face with his opened tessen and sighed. Niko and he traded sympathetic, tired looks as they watched the elderly woman discipline (beat the shit out of) her great-grandson for his poor EQ and lack of manners.

It seemed like the hunt for Kawarama will be delayed until further notice.

Chapter Text

Since it might take a while for the comedic duo to finish their skit, Madara and Niko found a comfortable spot on a nearby bench to exchange teaching techniques and mundane gossip, more or less ignoring the other two's roughhousing.

Madara was pleasantly surprised to learn about Niko's part-time job as an instructor, where she teaches little girls how to survive the kunoichi life. He was intrigued enough to weasel a training method or two out of her to incorporate them into his daughter's future regimen. To show his gratitude, he even agreed to indulge some of her innocent curiosities.

A flick of the wrist caused the tessen in his hand to snap close, and Madara offered it to her handle first. Niko accepted the weapon with an eye that glinted with delight, turning his tessen this and that way whilst trying to find a comfortable angle to handle it without cutting herself. She was a weapons' enthusiast through and through.

"I've always been fascinated with war fans," Niko admitted with a mournful sigh. "It's an elegant weapon; easy to blend and deceive when in civilian disguises. You've walked down the streets of my clan's compound, attended my clan head's wedding reception, and even conversed with the gatekeeper whilst waving a tessen under his nose, yet none have made a move to confiscate it despite Tobirama-sama prohibiting guests from carrying weapons on their person. I do not know if this is considered willful ignorance, or willful disregard."

Madara made a nonchalant sound whilst he pulled out the sister pair of the tessen Niko held from his billowing sleeve. He snapped it open to cool his flushed neck – his garment was aplenty, and he was getting sweaty from all the layers.

"I would say it is a mixture of both," Madara smirked. "Ignorance and negligence should not be much of a surprise; after all, tessenjutsu masters are a rare find in our country. Also, you need not worry about Tobirama – he has already confiscated my first pair of tessen. That should satisfy his anal need for enforcing law and order for the time being."

"I dare not comment further on that," Niko stated drily, unwilling to speak ill of her clan's heir. Though there was an amused, minuscule curve at the corner of her lips that showed her agreement to Madara's offhanded remark. "I only feel it a shame that our clan and allies do not possess a tessenjutsu master of our own. Perhaps once the Uchiha clan has joined hands with us, Uchiha Madara might bless us ordinary folk with one of his more basic tessenjutsu kata. Although as a genius battle maniac, I doubt he would bother with the begging of us lowly peasants."

Madara could detect a tinge of sarcasm when she said that. However, he didn't take offence and simply offered her his true opinion. "Who knows, if he is in a good mood, I do not see why he would refuse to strengthen his allies as it would only bring him benefits in the long run. It wouldn't hurt to ask, as the most he could do is say no."

In fact, Madara wouldn't mind passing down some of his techniques to future Konoha-nins that were serious about mastering the way of the fan. It was too bad that out of all his students, only Kagami seemed to have the talent and love for it. Izuna preferred the katana, Ryouta has an unhealthy fondness with whips, Yakumi was still weighing his options, Takumi was stubborn about chakra strings, and Itama was shit all barring taijutsu. Whilst all of them knew the basics, they were not motivated to master tessenjutsu.

Niko's snort brought him out from his musings. "It seems unlikely, but I shall heed your advice. Might I ask if you've only taught Itama-sama iryoujutsu?"

"I tried to teach him tessenjutsu if that's what you're getting to." Madara's lips were twisted into a grimace as his eyes grew distant with memories. "Tama-bo... His form was appalling, his footwork was atrocious, and his overall lack of talent for tessenjutsu was an eyesore. My youngest student is more advanced than Tama-bo, and he's only three-years-old. I've lost track of the numerous times he had amputated his toes and fingers whilst handling my fans."

Niko blinked, finally tearing her eye away from the fan to give him an uncertain look. "... That sounds concerning."

Madara was unaware of the cruel smirk that played on his lips as he recalled his lessons with Itama. "Oh, don't worry. I assure you that all of Tama-bo's fingers and toes are accounted for. After the first few times, I made do with what the situation presented. Whenever an accident occurred, our tessenjutsu training will be changed into replantation lessons and pain endurance. The pain is a sure way of guaranteeing that he'll stop making the same mistakes repeatedly. After all those lessons, I can confidently confirm that Tama-bo can ignore any kind of pain whilst performing meticulous surgeries in a warzone. I have to pat my back for my genius at times like this."

"That sounds a lot like counter-interrogation training," Niko commented warily.

"Does it? My second student specializes in torture and interrogation. For someone who keeps all the clan secrets in his head, it is essential to know how to survive torture or die trying. Compared to the counter-interrogation lessons I give him, amputated fingers are basic," Madara murmured, oblivious to the shudder of fear his words had induced.

Due to his proficiency in healing, Madara was able to go all out during Ryouta's counter-interrogation training. From slow slicing to roasting, from rat torture to white torture, from all sorts of ninjutsu to genjutsu. All but carnal knowledge, that was. Madara taught Ryouta how to utilize it using prisoners as examples, of course, but never could he bear to perform it on his brother, even in the name of training.

But Ryouta's training was unique and shouldn't be compared. What Itama – and the rest of his students bar Kagami – were taught was basic pain tolerance. If Izuna and Itama openly expressed pain due to a torn limb or two, Madara would be quite disappointed and would need to increase their training exercises. As for the twins, they were still undergoing the fundamentals, so only deep lacerations and the likes were within their zone of tolerance.

Madara was a strict and spartan instructor. As cruel as his methods of learning were, he would rather his students suffer under him than die at the hands of others. 

"But I digress. Tama-bo, whilst an amazing healer, specializes only in taijutsu when it comes down to combat. Even his ninjutsu is crap, which still baffles me to this day. I know Hashirama-sama is renowned for his wood release and monstrous strength, and Tobirama for his ninjutsu and speed. If you could enlighten my curiosity, what does Kawarama-san specialize in? He is the only brother I know little of." Madara neatly steered the conversation from his students to Kawarama, intending on gathering as much information as possible to make it easier on himself. Just in case.

Niko hummed impassively; her face devoid of expression as she weighed his trustworthiness in her mind. Madara made sure that his body language and facial expression was open and sincere, his smile benign as he allowed only innocent curiosity to glint from his eyes. After a moment, Niko finally softened her expression as she handed the tessen back to Madara, who accepted it with a murmur of thanks. It was a sign of trust, as Niko was obviously a patrol guard on duty and could've confiscated his weapons as per Tobirama's orders.

"I do not claim to be well-informed of his specialities, but I do believe Kawarama-san does dip his fingers into the subject of espionage. I know not his work for the clan, however."

"You need not worry about me being nosy, I know not to ask about clan related matters." Madara paused, before allowing fondness to creep into his eyes. "I will never betray Itama. I simply wanted to learn more about my disciple's family, as in the case with Masa-sama two seconds ago." Besides, he already knew Kawarama specialized in reconnaissance thanks to Itama.

Niko nodded. "Of course. I do not blame you, it is normal to be curious about the family of the one you teach. Along with Kawarama-san, would you like to know about his relatives as well?"

Not really, no. "Yes, I am awfully curious. Though we can skip on Tobirama and Hashirama-sama."

"Hmm... Alright. He has many cousins, but I doubt you'll want to hear about them. Itama-sama rarely talks to them anyway. We can start with Masa-sama, then. She is from Itama-sama's maternal side of the family and was an elder of our clan before her retirement. She owns a boutique and is a seamstress at her leisure. The rest of his elders have all passed, unfortunately."

Oh? Their hobbies seemed to have aligned perfectly. Madara could bond with Masa over sewing and knitting if need be. Elderly people were gold mines of information as their ears were plastered onto almost every surface in their territory. Their grapevine was broad and massive, and sometimes, they hear things quicker than even the messengers.

"Next is Touka-chan, Itama-sama's first cousin from his paternal side of the family and the only one he's close to. Their fathers were twins, from what I know. She's one of the few kunoichi in our clan that is strong enough to engage in a fight against the Uchiha. She usually acts as a bodyguard for either Hashirama-sama or Itama-sama."

Whilst informative, Madara already knew all of that... Apart from their fathers being twins. That was also irrelevant. Although Touka could potentially become clan head due to her close blood ties, it would only be potentially possible if all four brothers of the main house and their children were killed.

"Kawarama-san, as you should know, is Itama-sama's third older brother. He fights with a nodachi most of the time but that might have changed since I haven't fought alongside him for years. From what I've gathered; he was always tasked with solo missions of a more secretive nature. Currently, Tobirama-sama has benched him for reasons I know not and rostered him to bodyguard duty. I've been seeing them together frequently for two, maybe three months now. It's a little weird for him to be guarding our heir since Kawarama-san has lesser skill than Touka-chan."

Interesting. And enlightening.

A nodachi, Madara knew many ways to counter that. Most shinobi that specialize in espionage wasn't trained for prolonged 1v1 close-quarters combat, which was Madara's favourite dance to play. It was also noteworthy to consider that benching Kawarama meant that Tobirama had picked up on his brother's change of behaviour and was looking for answers (although he trusted Itama's intel, it was reassuring to hear it being confirmed). Furthermore, less field exposure equivalates to lesser combat experience and slower reflexes.

After combining and comparing the information freely given by Niko and Itama, Madara deduced that his chances of overpowering the teen were higher than initially calculated. He wouldn't underestimate Kawarama, of course, since Zetsu has always been an unknown and unpredictable variable, but he did feel more comfortable in his self-administered subjugation mission.

"Although speaking of Tobirama-sama; and I apologize in advance if I discomfort you in any way – I mean no disrespect when I ask if Deai-sensei and Tobirama-sama are... close?" Niko's voice had dropped into a whisper as if she didn't want her words to be overheard.

Madara tilted his head to the side, pondering. It wouldn't hurt to start laying the tiles of their backstory. Additionally, there was also the added effect of establishing trust once a third party from the Senju clan heard of their deep relationship.

Madara shrugged and nonchalantly turned to see if Hashirama and Masa were done yet. They weren't. "We're childhood friends. He also has legal guardianship and priority of care over my daughter should anything happen to me." He missed the widening of her eyes and the way her jaw had fallen to the ground. Madara continued, oblivious to her inner turmoil. "Whilst she's currently in my younger brother's care, I worry about her constantly since Hazuka is an albino like Tobirama. She can fall ill at the snap of a finger, and any sickness could become potentially life-threatening for an infant her age and size."

"O-Oh? How old is she?"

"A month," Madara whispered tenderly. "I'll need to get back to her soon. She just recovered, you see, so I do not wish to leave her side for long. I would've liked to bring her here with me, but I doubt Tobira would approve. He's such a hard man to please. Tsk, now I have this urge to smack him like how Masa-sama is smacking the ever-loving shit out of Hashirama-sama." If he sounded a little aggravated, it wasn't his fault.

Tobirama was infuriating at times; super demanding and willfully inflexible. Just like that one time when they went fishing (never again!). The damn albino wouldn't let up about catching a hefty-sized salmon for lunch using a fishing rod, which almost angered Madara to death since it was near sundown when they finally did catch one. He remembered enduring until his blood pressure skyrocketed and his veins almost popped from irritation alone. And whilst Madara has long come to accept his friend's negative traits, it didn't mean he couldn't bitch about it.

Of course, they were all human, and he supposed Tobirama did have his good points to counter his negative ones. During that same fishing trip, although Madara had almost blown his top, Tobirama knew all the ways to keep him grounded and (barely) calm, to stay by his side and to never stray too far. And when they managed to reel the salmon in, Tobirama's dazzling smile was blinding as he gushed about all the ways he could make fresh inarizushi for Madara with their catch. It somewhat made the wait worth it. Somewhat.

"You must love them," Niko broke his inner tirade, just in time to see Hashirama heroically escape from Masa's grasp.

"Yeah. I love them to the moon and back," Madara responded distractedly, having already stood up as he prepared for Hashirama's next move. As predicted, the Senju head was rushing towards him as he left Masa eating dust. "It was nice chatting with you, Niko-san. Remember, don't forget about our talk. A missed opportunity will only lead to more regrets, and we kunoichi do not need more of that on our plate."

Without the chance to say more or even turn to bow his farewell, Hashirama had already thrown him over a shoulder like a sack of potatoes and ran as if a monster was after him.

Madara grunted, indignant.

But, well, at least they were back on track.

Hopefully, they wouldn't be sidetracked anymore.

Chapter Text

“So… this little thing will help to ward off evil spirits?”

Madara made a random, affirmative noise through his nose at Hashirama’s gullible question. The latter was crouched near the ground, a hesitant finger poking at the dormant seal he had just drawn inside an unused shed situated on the leftmost edge of the Senju clan compound. Knowing that it would seem suspicious if he kept his silence, Madara tried to explain the properties of the seal as much as possible without giving away its true purpose.

“Rather than the evil spirits themselves, the seal is more of a protective barrier to prevent mental corruption from outside forces. And if someone is already possessed, staying within the barrier will gradually release the evil spirit’s hold on them, though the length does depend on how long they’ve already been possessed for.

“Take example the Yamanaka clan’s mind-arts. Within this barrier, they would not be able to enter another person’s mind and/or body since the seal works as a repellent. Although there are ways to get around it –since nothing is foolproof– said person would need to know more than just the basics of fuinjutsu to be able to work around it.”

Since Hashirama was a shinobi first and foremost, explaining it in a way that would benefit the clan was better than superstitious crap, even if said person was a scaredy-cat and did believe in the existence of ghosts. Who would be dumb enough to refuse a free seal that could potentially prevent the Yamanaka from snooping in their territory, anyway?

Pausing slightly, he crouched next to Hashirama and tapped his tessen on the seal, thus activating it. To the untrained eye, the squiggles merely glowed for a couple of seconds before completely vanishing from sight. To the trained eye, however, the effect of the seals could be felt, extending outwards and covering a quarter of the clan compound.

Hashirama turned curiously at him, and without needing the Senju to ask, Madara was already elaborating.

“It would be counterproductive for the seal to be visible since the evil spirits could simply order their possessed host to destroy it either via overwrite or property damage. Thus, I made it so that after activation, it would be hidden, though be warned that sensors and fuinjutsu masters could easily tell that something is here. But don’t just take my word for it; show this to your lovely wife or Tobirama and confirm it yourself.”

Hashirama hummed quietly, eyebrows scrunched as if he were in deep thought. Madara left him to it and stood to stretch, pleased that he was finally on the right track again.

Zetsu would no doubt be frothing at the mouth and throwing a hissy fit as soon as the other three seals were drawn and activated, thus boxing the Senju clan compound in an unseen, protective barrier against mental corruption, just like the one at the Uchiha clan compound.

However, before the control it has over Kawarama could be permanently cut, the cunning being would do anything to prevent that from happening. Madara would need to find a way to keep Kawarama inside the barrier at all costs – which was easier said than done. If Kawarama had been an Uchiha, Madara could just throw him at Ryouta. Alas, Madara has no control over Senju clan members.

Although Kawarama was already benched by Tobirama, Zetsu could easily pull some strings to make it so that Kawarama would be needed elsewhere, maybe even on a long-term infiltration mission until he was able to build discord amongst them, which would lead to further bloodshed. Or at least, that was what Madara would have done that if he were in Zetsu’s shoes.

“Well then,” Madara chirped whilst extending a hand to Hashirama’s crouched figure. “Shall we continue?” Three more seals to go, all placed at the corner most edges of the compound (north, west, and south left), before the barrier could truly work its magic.

Hashirama blinked, before taking his hand with a megawatt grin and pulling him towards the northern gate’s direction. Too bright, too blinding, Madara had to squint.

“Righto! There’s this abandoned public toilet at the north which we tend to avoid. You can put the seal there. Rumour has it that, Hanako-san, one of our more bloodthirsty ancestors, haunts the third stall after tragically dying from food poisoning–”

Madara nodded occasionally as he was enthusiastically dragged by Hashirama. They conversed about everything and nothing at the same time, mostly about urban legends and supernatural-esque rumours or something along those lines.

When he finished with the seal located at the abandoned public toilet, which he purposefully placed inside the third stall –much to Hashirama’s horror– they moved onto the western side of the compound.

“Nobody would walk through this alleyway or pass by this specific dumpster. Rumour has it that Ibitsu-san, a young girl in a weird dress of some kind, would ask any passerby if they had a sister. If they answered yes, she would kill the passerby’s sister to replace her, and if they answered no, she would become their sister. The only way to survive an encounter with her is to not answer at all. Fortunately, I only have brothers, so I don’t have to worry about this ghost. Hah, I’d ignore anyone who asks me such a silly question! No, in fact, the one who asks those types of questions are silly!”

When Hashirama nodded with confidence oozing out of him in spades, Madara raised an unimpressed eyebrow. This called for some pin cushioning.

“We shouldn’t be disrespectful in front of the person we are talking about.”

“Eh? W-What?” The Senju clan head meeped.

Madara ignored Hashirama’s sudden need to stick as close as humanly possible to him and carried on drawing a seal behind the dumpster. Who told Hashirama, a scaredy-cat when it came down to all matters ghosts, act so boldly in front of him? He was practically begging for Madara to deflate his ‘courage’.

As soon as Madara uttered the word done, Hashirama ran out of the alleyway as if his bum was lit on fire. Madara had to shake his head at the man’s foolishness and leisurely followed the human tree that was Hashirama.

One more seal to go.

“There’s this abandoned warehouse, which used to be a torture chamber, located at the south. It’s, well, abandoned because rumour has it, a murdering ghost wearing mask would wander around that area. She would appear before those walking alone at night to ask them if she’s beautiful. If they answered no, she’ll kill them! But if they answered a yes, she’ll reveal her face –which is grotesque since her mouth has been slit from ear to ear– and cut an identical smile onto their face! According to the rumours, the ghost was an enemy kunoichi who had been tortured by our ancestors, thus the reason why she–“

Madara, now completely focused on Hashirama’s interesting ghost tales, had to wonder why there were so many urban legends (and abandoned buildings) surrounding the Senju clan compound. Were the Senjus just that afraid of ghosts, or was this just Hashirama being Hashirama?

But let it be known that Madara would not be Madara if he did not take advantage of those urban legends to pull a prank on his friend.

Because Madara was addicted to Hashirama’s terrified facial expressions, he purposefully dragged his friend into the abandoned warehouse and found the deepest, darkest corner, stained deep brown due to the ungodly amount of blood spilt, and squatted to draw the last seal of the day.

Hashirama ‘eek’-ed at every little noise heard whilst Madara drew. The man, who was built like a brick house, had a death grip on the back of Madara’s garment as he cowered from unseen shadows and his imagination. Madara could hardly contain his smirk when a particularly loud creak echoed behind them when the wind came through the barely hanging door, causing Hashirama to shriek in terror.

“A-Are yo-you d-d-d-don-ne yet?!” Hashirama whimpered whilst sticking closer to Madara, his head turning this and that way in paranoia.

“Just a little more,” Madara answered ‘distractedly’. “Why don’t you entertain our guests whilst I work?”

Hashirama’s neck made a particularly loud snap at how quickly the Senju turned to look at him. His face was deathly pale and filled with despair and denial. “G-g-g-g-guest?! W-what guest?!!?!?”

“Oh, you know… that woman with the mask. She has been eyeing us since –“

Fortunately, Madara had already finished and activated the seal before Hashirama bodily threw him over a shoulder and fled the warehouse-that-used-to-be-a-torture-chamber with a piercing shriek and tears that flowed like a river behind them.

Madara had to physically cover his grin to hide his amusement. At times like these, Hashirama was far too easy to tease. What a delightful end to this little side-quest of his. Now, all that was left was to return the groom to the bride, and to leave this event without anyone the wiser to his deeds.

As much as he enjoyed being Deai Daraku, it was time for Uchiha Madara to return. Rather than continue to idle about, he needed to move on to the next important matter on his to-do list. There was simply no rest for the wicked, even if being Deai Daraku had been a respite to his still-recovering body.

Madara tried not to show his fatigue as the afterparty raged through the night. He might have overdone it with the seals and the running around the compound thing, especially after the stunt he had pulled to save his daughter's life. Madara did not regret it, of course, but his body definitely hated him for it. Perhaps it was time he excused himself? But how without getting pulled into yet another eating or drinking contest...? 

Many of the Uzumakis, even now, continued to shovel mountains of food into their blackholes whilst the Senjus binged their liquor like tonight was their last night alive. Truly monstrous appetites these two clans have. No wonder they get along so well.

“Shishou?” Madara set aside his glass of wine and turned to face his disciple with one eyebrow raised. “Should I find you a quiet place to rest?”

At the healer’s worried tone of voice and concerned expression, Hashirama, Mito, and Touka seemed to scrutinize him from top to bottom. Madara hid his scowl behind his tessen. Stupid disciple needed further training on discretion. “I’m fine. Pay me no heed.”

“But…” Although Madara narrowed his eyes warningly, it went right over Itama’s head. Probably due to how dark it had become and how Itama had drunk as much as Hashirama had. “Your body should still be fatigued after what you’ve gone through this month. At least let me find you a chair or… hm, has anyone seen Tobi-nii? He can keep shishou company whilst they rest…”

“Huh, did something happen?” Touka, ever the blunt person, was blunter after the gazillion glass of wine she had. “Did’ja recently get stabbed? Give me their name and I’ll end them for you.”

“Nothing happened,” Madara insisted but his happily drunk disciple decided to say otherwise.

“Zuha-chan was born this month,” Itama interrupted with a dopey smile, completely forgetting that Kazuha was supposed to be a secret, and her alias should have been Hazuka whilst Madara was in his Daraku disguise. “She was premature so shishou had a rough time. That means! Shishou, you can’t overdo it and have plenty of rest! You only just recovered… not even a week ago! And you're already drinking so much...!”

Madara resisted the urge to strangle his idiot disciple in front of the entire Senju and Uzumaki clan when three pairs of (drunken) eyes stared at him with varying levels of concern. The sole Uchiha rubbed his temples when even Touka, the brutish woman that she was, dragged a chair over and bodily forced him to sit.

“Hashirama, be a gentleman and retrieve Tobirama-kun from my parents, will you? Let him escort Deai-san to rest at his house.”

“Oh, right. Tobi was pulled into discussing some kind of… something political whatnot… with your folks.”

Hashirama murmured drunkenly in agreement at his wife’s suggestion despite Madara’s assurance that he was fine for goodness’s sake, and off the Senju clan head went to save his poor ice block of a brother from politics at a wedding afterparty.

Why were they even discussing politics at this particularly joyous event…? No, that was not it. Why did this quartet only remember to save Tobirama only now? Seriously, poor Tobira…

After enduring a few minutes of mollycoddling from the trio, Tobirama appeared with a grumpy scowl on his face, arm interlocked with his eldest brother’s as he was bodily dragged towards their group.

As they got closer, Madara could hear snippets of their conversation. And what a one-sided conversation it was. No wonder Hashirama was on Tobirama's shit list. 

“–n hour, anija, an hour.”

“But Tobi~! If it hadn’t been you then it would’ve been me!”

“Oh, I see how it is. Twenty years of brotherly bond and you’ve decided my time is nought, and it would be more practical to sacrifice me to your in-laws?”

“Eyy, that’s not true! They’re your in-laws too.”

“That was not the point I was trying to convey, anija! Mito is my sister-in-law. Her parents are merely political adversaries that you’ve had the gall to repeatedly throw my way whenever you deem them a menace to your alone time with your spouse.”

“Well, if you put it that way…”

“Anija. If you dare to say ‘it can’t be helped', I will end you.”

Hashirama laughed sheepishly, but before Tobirama could scold him further, was pushed to stand in front of Madara’s seat. The Senju albino, as if realizing something was amiss, knelt on one knee and raised a hand to Madara’s forehead.

“You’re burning up,” Tobirama deadpanned.

He clicked his tongue in annoyance at being found out but remained stubborn in his need to not air his weakness for all to see. “It’s the alcohol.”

Tobirama outwardly agreed to his words, but his eyes conveyed his dubiety. “I see. Then I’m sure you can sober up at mine.”

Without letting him get the word in, the rest of the group agreed on his behalf and Madara was shooed away. Rather than insist on staying, he obediently left the plaza and walked alongside his friend. He was finding an excuse to leave, anyway.

The streets they threaded on appeared deserted since the entire clan was out drinking and not a single house had their lights switched on. Only the moonlight lit their path, and after all that noise pollution, it was nice to wind down to some tranquillity.

“Inform Itama of my departure,” Madara stated after a while, half-lidded eyes focused solely on the reddish moon above them. It reminded him of his mission… as well as his resolve to find ways to fix the Zetsu infestation on his lawn ASAP. “And convey my good wishes to the newlyweds.”

“You can do that in person. Tomorrow.”

Madara turned away from the moon to look at Tobirama. The latter was expressionless, and so was he.

“I have much to do, Tobirama. So much.”

“And they can be done, tomorrow. One night, Madara. Just tonight, won’t you allow yourself some respite? I promise to not leave your side while you rest; for your peace of mind... and mine.”

Madara’s red-painted lips part to refuse, but when Tobirama gently brushed the pad of his thumb against the underneath of his left eye, his resolve crumbled. The hand remained a steady presence on his cheek, cool against his heated skin, and he could not help but lean into the touch, eyelids fluttering shut.

His features must have truly been laden with exhaustion if even Tobirama was insistent that he rest.

“One night,” he finally agreed, reluctantly.

“One night,” was repeated back to him in assurance.

Chapter Text

Back at the Uchiha Clan Compound, Ryouta’s flawless skin was now marred by dark smudges under his eyes. They were nowhere near as dark as Madara-ani's, but if he kept this up, he reckoned it would not be too far off.

Ryouta cradled the fussy infant closer to his chest and whimpered alongside her. Despite her fragile constitution, she was a very vocal baby, never once letting him rest. As soon as he stopped rocking her, she would throw a tantrum fit for a queen. If Ryouta did not know any better, he would have thought her to be Izu-baka's spawn. 

“You undoubtedly deserve the title of hime-sama,” Ryouta murmured with blank, unseeing eyes, completely dead from the inside out.

As if she understood and was displeased by his remark, her whimpering turned into sobbing, and soon, he had a full-blown crying infant in his arms. Amaterasu save his wretched soul from this never-ending torture.

Madara-ani was a saint to have cared for his more immature brothers simultaneously without feeling the urge to chuck them all into the waste bin when they were younger. Ryouta would never have the patience to become a full-time carer – and as seen with Kazuha right now, this was why he would never have a child to call his own. Thank Amaterasu he was content to only have niblings.

“Ugh, why is it so noisy in here?” Izuna suddenly popped his head into Ryouta’s bedroom with a complaint he wholeheartedly agreed upon.

Never has Ryouta been so happy to see his older brother's dumb face before. “Help. Me,” was what he gritted out instead, and shoved (gently, of course) Kazuha into Izuna’s arms and dived under the covers of his futon. “It’s your turn. Make it stop.”

Izuna clicked his tongue whilst rolling his eyes heavenward. “Don’t call her an it, creeper. If aniki had heard you, you’d be hanged by your toes.”

Ryouta growled to show his displeasure. 

Within a minute, blissful silence returned to their household and Ryouta had to peek to see if Izuna had strangled Kazuha to stop her cries. Madara-ani would have their heads if that were the case. Thankfully, Kazuha was still well and alive, but blessedly silent in his older brother’s arms.

“How?!” He shot out of bed, prickly.

Ryouta had done everything in his attempts to make the infant happy, yet nothing had worked! Was she playing favorites?! And chose Izuna between the two of them?! The nerve! 

“Honestly, Ryou. Babies are like mirrors – if you’re stressed, they’ll be stressed. You need to be as cool as a cucumber when handling them, so calm yo’ tits,” Izuna advised/mocked, showing that he was, indeed, an older brother before he was an idiot.

“The twins weren’t like this when they were babies…” Ryouta complained petulantly, denial running deep within him. He had been the twins’ babysitter whenever Madara-ani was out and Izuna was training, but never had they given him grief before.

If other clan members could see their dreaded T&I captain now…, they would think the two brothers had had their souls switched with how out of character Ryouta was acting. He was in that much distress after twenty-four hours alone with Kazuha. She was never this fussy with Madara-ani around, even when he was unconscious. But somehow, yesterday up until this morning, it was as if the tiny human knew her father was away from the compound entirely.

“Because Kazuha-chan, unlike the twins, is a girl,” Izuna deadpanned. “Girls are more sensitive to our emotions. You go cool down – go torture someone, or something along those lines. I’ll look after her for a while but make sure to return after breakfast. I’ve got an appointment coming up. A very important one that I can’t miss.”

Ryouta huffed but ultimately conceded. His mood would most definitely improve after a good session within the bowels of the T&I dungeon; he needed to break this one Shimura shinobi, anyway. Two birds with one stone, and all that crap.  

Ryouta made sure that everything in his bedroom was not an inch out of place, and if an assassin were to appear, would mistake his room for a guest room. Once done, he stood in front of his vanity and began massaging his cheeks. 

For a few moments, he showed a variety of smiles every other second –too wide, that one was crooked, this made him look too much like Izuna, a little too sideways, that was too gullible, and… there we go– until he was happy with his current expression.

Just as he left his room, he overheard Izuna calling him a creeper and how he could never get used to that. Tch, so rude and judgmental. This was why he loved Madara-ani the best amongst his siblings and Izuna was just an idiot to him.

At the crack of dawn, just as the first rays of sunlight peaked across the horizon, Madara’s body awoke from its deep slumber like clockwork. His dark lashes trembled as he blinked, slightly dazed as his half-lidded eyes indolently scanned the bedroom in mild confusion before they landed on the nightstand where a black and white photo of four very young Senju brothers was situated.

Madara, unlike himself, decided to stay idle in bed longer than necessary to enjoy the softness of the mattress and the warmth of being hugged from behind. Tobirama’s arm felt akin to a rock on his waist, grounding and safe, not at all restrictive.

Honestly, Madara was quite envious of the Senju clan’s coffers. Compared to his clan, opulence was apparent here. Despite Tobirama’s minimalistic setup, he recognized quality silks and materials from a mile away. Rich bastard.

Feeling quite annoyed and petty, Madara turned to face his best friend and pinched the albino’s cheek.

Tobirama woke the moment Madara shifted, but made no move to stop the Uchiha’s assault on his face and only hugged him closer. His best friend snuggled him like he was a teddy bear and fell back asleep not a second later. He was probably still intoxicated, Madara mused fondly.

Giving the inked and pale cheek one last squeeze, he shimmied out of Tobirama’s hold and left the Senju’s home after leaving behind a beautiful azure hairpin in his best friend’s white locks –the one he had worn when he dressed as an oiran– as an innocent prank, seeing how much Tobira hated his hair accessories last night.

He silently nodded to Niko when he saw her at the compound gates, and she returned his greeting stoically whereas the other guards around her raised their eyebrows at his exit. Madara hid a playful smirk behind his tessen, aware of how weird it was to leave at dawn when all the other guests were still in their beds inebriated. 

When he was far enough from the Senju clan compound, Madara did a sweep of his surroundings and after deeming it safe, he relaxed his chakra and detoured the area to ensure he was not being followed until he came to a stop at the Uchiha’s side of the Naka River. 

After a thorough scan of his surroundings, Madara quick-changed back into his clan’s usual battle attire sans the armor. He even purposefully teased his mane to give it a rough appearance to try and hide how his strands had mild curls in them from the braid he accidentally left overnight. Lastly, he squatted near the body of water and scrubbed his face clean of powder.  

Deai Daraku vanished, and Uchiha Madara gazed solemnly back at him from the reflection of the water, skin a little red from being rubbed raw. His under eyebags, surprisingly, had lightened some after a good night’s rest. Madara had presumed he would have stayed up all night inside enemy territory, but somehow, he slumbered the night away next to Tobirama. His body must have been truly fatigued to have fought off his instincts and slept like the dead despite Kawarama's (Zetsu's) presence. 

Stretching to a stand, he decided to take his time traversing through the forest since the fresh air would help the contemplation of his next move.  

Izuna and Ryouta should have everything under control back home, both with the clan and Kazuha, whilst the twins should still be undergoing survival training with the other seven to thirteen-year-olds for the next week at one of their allied clan's lands. Perhaps he should have stayed one more night at the Senju compound…? The idea was fleeting as it was tempting. 

As he leisurely made his way home at a steady pace, jumping from one branch to another, Madara was abruptly brought out of his zen-like state by five unidentified chakra signatures when he was closer to his clan’s compound. He scowled. No rest for the wicked, it seemed.

The clan’s protocol for finding unknown chakra signatures nearby was to investigate for any mischief. Madara would normally leave such matters to the patrol guards since often, foreigners would simply pass through their land/forest, but because the emotions he read off some of the signatures were malevolent, he thought better. 

With his chakra muted to its lowest possible level and his figure hidden behind the leaves above, Madara craned his head to observe the group below.

Three of them appeared to be rouge shinobi without a clan, whilst the remaining two were civilian women, heavily pregnant ones at that. All of them did not have Uchiha fire or lightning running through their veins, but something about those women piqued his interest. Madara has always had a mild case of face-and-name-blindness, and unless they were unlucky enough to be caught by his sharingan, his brain did not retain mundane information lest he overloads it.

Judging by the group’s body language, however, the women were unwilling to be near the three men whilst the latter were gleeful. They conversed, but what a nasty conversation it was, more threatening than anything.

It was with disgust that Madara was reminded that in this time period, slavery was common. Many would kidnap beautiful people, no matter their age, to sell to those wealthy nobles or merchants for a quick buck (some strong shinobi/samurai even went as far as to kidnap clan children to sell to rival clans).

Slavery only became illegal in this country after Hi no Kuni’s daimyo’s youngest daughter got snatched and sold, and although she was swiftly retrieved and returned, the damage to her physical and mental health had been done. She could not bear the disgrace and took her own life in the end and the daimyo, after much grieving, banned slave trading altogether within his borders. But that would only happen a decade later.

Madara turned his eyes towards the women.

They seemed the smart sort, and he was proven right when they used his clan’s name as a form of protection. The only people who would dare do such were those who have spent their entire lives within Uchiha-protected villages. This meant Madara, as an Uchiha, was dutybound to ensure the safety of those residents as their relationship was give and take – they provided the resources needed for the clan's survival and warfare, and the clan would do their best to protect them in return (when he became clan head, Madara rotated genin-cells to those villages, leaving none unprotected. The gesture was appreciated, and the clan received an abundance of harvest all year round in gratitude and managed to survive the harsh winters with few casualties). 

Having found enough justification to intervene, Madara jumped from his perch and landed silently behind the trio of slavers. The pregnant duo, unfortunately, had no discreet bone in their body. Their eyes immediately fell on him, and their faces twisted with a mixture of fear and relief.

The rouge-nins, noticing that something was amiss, instantly drew their weapons and positioned themselves to face the threat. They balked at the sight of an Uchiha (probably expecting more to drop from the trees like monkeys), but when no others arrived, they seemed to grow bolder. Amateurs.

“’Ey there,” One of the men greeted cockily. He was the tallest amongst them. “We were just passin’ through; an escort mission, ya see?  We don’t wish ta get inta trouble or be involved with da clan that guards diz territory. Am sure Uchiha-san feels the same with us no-clan shinobi, yeah?”

“Don’t believe him, Uchiha-san! They purposefully entered Uchiha land to kidnap us!” The woman with shoulder-straight black hair stepped further away from the trio with an affronted snarl whilst dragging her brunette friend behind her.

Although Madara appeared impassive on the outside, he had to inwardly raise an eyebrow at the bravery she showed. Not many would dare put their lives in the hands of an unknown, maybe savior, and risk getting brutalized if said savior failed to save them afterward.

Fortunately for her, Madara was one of the strongest shinobi alive in this era. 

Madara turned his frosty gaze towards the rouge shinobis. “You dare have such atrocious ideas on Uchiha land and our people?” Without a hint of subtility, Madara made sure to dial up his Killing Intent and direct them completely at the trio, who blanched and began to tremble uncontrollably. “If you are offering your neck so boldly, allow me to accept.”

“W-Wait, Uchiha-sa…ma,” the rouge-nin who appeared to be their leader spoke up, his expression turned obsequious. He swiftly sheathed his sword and sheepishly rubbed his hands together in a nervous manner, still sweating from the KI directed at them. “P-Please let me explain! Although we prefer to keep our mission details confidential, we wouldn’t want to be misunderstood more. Our clients are these two young ladies’ parents. They ran away from home, and we were tasked to bring them back; hence their venomous attitudes towards us. We would never be so bold as to kidnap anyone under the Uchiha’s protection, I swear.”

Madara extended a gloved hand, palm up. “Proof of mission,” he requested (read: demanded) blandly.

Although leader’s poker face held strong, his two lackeys gave away the lie. However, rather than point it out, Madara kept his silence and merely raised an eyebrow when they made no move to procure the proof of mission, which was a scroll that contained the mission details with the client’s signature and fingerprints.

Honestly, it was an amateur mistake. They must have been quite new at this gig.

When a few moments passed without the requested proof of mission in sight, Madara slowly lowered his arm and pulled a katana from the storage seal, which caused the trio to turn ghost white.

“Shall we dance?”

Screams resounded as Madara slaughtered them in cold blood, not bothering to use his sharingan on these genin-level nins. 

Ryouta stared blankly into a small wooden bucket of water as he washed blood off his hands. 

A whimper caught his attention and he turned to look over his shoulder. Ryouta smiled pleasantly at the sight. His prisoner hung from the ceiling by his toes, with blood pooled under him getting bigger as seconds passed by.

He leaned against the side of the bench that held all his torture equipment and admired his work from head to toe.

The torturer and his victim connected eyes, and for that split second, Ryouta’s smile sharpened into a cheshire grin, all sharp teeth and sadism in full display.

“M-mo…n..ster…!” The Shimura wheezed.

His prisoner blinked and Ryouta’s grin had been replaced by his usual genteel smile, as if the previous expression was all but an illusion.

“Thank you,” Ryouta genuinely thanked as he left his office.

On his way out, he dropped the scroll that pertained to the information he had obtained from the Shimura to his trusted aide. "Make sure he lives," he politely ordered. His aide nodded and left to retrieve a healer. 

Just as his home came into his view, his good mood went tumbling into the drain at the sight of Izuna impatiently tapping his foot near the entrance, with Kazuna being rocked in his arms.

“You’re late,” Izuna grumped with a scowl. “I told you I have a Very Important appointment to attend... ages ago.” He then proceeded to dump their niece into Ryouta’s arms.

Ryouta dialed his smile up a notch to hide his grimace. “Of course, I remember. I just got held up a bit at work. I underestimated the Shimura so I had to use–“

“Yeah, yeah. I don’t need to hear the gritty details,” Izuna interrupted impatiently. Which, rude. “Look, I’ll be gone for a while but I’ve already done all the heavy lifting, so all you need to do is keep her asleep until aniki comes back. Think you could handle that at least?”

Ryouta could feel his right eye twitch at Izuna’s condescending tone but did not react any further. The only way to shut Izuna up is either to outsmart him or to ignore him. Seeing that his older brother had him beat at childrearing, Ryouta made do with option number 2: pretending he was air. Petty, thee name was Ryouta.

Izuna sighed loudly whilst rolling his eyes when Ryouta made no move to acknowledge his words. “Whatever, creeper. Imma just leave you to it.” And off his second older brother went, jumping across rooftops to avoid civilian traffic.

A whimper attracted his gaze, and he paled. Kazuha was awake and staring at him with tears in her eyes.

“Oh no–“ was all Ryouta managed to whisper before his niece’s piercing cries penetrated through his eardrums. He winced, rocking the infant to no avail. It appeared that he was truly disliked by his eldest brother’s daughter.

Wiping the stray drops of blood on his cheek with a gloved thumb, Madara turned his sharp gaze toward the women. They flinched when his dark eyes landed on them, but the one with straight black hair bravely took a step forward and bowed as low as she could, mindful of her round belly. The brunette followed her friend's example not a second later, though continued to tremble fearfully like a bunny.

“T-Thank you for saving our lives, Uchiha-san,” the brave woman conveyed her gratitude, and as she straightened, there was a determined glint in her eyes. Her hands remained on her swollen belly as her lips parted, “I understand it is shameless to ask, but can we please request an escort to your clan’s compound? Please.”

Raising a brow, he contemplated her request. It was simple enough since he was already heading home anyway, but it would not do to appear friendly and agreeable. Madara needed to maintain his reputation as a cold-hearted monster leader.

Madara purposefully delayed his reply by swinging his sheathed katana onto his back, the cloth on its sheathe crossing his shoulder to hip in a graceful arc and securing the weapon tightly to his person. After a few tense moments, he asked in an uninterested manner, “What is the reason for your visit?”

Seeing that he appeared to be entertaining her request, the courageous woman’s face softened in partial relief, “We were hoping to seek asylum. It became unsafe for us to remain in our hometown when the identity of our child’s father has been relatively compromised. The village chief–“, here she sneered, anger in her eyes, “–is a man full of greed. Despite our village’s affiliation with the Uchiha clan, he sold information to enemy clans that there are two heavily pregnant women bearing an Uchiha child in his village. We have sent a letter to the father of our child, and he has agreed to meet and escort us to the compound to keep us safe until we have given birth… however, we could not wait any further. There was an attempt at kidnapping us and our families have had to sacrifice their lives to let us escape the village unseen.”

“Not that we got far,” the brunette added bitterly, unshed tears in her eyes.

In the middle of their explanation, a click had resounded in his head. Drily, he spoke a name, “Izuna.”

The two women were startled, shocked that he had spoken the name of the man who had impregnated them.

“D-Did Izuna-sama send for you?” the brave woman asked, her eyes alight with fragile hope.

Madara was already shaking his head, “No, my presence here is a coincidence. I do not sense Izuna within the clan compound, however I do know you speak the truth. Follow me – I will allow you asylum, and when Izuna returns, the three of you shall figure out the future together.”

Without waiting for their reply, he slammed his palm on the trunk of a tree nearest to him, ignoring their surprised and fearful flinch, and a cloud of smoke along with a peregrine falcon appeared on his forearm. His fastest summon, Haia, puffed her chest out, aggravated, “I was beginning to wonder if you even need us falcons anymore.”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes at her dramatics, he drily stated, “Of course, I do. I am in dire need of your assistance like no other could. I need you to locate Izuna and urge him home as a matter of importance, and in return, I will provide a bountiful feast for you and your family.”

“Hn. Deal. I shan’t be too long,” Haia preened, and with a few heavy beats of her elegant wings, she was up in the sky and out of sight within seconds.

Gazing at the two women once more, he silently pointed his chin toward the direction of his home and walked without looking back. After a moment of hesitation, he heard two clumsy footsteps trailing behind him at a distance – and if Madara had slowed his speed to accommodate the pace of the two pregnant women, only he needed to know that.