Chapter Text
They’ve strode back to the compound much slower and with many stops along the way. It wasn’t the same as that time Tobirama himself got injured by Sanbi, but Madara’s arm did require bandaging and his chakra exhaustion spiked when they were already halfway there. Madara himself didn’t seem to care much as long as the beast was safely secured inside the scroll and tucked into his clothes, but Tobirama still worried that he might not have been able to go on, because his eyes bled constantly throughout the first part of the return journey.
“Can you see where you’re stepping properly?” he asked, immeasurable concern flooding his chest.
“It’s bleary, but I’ll manage. I can sense my way if need be,” Madara answered, his voice steady. It seemed like it was a common occurrence he’s gotten used to along the years.
They’ve taken the common route along the Naka as they always did, the woods there close and thick, their branches strong enough to form an overhanging road for those who could use them. As soon as they’ve gotten into the vicinity of the Uchiha territory and gotten down, Madara stopped abruptly, freezing in his spot.
“What’s wrong?” Tobirama asked while critically assessing the perimeter. Something must have gone awry to prompt that kind of reaction.
“Too many people on patrol,” Madara snarled, and Tobirama suddenly caught onto what he meant. There were about a dozen more shinobi than a common patrol squad consisted of, they were too far from the compound and all of them had Uchiha-specific chakra signatures.
It only took the ‘patrol’ forces a few heartbeats to surround them, coming into view from different directions.
“Madara-sama,” one of them acknowledged. Tobirama recognised all of their faces. He’d seen them on the battlefield. He’d seen them at the festival as well.
“So that’s a coup, I imagine,” Madara drawled, not looking at anyone in particular.
“You have to understand,” the man’s face contorted into a dismal grimace of grief, “your colluding with the enemy is what will bring the clan into ruin.”
“And I believe I know who is behind it,” Madara continued, unhearing.
“Madara-sama!” the man tried again.
Madara raised his head and looked at him, his Mangekyo pinwheeling and his face horribly, terrifyingly blank. Devoid of any emotion.
The man took a step back, the inhale he made loud and shuddering, and, as soon as his foot hit the ground, all of the others leapt at Madara simultaneously, swinging their weapon down as one. The last remnants of Madara’s chakra exploded, the flame flickering out in a burst, taking the attackers off course, his gunbai making a circle in the air, throwing them away, their backs planting forcefully into the surrounding trunks. Tobirama darted away as soon as he noticed Madara’s lack of comprehension. They didn’t attack him first, they went straight for Madara hoping to overpower him with the numbers. Foolish idea. They had to be either desperate or destitute to think that might have worked on someone of Madara’s calibre.
A sword swung for Tobirama’s head and he dodged, but the terrain was unfamiliar, so he immediately caught his foot on a root and stumbled down in a graceless heap. The man above him raised his sword over his head to strike again, and, as Tobirama hastily fished a blade out of his robes to deflect, Madara’s gunbai went right through his attacker’s middle, splitting him in half. His blood gushed into Tobirama’s face, getting into his eyes and blocking the vision of one of them completely. The upper part of the man’s corpse tumbled down with a wet smack, guts spilling into the damp dust of the forest floor, his lower one stumbling onto its knees before colliding with the ground. Madara’s expression was perfectly blank where it should have been livid. He turned back to the ones that were still gathering their wits and readying their blades.
“I do not care for your reasons,” Madara’s voice was ice-cold as he took a step in their direction, staggering slightly, dragging his gunbai along the ground, “I do not care for your leader,” he took another step, “nor for any information you could possibly provide me,” and another, “you have committed treason of the highest order,” and another, “so I will make sure you will suffer before you die and that nobody mourns you after,” he stopped in his tracks, a moment stretching into the eternity, and sprung into battle full-force, decimating the closest two standing in one swing, the same manner he did with the one that went after Tobirama.
Their upper bodies separated with sickening squelch, the gurgling in their throats nowhere near the proper screams. Tobirama saw their eyes roll after they’ve landed heavily with a wet smack, roaming along their mangled figures, one of them trying to crawl to where his intestines spilled on the ground. The other one got even less lucky, his body splitting at an awkward angle that had one of his arms cut at the forearm, laying just a few paces away. Tears rolled down his cheeks in unending stream, blood gushing down to soak into the earth.
Tobirama was ripped out of it by someone’s ripped off arm flying past him and slamming into a tree. He jerked, trying to get up and scrubbing at his face frantically, the blood caked over it in a layer so thick it was hard to get to his skin. He needed to do something, Madara’s chakra was completely depleted, and the attackers had an advantage of numbers, and–
He flopped back down uselessly at the sight of Madara brute-forcing through a katon jutsu one of the shinobi used. It dissipated with a single swing of the gunbai, the man’s head flying off along its trajectory instantly.
Tobirama knew. He couldn’t attack the Uchiha. Not the ones at the compound, not the ones that were hostile either, not a single one.
Another head landed just to the side of him with a minute twist, its eyes rolling. The treaty was not yet signed.
He looked at the head, its sharingan’s pattern changing. Tobirama swallowed thickly, tearing his eyes away and back to the other sight.
This time… he had to trust.
The screams were horrible. The sound of flesh being torn even worse. And yet Tobirama couldn’t take his eyes off of the massacre in front of him. He sat unable to do anything but stare, not even certain what exactly his actions could have been in a situation like this one.
He knew. He knew how it was, the intricacy of politics binding his hands. He wasn’t an Uchiha, so he wasn’t authorised. The war would start anew without properly ending. It left him wanting to retch.
What do you do when your clansmen turn on you?
If Tobirama was a demon, then Madara was surely a monster, there could be no denying it. And yet, all he felt for the Uchiha in that moment was pity and understanding in some strange, helpless way.
Was it so easy to cut down your own?
When it was over, Madara stood where he stepped last for a long time, gazing at the remains. He was… fine. They were horribly disfigured, a few less thoroughly damaged still trying to crawl. Letting out wheezes and whines. It took quite a while for the noises to dwindle out completely.
They laid still with glassy eyes, the haze creeping over their gazes steadily.
Madara turned and walked up to Tobirama, who still sat in the same spot. He raised his head.
“Cut their eyes out and seal them,” Madara said, not looking him in the eye. He fished a spare empty scroll from his pouch and held it out to Tobirama, “Here.”
Tobirama didn’t comment. He stood up quietly and got to work.
***
The funeral was three days after Butsuma and Tajima ran each other through.
Tobirama could still hear the screaming. They both fell, the blades protruding from their sternums, the blood soaking through the cloth quickly and further down into the soil. Tobirama hardly caught onto the fact that the shrill noise in his ears was his own brother’s howl. His heart pounded, cutting off most of the sound, suspending him in a bubble of nothingness. They looked no different than any other corpse would, eyes distant, and red marring their frames thoroughly. Ugly. Hideous. Gruesome. Their faces contorted with the last convulsion. Be it a death in dignity, the hapless heaps left were unseamly. Low and debased. Tobirama heard his own shuddering breaths rise over the steady buzz of the battlefield. He caught a glimpse of Madara’s sharingan turning. Of the pattern changing. Then the retreat was called.
The sight of Hashirama rushing over to where their father’s carcass lay burnt into his retina.
They did not hold the ososhiki properly, they didn’t suppose they’ve had the time. Usually they wouldn’t have been able to afford even for this much to spare, but since Madara was to become Clan Head as well, there was a silent agreement between them, a temporary truce. Only enough to reclaim the responsibilities.
There was no otsuya performed at all, no sougi and no kokubetsushiki, going straight to the cremation. They have made their offerings privately and burned their incense, the ethereal lightness in the air smoking along the heavy silence in the room. After, Butsuma’s ashes were meant to be interred inside the family grave.
Hashirama squeezed his eyes shut, Tobirama could see it from the corner of his eye. They’ve been sitting side by side in front of the altar for some time.
“He is gone,” Hashirama breathed.
“He is,” Tobiarama said.
The silence stretched between them.
“I’ve never thought this would be how it happens,” Hashirama opened his eyes again. He looked so weary, Tobirama wasn’t sure the time they were afforded was enough to let him get on his feet.
“He gave us a great gift at the end,” Tobirama answered, taking a deep breath. “If Tajima survived we would both be dead.”
Hashirama turned to face him then, “But he didn’t.”
They’ve now had a different enemy. Powerful. Cunning. Yet untried. Never met. They didn’t know what they’ve had to deal with yet.
Madara could prove to be their detriment.
“Tobi,” Hashirama let out a breath, “this war, it will end.”
“Nothing is endless,” Tobirama said, casting his eyes down.
“No,” Hashirama whispered, “that’s not what I’ve meant. Madara, he’s not… like Tajima.”
“Yes,” Tobirama sighed, “he is more of a threat.”
“He is a good man.”
“He is a monster,” Tobirama said, looking back.
The incense smoked leisurely, the foggy ribbons curling in the air. Ever since his sharingan manifested, Madara made an abrupt change. He lived and breathed war, nothing of the past Hashirama still clung onto remained. They were far too different now, while Hashirama got rooted in his naïve immaturity, Madara came out of stasis as if he belonged to holometabolous species, but not a butterfly, no, something more disturbing and disgusting, like a snakefly, a stylops, or a wasp.
Tobirama had never before seen a man cut down his own with an indifference like that.
“You are quick to judge,” Hashirama sighed. “If a demon can love, can a monster not?”
“Where is that coming from?” Tobirama squinted at him, “Are you implying we are similar?”
“I didn’t say that,” Hashirama grinned. “Do you actually like the name they gave you?”
Tobirama blanched. “Never thought I would hit you on such a grievous day.”
“I’m sorry!” Hashirama whined, cowering dramatically and covering his head with his hands. “But you have to admit, it is quite impressive!” he yelped as Tobirama kicked him in the shin instead. “Stop that, stop that! I am your older brother!”
“You are a nuisance over my head!” Tobirama gritted out, slapping him on the forehead when there was an opening. Hashirama yelped again. “You suppose our enemy will just go and what, shake your hand?!”
“Yes!” Hashirama grinned up at him as the assault ceased. “Mark my words, we will have a peace treaty soon!”
“Anija,” Tobirama sighed, a small smile tugging at his lips, “you are so hopeless I wonder at times what you would do without me.”
“Ehh?” Hashirama pouted. “Why would you want to leave me, Tobi? Who will meet father with me when he comes back on Obon? We are meant to make shoryo uma for him! I’ve planted the eggplants already!”
“The eggplants,” Tobirama scoffed. “They should have been cucumbers first.”
“Well, it’s not too late yet,” Hashirama grinned again. “I mean, I’ve just thought about the return first!”
“Sounds like you don’t want to see him all that much,” Tobirama snorted.
“Well,” Hashirama coughed into his fist, “I’m grateful for the opportunity.”
“Opportunity,” Tobirama sighed. “You really believe Madara is a good man.”
“Of course,” Hashirama smiled. “I do believe in my friend.” He then shuffled closer, nudging Tobirama with his shoulder. “And I believe you will too. Eventually. We will have the treaty soon.”
“Yes,” Tobirama scoffed. “I will sooner eat my own tabi. No, if that ever happens, I will discard my name. And forsake the Senju altogether.”
“Whaaat? Tobiiii,” Hashirama whined, throwing his arms around Tobirama and pulling him against his own chest. “Why would you say that?”
“The clan will be betraying my ideals,” Tobirama struggled, trying to push him away, “colluding with the enemy like that.”
“But we won’t be enemies anymore?” Hashirama sobbed, embracing him even tighter until the resistance ceased altogether.
“Your idealism will be our downfall, Anija,” Tobirama sighed, settling. “I will not take part in it, mark my words.”
“I wish you stood by it,” he could clearly hear the smile in Hashirama’s voice, “but really, your heart is far too soft.”
Tobirama bristled, starting to struggle again. “I’ll show you, you disgrace! Release me this instance, so I can hit you again!”
“Ow-ow-ow-ow!”
Madara rejected every single offer Hashirama had made. The war trudged on.
It took them eight years to get where they got.
***
They arrived back at the household way later, eyes secured and remains disposed of. Everything was deathly quiet, as if nobody was at home, not a single candle lit along the corridor, so they went straight for Madara’s chambers since Tobirama was sure he could use some help with his bandages being changed. He set the scroll on a cabinet closest to the door and went to help Madara with his wounds.
“I’m sorry,” Tobirama said to keep the quiet away.
“Don’t be,” Madara scoffed. “I knew it was coming.”
“Do you regret it?” Tobirama asked cautiously, trying to be mindful of his tone.
“No,” Madara sighed, anger still lingering on his features. “They chose their path. There is a shepherd to this herd however, and I regret not wrangling his neck before push came to shove,” he huffed indignantly. It was undeniably hard to face the reality of having to cut down his own, but Madara had clearly regarded it as a necessity and nothing more at this point. Perhaps he thought he didn’t have the time to mourn. Perhaps he wanted to ensure nobody ever did, not even himself, the way he promised them.
Tobirama was so wrong about him in that regard. Indifference it was not. Only numbness, perhaps.
“So you are going to rectify that now,” Tobirama stated matter-of-factly. He thought he figured Madara out by this point.
“Absolutely,” Madara narrowed his eyes. “And I will do it with proper decorum, the way those bastards always nag that I should.”
A small lopsided smile crept on Tobirama’s face. He tried to rake it in unsuccessfully.
“What, don’t believe me?” Madara’s smirk almost perfectly matched Tobirama’s own.
“Not at all. It’s just that I doubt even murder could be motivation enough for you to don a formal attire voluntarily,” Tobirama laughed. This bond that they’ve built made him feel all types of ways lately. Madara stared at him with that odd expression he got often recently, forcing Tobirama to choke with embarrassment.
They’ve sat a while longer, until Tobirama finished with the bandages. It was a clean work, as since he wasn’t a natural healer the way his Anija was, he had to study medical arts thoroughly to be able to get from the missions in one piece. When the last knot was set in place, Tobirama huffed and dusted off his hands.
“Here you go,” he said while getting up, “Now you will only need those swapped daily until it starts to heal properly.” Tobirama glanced around the room one last time and turned to retreat to the annex, “If you will excuse me.”
“Stay,” Madara said, getting up as well.
Tobirama startled, confusion overcoming him quickly, “But I am done with the bandages?”
“I know,” Madara nodded while shortening the distance between them.
“Is there anything else you need me for?” There had to be reason for the delay, of course. Tobirama couldn’t stay just because.
“There’s something I’ve wished to tell you for some time now,” Madara stopped directly in front of him, his gaze turning heavy and intense.
Tobirama quirked his brow inquisitively, slight unease creeping over him. Couldn’t it have been any other time a bit sooner or a bit later? He didn’t get any younger standing here and waiting for obscure and not at all ominous ‘we-need-to-talk’ conversations. It was also far along into the night.
And then he felt extremely, utterly underprepared when Madara said bluntly, “I am in love with you.”