Chapter Text
“Izuna,” Madara said, with his head propped up against his hands. Every part of him was slumped.
Izuna froze. Madara had woken up that morning in a foul temper, and more pressingly, had not expressed any of this anger in the form of shouting or the occasional wailing.
Instead, Madara had looked across their kitchen and then… stopped dead. That hissing chakra vanished like Madara had decided that he was going to emulate a mix of Tobirama and one of Shamon’s soulless puppets for the rest of the day.
He had walked around in a daze, and ate breakfast in a daze, and dressed in his Hokage robes in a daze—although Izuna had noticed a faint tremble when he put the hat on, which reassured him that his brother hadn’t suddenly lost all his emotions.
Then he followed Izuna to the Academy and into his office. Dazedly. It was almost like he had forgotten where everything was, even though he built the whole damn thing with Hashirama.
The only moments where he seemed like he wasn’t off in la-la-land was when he stared at Izuna the whole time they ate breakfast with wide, unblinking eyes. It almost seemed like he was about to activate his Sharingan, but he saw Izuna every day!
There was also that time he was startled when Hashirama parted the door to the office with his Mokuton instead of turning the doorknob like any polite shinobi. At least Hashirama refrained from twisting the whole wooden tower to suit his needs now.
Even though Madara made a very valiant attempt at tripping in his seat, he still hadn’t reacted normally. He just nodded dumbly at everything Hashirama reported and took whatever papers were handed to him before adding them to the growing stack. Even Hashirama gave Madara a concerned look, which Madara didn’t even appear to notice. (His hawk-eyed brother!)
Izuna would’ve attributed it to shock, but Madara had been Hokage for a month. His brother was emotionally constipated, but surely he didn’t take a month to process how he felt about something?
In light of this morning’s weirdness. Izuna could be forgiven for almost dunking his stack of paperwork on their new Hokage.
He fumbled with his words and felt awkward around his brother for the first time in years. “Nii-san? Don’t tell me you’re hungover.”
He settled for teasing Madara—that was the best way to invoke a response, right? He was sick of receiving a blank look all morning. Izuna wasn’t serious, of course—Madara seemed to take it upon himself to be everything that the Senju brothers were not, and if they liked to be “damnable alcoholics” every Friday, Madara was always stone-cold sober in his house.
Madara’s eyes snapped up in that familiar, hawkish way that he had inherited from Uchiha Tajima, and Izuna was almost relieved, until Madara asked, “I drink alcohol?”
He sounded horrified and delighted at the same time.
Izuna stared a little longer before he abruptly dumped all of the paperwork on the desk and clasped his hands together. “Alright, this”—he gestured at Madara—“thing has been going on for the whole morning. What’s wrong with you?”
The bluntness had come from Madara.
Izuna gestured again at the tower of paperwork, which had stayed vertical through sheer architectural luck. It was leaner than Uzushio’s buildings, and kami knows how many seals they slapped on them before they stopped collapsing. “You’re even procrastinating on your paperwork. Like Hashirama!”
Madara blinked and looked around as if he was only just realizing the mountains of work that threatened to smother him in a cage of paper. “Ah…”
Izuna stared a little bit longer, hoping that these pauses would pressure his older brother into speaking more, but Madara just continued looking placidly around him.
“Did you—did you forget how to fill out the forms?” Izuna tried to tease him again, although his tone had lost humor. It sounded flummoxed.
Madara turned back to Izuna with bright eyes and nodded enthusiastically. “If you could show me… I would be most grateful.”
What the fuck. Izuna narrowed his eyes and used his last and deadliest technique. Desperate times, desperate measures. “You’re not trying to brush off all your paperwork to me, are you? Because I don’t actually enjoy all this legislative work as much as Tobirama did.”
Madara actually looked disappointed. “Oh. He’s still alive?”
“... Yes?” Izuna subtly made the snake sign behind his back and rested his weight on both his legs. First, Madara was unfamiliar with the layout of the house. Second, he was unfamiliar with the layout of Konoha. Third, he didn’t know how to do any of the administrative paperwork. Fourth, and most importantly, he didn’t start flailing around at the mention of Tobirama’s name.
“Nii-san, why does the sun begin to set when the moon is in the sky?”
There was a slight pause, before Madara replied, “Amaterasu-no-Mikoto is running away from her husband.”
“And why does Amaterasu-no-Mikoto shine upon our clan?”
“We carry her blood and wield her fire,” Madara said more confidently, although with none of the usual Uchiha pride.
“And what of Tsukuyomi-no-Mikoto? Who does he carry in his heavy heart?” Every Uchiha knew their clan’s gods and their stories, but this was a specific inside joke between Madara, Izuna, and Hikaku.
This time, Madara took even longer. “A white-striped cat,” he finally settled on. “Mikoto-sama?”
Izuna’s stance relaxed, but his face remained as severe as ever. “Madara,” he said gravely. “I think you have amnesia.”
-o-
Seeing as this was their illustrious Hokage with possible brain damage, Izuna dragged him off to see the foremost expert in the field of medicine at the greatest medical center of their time.
“Izuna, I studied the application of iryō ninjutsu on field wounds and dabbled in other surgical practices,” Tobirama gestured at Madara, who was seated on one of Tobirama’s creaky chairs. He looked back at him suspiciously. “Unless you want me to carve up his brain, I don’t see what I can do for you.”
“You can’t just shrug this off because this isn’t your department,” Izuna said, glancing worriedly at Madara. “Every department is your department! Surely you’ve dabbled with brains at least once.”
“I’ve had little interest in mental afflictions,” Tobirama said. “The only instance where I’ve even touched on this field was when I was testing out the Curse of Hatred hypothesis, and that was later disproven using statistics from your clan libraries.”
"What about Itama?” Izuna tried. “He works with the mind, right?"
"He specializes in civilians, Izuna. He could give therapy sessions, or brew Madara a cup of herbal medicine if you'd like?"
"Declined," Madara interrupted.
"Okay, but—" Izuna started again.
"There are no medical experts on the brain right now unless you'd allow the Yamanaka to poke around in our Hokage's head."
“But—” Now both Madara and Tobirama were looking at him disinterestedly. He was doing this for your sake, Nii-san! “If Madara is incapacitated, then Hashirama will have to act as Hokage again. Do you really want to pull him away from his wife and newborn son?”
“Hashirama had been pestering Madara about his Hokage duties the whole month,” Tobirama said blandly. “He’d probably take the job again happily.”
On the other side of the table, Madara raised his chin. “I’ve forgotten a month of events, and the most that has happened was that I got the Hokage hat and Mikoto-sama passed away. I’ll admit that I can’t quite remember how to do the paperwork, but it should be self-explanatory if Hashirama could’ve handled it. So there’s no problem at all, Izuna.”
-o-
“Aren’t you concerned that one of the Yamanaka broke into our house and brainwashed Madara so that they could have a puppet kage?” Izuna hissed after Madara left Tobirama’s dingy lab, citing that he had to catch up on paperwork.
Tobirama gave him an unimpressed look, as if to say, Is that the best you’ve come up with?
“Fine. Aren’t you concerned in general,” Izuna amended.
Tobirama neatly shuffled his notes on the examination. “I’ll have to review my memory of the patient’s testimony later. It was… a bit difficult to think under Madara’s intense scrutiny.”
Izuna rolled his eyes. “Great. So it wasn’t just Madara stuck in the honeymoon phase—you’re just more subtle in mooning over his eyes and whatnot.”
Tobirama gave him an inscrutable look. “Imagine if it was Tōka sitting there. She’s settled quite happily into domesticity and village life, but now she’s giving you the same blood-lusty look she wears in battle. Except—”
Izuna yelped and waved his hands around, moving to cover Tobirama’s mouth but thinking better of it. “Okay, okay, I did not need to think about you and my nii-san. But shouldn’t you be less casual about this development? He doesn’t seem to know about the—thing."
"However many times you blast my clan for being cold and aloof, I can assure you that if I had an idea about how to help Madara, I would have already sought out the necessary journals."
"That's not—how are you so calm when one of your people loses part of what makes them that person?"
"The same way I would adapt to other developments in their physique or mental state."
"..."
"Izuna, he's not dead, and anything else we can deal with."
"We could've dealt with his death. A quick Izanagi and everyone's peachy.” Izuna threw up his hands. “What we can't deal with is memory loss!"
Tobirama patted his back in a not-reassuring way, before pushing him toward the door. “If I find a way to fix this, I’ll let you know. He didn’t let me do a full-body scan, so look out for anything unusual, especially suspicious seals”
“Now just wait a minute here! Let’s decide on some course of action first at the very least.”
-o-
Half an hour later, and it was already time for an early lunch. Izuna didn’t finish any part of his paperwork—he was stuck in Tobirama’s lab—but he could hand that off to future Izuna. This matter couldn’t wait.
As Izuna entered the Hokage’s office again, he saw his brother and Hashirama grinning like loons over a few bottles of sake. He couldn’t ask for a better situation—Madara was much less stubborn when he was drunk.
Izuna put his hands on his hips and tried to do his best rendition of Kou. “Hokage-sama, you know that Tobirama had expressly forbidden alcohol on Academy premises.” Nothing encouraged Madara and Hashirama better than Tobirama’s impending disapproval.
Madara looked up at him. “But I didn’t know that,” he pointed out wryly.
Beside him, Hashirama knocked back his sake. “Have a drink with us, Izuna. You’ve been around Tobirama too much; I bet you’ve even memorized all of the Shinobi Rules.”
“I’m not obsessed with paperwork or decorum,” Izuna protested, while Madara merely flicked Hashirama’s cheek in offense. He looked at the ever-procreating stack of paperwork and then decided to sit on one of the piles near the desk. Madara handed him a shot of sake.
Izuna nursed his small shot of sake slowly, careful to remain sober when Tobirama arrived. It seemed like Madara had snapped out of the daze he was in that morning. Now he was free with his smiles, and he whole-heartedly tussled with Hashirama on the floor for the last bottle of sake.
Was it shinobi paranoia if Izuna thought that Madara looked too pleased to see Hashirama? Instead of giving Hashirama the ‘who are you and what are you doing in my kitchen’ look that Izuna had the fortune of receiving, Madara was entirely too comfortable in Hashirama’s presence. That was the look Madara gave foreign dignitaries that screamed, ‘I would choke you with that sake bottle if I could, but I can’t because we’re pretending to be civilized shinobi now. Admire my gracious smile.’
Izuna might have had a lower alcohol tolerance than he thought.
Izuna discreetly signaled for the guards to activate the seal barriers—best not to begin Madara’s reign with bad rumors—and then went to Madara’s desk to find that hidden alcohol stash that Hashirama left behind.
Hashirama was quickly draining the alcohol he brought over, and soon there wouldn’t be enough to even knock over a genin.
-o-
Someone activated all the light seals on the wall. Izuna hopped in surprise and drunkenly wobbled off Madara’s desk. Madara, who had been sneaking up on Hashirama, took the moment of surprise to snatch the actual last bottle of sake from him and tried to guzzle it, although most of the alcohol ended up on his shirt. Instead of fighting back for the bottle, Hashirama turned to the front door with his aura of purple mushrooms. “Tobi—”
“Shut up, anija,” Tobirama sighed as he leaned on the door.
Madara turned around in surprise, eyes wide and slightly glazed. Izuna turned in the direction of the door too, leaning heavily on the desk and threatening the towers of paperwork that survived the first Izuna attack.
“Have I ever told you that you look a lot like a secretary?” Madara blurted out. What did Izuna say? Madara was an honest drunk. Any other time and Madara would've put more snark into his words.
With the hand that was holding the bottle of sake, Madara tried to wave at Tobirama’s eyes, and the binder of files propped up against his hip. In the background, Izuna slumped to the ground again, as if he was trying to avoid being identified with Madara. That was the other reason why Madara didn’t drink.
Tobirama raised an eyebrow. “I’m wearing my training clothes.” He tugged on the bottom of the shirt to emphasize that these were not clothes suitable for secretaries. Madara’s eyes widened further as if he had never realized what Tobirama looked like in casual wear.
The movement was ruined when Hashirama took the opportunity to drape himself over Madara, stealing the bottle of sake and conveniently shielding Madara’s eyes as well.
“Nope, nope, nope,” he sang. Unfortunately, Hashirama was also an honest drunk. But while Madara tended to embarrass himself, Hashirama the Shameless tended to embarrass others. “No weird flirting between my best friend and my otōto or—”
Behind him, Madara spluttered and shoved Hashirama off. “I don’t—” He spluttered some more. “Why—him? And me!”
He gave Tobirama a horrified look and then gave Hashirama an even more terrified look. “I think I remember my feelings from a few decades ago were still very much along the lines of ‘in a perfect world, either you wouldn’t exist or I wouldn’t exist.’”
Izuna, sensing the incoming rant—did he emphasize that Madara was also a coherent drunk?—shooed his brother out of the window before he ran his mouth.
Madara wasn’t a self-sustained ranter. They had all learned early on that the best way to end an argument was to endure his rants and nod your head politely at the right time. Unfortunately, by Tobirama’s raised eyebrow, he was in the mood to pick a fight he knew he’d win.
You can argue that you hate someone all you liked, but not if you married them when you still had all your memories.
Any more embarrassment and Madara will clam up and sulk somewhere, drunk or not. See? Izuna has got the art of wheedling information out of Madara down to a fine science.
Just as they were both out of the window, he turned his head and signed to Tobirama, Part I is-a-go. Get Hashirama to finish the paperwork.
-o-
Madara seemed to be perfectly comfortable traversing through the markets of Konoha. Albeit he was going around slightly aimlessly, like most drunks.
The summer sun was beaming, but that did not deter people from crowding around bars or fighting for the last discounted bag of tomatoes. The light illuminated the reds and yellows and blues of the market. The heatwave during the mid-afternoon had passed. It was a good time for those that had missed the Saturday morning rush.
If it wasn’t for the surprise Madara expressed at the bustling marketplace and the slight confusion he had when various individuals—even civilians and dogs—greeted him, Izuna might’ve almost said that this was like any other Saturday.
“Do you remember going Saturday market-hopping?”
“Eh?”
“Before you landed in the Hokage chair, we used to go through the small villages in the Land of Fire, loop through Uzushio for lunch, and then go for the hot springs. If we had time, we would also pass through Konoha again, drop off the groceries, and then spring down to the Land of Tea.” Izuna chattered. Quick, give Madara something to respond to. “You don’t remember any of this?”
“Even with a shinobi’s speed, we couldn’t have hit so many countries in a day,” Madara said. He sounded impressed, and most importantly, interested.
Izuna ambled beside him, occasionally weaving around civilians who were idling around. “I think you’ve lost more memories than just the last month, Nii-san. Tobirama showed us his Hiraishin, remember?”
“... Ah.”
Izuna frowned. And he thought he was making progress away from the single-word sentences and the monosyllabic grunts too. Surely his brother wasn’t so closed off a month, a year, or even a decade ago.
He seemed fine around Hashirama, after all. Why did Hashirama get the lively Madara when he could barely get his brother to hold up a conversation?
Madara seemed like he was drifting off again, or reentering that daze that befell him that morning. They slowly drifted away from the market and into the quiet residential areas.
After a while of silently ambling around, Izuna attempted to start the conversation again. “Say, how much of your memories do you think you’ve lost?”
Madara shrugged his shoulders lightly, unconcerned. “I remember everything I should.”
“That’s cryptic. What about that time we went to that forest with the small, dense trees, and Tobirama crunched some beans?”
“Would I remember that even if I had all my memories? I’ve run too many missions to remember the details of most of them.”
Izuna pointed triumphantly. “Hah! That was almost six months ago on a Saturday market-hop. And you should remember because Tobirama later made a sweet out of it and you developed your dark chocolate addiction.”
“Chocolate?” Madara tilted his head again, letting himself be pulled into the conversation.
“You don’t remember chocolate!” Izuna reiterated. “I’ll show you later. What about coffee? Also another type of bean product, but most people consume it in liquid form instead.”
“...”
“That was almost two years ago. I knew there was something wrong when you took the pot of tea this morning instead!”
“Don’t tell me I got addicted to that brown liquid too.”
“It’s really, really good stuff Nii-san. Imagine chakra pills, but milder and better tasting.”
“Who would willingly drink liquid chakra pills?”
“I did say it was better tasting. You can add sugar and cream to it too—it’s even popular with civilians too, and you know how picky they are.”
Izuna recounted all the things Madara had forgotten. By the end, he had a pretty good estimate of the events Madara had forgotten—and it was everything beyond the first year and a half of building the village.
They walked further away from the village center and deeper into the forest. It grew darker too, even though it was still the middle of the day. The canopy of the trees blocked the light from filtering in and the temperature became cooler to match the atmosphere. Izuna could almost hear wild jungle music in the form of distant predators on the hunt and rustling flora. Still, Izuna kept up the casual stream of words, trying to distract Madara before he realized their destination.
Around a fourth of a mile into the wilderness, he came to a stop and spread his arms around them. “This was where Hashirama and Tobirama used to have their spars; that’s why there are gigantic trees and a huge river that flows through the middle. We think Hashirama’s dense chakra must have done something to the flora and fauna though because they also grow extremely big. And dangerous.”
Madara nodded indulgently behind him. “Why did we have to actually come in here for this conversation?”
Izuna turned around, flicked his hair sheepishly. “Sorry, Nii-san. This is... ah. For your own good?”
Then he quickly shunshined to into one of the trees just as a water dragon crashed into the spot Madara was just in.
“You should have sobered up by now!” he called toward Madara’s general direction as he leaped up into the canopy.