Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

For a moment, Tobirama is sure he’s dead. The Gold and Silver brothers had torn into him with such force that his body doesn’t even feel whole anymore. But still, he lingers here—somewhere in between. Is this what death feels like? The thought circles in his mind as flashes of his life flicker past like a fast-moving slideshow. But one thought keeps him grounded: his sacrifice gave them enough time. His escort team should be back in Konoha by now. The mission should be complete.

The pain fades into the background when a familiar voice cuts through the fog. Elder Kazuto. That voice grates on him like nails on stone, dragging him back to memories he'd rather forget.

“I’m sure our honorable Clan Head means well,” Kazuto says, voice slow and deliberate, “but choosing not to strike back at the Uchiha dishonors those we’ve lost.” Every word is laced with pressure, that old push to turn him against his brother’s peaceful ways.

The words twist in his mind, but Tobirama’s focus shifts to another memory. He knows this conversation. Or rather, he remembers what happened during it. He’d always had his doubts about Kazuto, but now, as the memory replays, the truth hits him harder than any blade: Kazuto had stalled him on purpose.

There was never any proof. Not even Hashirama had believed him. But Tobirama had known—with cold, unshakable certainty—that Kazuto had been trying to keep him there. That same day, Haruki and Kaede had died.

If only he hadn’t stayed... If only he’d gone home... If only.

But he had stayed. Kazuto had kept him locked in pointless talk, and Tobirama hadn’t noticed the warning signs. The strange way Kazuto had acted. The way he wouldn’t let him leave.

Now, it’s all clear. Usami—his housekeeper, Kazuto’s granddaughter—must have known his kids had slipped out of the backyard. She should’ve come to Tobirama. Instead, she went to her grandfather. And Kazuto… he chose to delay him.

By the time Tobirama found out, it was already too late. The search had been agonizing, but deep down he’d known the outcome when he couldn’t sense their chakra anywhere. It had taken eight teams the whole night to find the bodies, or what remained of them.

The memory crashes over him like a tidal wave, and with it comes a fury that burns hot and deep.

“Are you even listening, Tobirama-sama?” Kazuto’s voice breaks in again, annoyed now. His frown tightens. His chakra flares with irritation—but there’s a flicker of fear.

Tobirama doesn’t remember him saying that. Or sounding so impatient.

He blinks, his focus snapping back. This isn’t death. It’s not a dream.

He pinches his forearm, hard. Pain shoots through him. Real. This is real.

Tobirama stretches out with his senses, reaching for chakra in the distance—and finds it. Haruki and Kaede. South, near the border. They’re alive. But the Kurama—the ones who killed them—are there too. Close.

Everything sharpens. Time seems to stop.

“This will have consequences,” he mutters through clenched teeth, planting a hiraishin marker on the doorframe. The cool surface under his fingers contrasts with the heat of his rage. For a second, he catches the flicker in Kazuto’s chakra. The elder gasps, his mask slipping.

Tobirama doesn’t wait for whatever excuse Kazuto is about to give. He hurls himself through the window, ignoring the shout behind him. There’s no time to grab weapons or armor. His kids need him. Now.

He feels their chakra clearly—panicked, afraid. They’ve run into the Kurama.

His heart slams in his chest as he pushes his body to its limit. Muscles scream in protest, but he doesn’t care. Nothing matters but reaching them in time.

Their fear spikes—sharp, frantic. It drives him faster. He forces his legs to move, harder and harder, until it feels like his body might fall apart. He remembers that night, the one where he was too late.

Not this time.

Every breath burns. Every step jolts through his bones. The world around him blurs, but all he sees is the flicker of their chakra—two small lights in the dark.

Pain fades away. Desperation and fury take its place. Hashirama can patch him up later. Right now, his only focus is getting to his children. This time, he swears, he’ll make it.

When Tobirama arrives, time slows to a crawl. His eyes scan the area with practiced precision, but his chest tightens with fear.

Haruki lies crumpled on the ground, soaked in blood. There’s too much red. It’s a nightmare. But Tobirama can still sense a faint thread of chakra—his son is alive. Barely. The blood loss is terrible. He needs help now.

Kaede is beside him, shaking, but not hurt. Not physically, at least. Her clothes are ripped, stained with blood—but not hers. Thank the gods. Her long chestnut colored hair has been chopped off, hacked unevenly above her shoulders. Normally, that would stand out. Right now, it means nothing.

What matters is the look in her eyes—wide, wet with tears, frozen in fear. She kneels beside her brother, hands trembling, body rigid with shock.

She’s staring at the Kurama who attacked them.

Does she think Haruki is already gone?

One of the Kurama lifts his sword, and something inside Tobirama snaps.

A cold, furious rage floods through him, wiping away all logic. They’re going to pay. Everything else disappears—there’s only one goal now: destroy them. He doesn’t think about what this will cost. The consequences vanish like smoke in the wind.

His hands move almost on their own, forming the seals for a jutsu he hasn’t used since its creation. His fingers are steady, precise. The jutsu is deadly, outlawed by his brother—but he doesn’t care.

His chakra flares violently. Then, without hesitation, he rips the water from the Kurama' bodies, pulling it straight from their blood. It happens in an instant—a gruesome, wet explosion. Their bodies tear apart, shredded by the very fluid that kept them alive. Blood rains down in thick splashes, covering the ground—and soaking their clothes.

For a second, the world is completely still.

Tobirama exhales. The weight of what he’s done crashes down on him. Hashirama’s going to be disappointed—but right now, he couldn’t care less. He looks at Kaede.

She hasn’t moved.

Her eyes are wide and frozen. The horror of what she just saw has locked her in place. Her small body trembles so hard it looks like she might break apart.

“Kaede,” Tobirama says gently, softer than he usually speaks. He’s trying to bring her back, to let her know it’s over.

She flinches, like she didn’t even realize he was there. When she finally turns her head toward him, her eyes look empty, distant. She tries to stand, but her legs give out. She crumples back to the ground, too shaken to hold herself up.

Tobirama doesn’t waste a second. He rushes to the children and kneels between them, pulling them both into his arms. Haruki’s breathing is faint and uneven. Kaede shakes uncontrollably, her shock setting in hard.

He cradles them both close, one arm around each of them. His hand gently cups Kaede’s cheek, shielding her from the blood and gore. His fingers comb softly through her jagged, uneven hair. “It’s over,” he whispers. “It’s all over.”

Then, without hesitation, he activates his Hiraishin. The world twists around them—and they vanish from the battlefield.

They reappear inside the council chamber. The sudden arrival sends a wave of gasps and startled cries through the room.

“Tobirama!” Hashirama’s voice is a mix of panic and confusion, but Tobirama ignores it.

“Heal him!” Tobirama snaps. His voice is sharp, almost a command, as he lays Haruki’s limp body at his brother’s feet. He doesn’t care about formalities. There’s no time.

Hashirama reacts instantly. His chakra flares as he drops to his knees beside Haruki. His face shifts from shock to intense focus. He lets out a sharp breath when he sees the injuries, but his hands start to glow green with healing chakra right away.

Tobirama watches every move as Hashirama works. Slowly, the wounds begin to close. Skin knits together. The bleeding slows. Relief floods through him—Haruki’s going to live.

With Haruki in Hashirama’s care, Tobirama turns to Kaede. He already knows she’s not seriously hurt—just scraped and bruised. Nothing dangerous. But her fear is overwhelming.

“Shhh,” he murmurs, pulling her close again as she clings to him. “It’s okay now. You’re safe.”

His voice finally seems to get through. Her tense little body softens slightly, and she collapses against him. She wraps her arms around him tightly, burying her face in his chest. Her sobs come fast and hard, shaking her entire frame. Each one cuts deep.

Tobirama holds her close, protectively, his arms wrapped tightly around her. “You’re alright,” he murmurs. “We’re home. No one can hurt you here.” He kisses the top of her head gently. Her hands fist into his clothes, and her tears soak through the fabric.

Around them, the council begins to stir, reacting to the scene, but Tobirama pays them no mind. His world is narrowed to just Kaede and Haruki. They’re alive. That’s all that matters.

“I’m sorry,” Kaede sobs against his chest, her small body shaking. Her voice is broken and barely audible, but he hears every word. “Usami-san said you’d be busy until evening. We were hungry. Uncle Hashi always brings us yummy berries. We finished our chores, so we went to the forest to pick some.”

Tobirama’s stomach drops.

The forest.

His mind jumps to every possible danger—the predators, the poisonous plants, the traps. He pulls Kaede back from his chest, gripping her shoulders gently but firmly. His red eyes search hers, filled with quiet panic.

“Did you or Haruki eat anything from the forest?” he asks quickly, his voice tight. He’s never taught them which plants are safe. If they ate something toxic...

The thought makes his blood run cold.

Chapter Text

Kaede looks up at him, eyes wide and shiny with tears, and shakes her head. Her voice is small. “We didn’t find any berries.”

Tobirama lets out a deep, shaky breath, relief crashing through him. For the first time since arriving in the past, the tight pressure in his chest eases—just a little. They didn’t eat anything. He’s still on edge, but at least that particular danger has been avoided.

“It’s the wrong season,” he says, his voice gentler now as he tries to keep things calm. “It might feel warm today, but it’s still only March. Berries don’t grow until May.”

Kaede blinks up at him, her expression puzzled. Her eyes shift to Hashirama, as if she’s checking whether that’s really true. Her brow scrunches in thought.

Tobirama watches her for a moment, and then the realization hits him. A soft chuckle escapes before he can stop it, surprising even himself. Of course. “Uncle Hashi doesn’t go into the forest to pick berries,” Tobirama explains with a small smile. “He grows them with Mokuton. So the season doesn’t matter for him.”

“Oh…” Kaede breathes out, eyes going wide again, this time with wonder. It’s as if that one simple answer has flipped her understanding of the world. She stares at Hashirama with open awe.

Tobirama reaches out and ruffles her hair. His fingers run gently through her uneven strands. For a second, the heaviness of the day lifts. He’s just glad she’s distracted, even briefly, from what they’ve been through. But then, as his hand stills, something she said sticks in his mind. Doubt creeps in.

“What chores did you do?” he asks softly, his voice calm and careful. He doesn’t remember giving them any, but this day happened a long time ago for him—decades. Could he be remembering it wrong? Maybe. But something about what she said feels... off.

“We washed the engawas,” Kaede replies proudly, her voice still small but steady, like she wants him to know she was being helpful.

Tobirama’s brow furrows. His thoughts start connecting.

Both engawas?

Their house isn’t small. It’s the Clan Head’s estate—a big, traditional home most would call a mansion. It’s two stories high, with long wooden engawas that run around much of the house. On one side, they face wide gardens. In the center, there’s a tsubo-niwa where Hashirama keeps his bonsai trees. The house is beautiful, full of tatami rooms and long hallways that seem to stretch forever. Cleaning it takes time. Even just the engawas would take hours.

That’s why they hired Usami. She was in charge of keeping the place clean while Tobirama and Hashirama were busy with clan matters. The kids were never meant to clean such large areas. The idea that they were asked to wash the engawas doesn’t make sense.

If Kaede had said they cleaned their rooms or did the dishes after breakfast, he wouldn’t have questioned it. He taught them to be responsible for their own messes. They might even think of it as a chore. But cleaning both engawas? That was Usami’s job.

A cold suspicion starts to build in Tobirama’s mind. His eyes sharpen. His heart beats faster, that deep need to protect rising strong. Why would Usami make them do that?

He studies Kaede’s face again, this time with a different kind of focus. Not because he doubts her—but because he’s growing more certain that something is seriously wrong.

“Who told you to wash the engawas?” he asks, his voice calm but firm. He doesn’t want to scare her.

“Usami-san,” Kaede answers right away.

Tobirama’s suspicions settle into something solid. His mind starts turning fast, each thought heavier than the last. Why would Usami give them chores that big? Why keep them busy like that? What was she doing while they worked? His thoughts flash back to that conversation with Elder Kazuto—the way the elder had tried to stall him. Was that part of this?

The sense of betrayal sinks in deeper. He keeps his expression steady for Kaede’s sake, but inside, things are falling into place. Something’s not right. Something dark is going on here. And he should’ve seen it sooner.

His frown deepens as another detail catches him off guard. His thoughts feel scrambled, uneasy. “Why didn’t you ask Usami for a snack or an early lunch?” he asks. His tone stays level, but the suspicion is clear. It would’ve made sense. There were always leftovers in the kitchen, kept fresh with his food preservation seals. If they were hungry, they could have just eaten that. Sneaking out to pick berries didn’t make sense.

Kaede answers simply, not realizing how hard her words hit. “Usami-san doesn’t make us food.”

Tobirama freezes. What?

His mind stalls, stunned. For a second, he thinks he must have heard her wrong. His sharp senses feel dulled by the shock. Maybe Usami was just lazy, skipping cooking duties and using the money Tobirama gave her for groceries to buy pre-made meals instead. But deep down, he knows that’s not it. This is worse.

He pushes his anger down and forces himself to ask the next question.

“Has Usami ever cooked for you?” he asks, voice low and tight with barely held fury. His hands tense slightly on Kaede’s small shoulders, but he’s careful not to hurt her. “What do you eat for lunch or dinner when I don’t make it home in time?”

Kaede’s answer is quiet, but it cuts through him like a blade. “We don’t.”

The words echo in his mind—We don’t. Over and over, louder each time, until Tobirama’s whole body is shaking with barely restrained fury. For months, this woman—Usami—had been trusted to care for his family, the people he loved most. And she left them to starve. She abandoned them the moment his back was turned.

How dare she?

If his legs were steady—if Kaede weren’t curled up in his lap—Tobirama knows he’d already be halfway out the door, hunting Usami down. He’d tear her apart with his bare hands if he had to. His chakra lashes out, fierce and violent, making the air shudder around them.

But he doesn’t move. Not yet. Kaede is still trembling in his arms, and for her sake, he holds himself back.

Instead, he clenches his jaw and turns his rage into something cold and sharp. His voice is flat, emotionless, when he speaks. “Touka.”

He doesn’t need to look. He already knows she’s in the room—her chakra steady and close. As head of clan security, she’s rarely far. His senses lock on her presence, his intent clear even before the words leave his mouth.

“Arrest Usami and anyone tied to her. Top security cells. No visitors. Around-the-clock watch.”

The order lands like a strike, hard and final. The room falls quiet, tension pulling tight like a drawn bowstring. Uneasy glances pass between the others. Elder Kazuto, his face already tight with unease, starts to speak.

But Touka cuts him off. “What’s the charge?” she asks, calm and steady, though Tobirama doesn’t miss the flicker of suspicion in her gaze.

“Treason,” he says. His voice is like a blade—cold, clear, and absolute. There’s no doubt in him now. The truth has sunk into his bones.

Kazuto explodes with outrage, chakra flaring. “How dare you?! I would never—!”

Tobirama turns his gaze on him, ice-cold and disgusted. “If you didn’t know what your granddaughter was doing, you wouldn’t have stopped me from going home during the break,” he says, voice low and sharp. “Tell me, honored elder—if I’d made it home, what would I have found? Aside from my children gone?”

He closes his eyes for a second and stretches his senses. Usami is gone from the house, as he expected. But the place where he finds her… makes his fury flare even hotter.

Kazuto is still ranting, voice rising, but Tobirama’s done listening. His attention shifts back to Touka. His words are quiet but land like thunder.

“Expand the investigation to Kayama and anyone he’s close to. Usami is having sex with him. She’s at his house right now.”

The room goes completely still. For a breath, no one speaks. Elder Kazuto flinches visibly, his reaction betraying his guilt. The old man had known, and still, he allowed this woman to remain within their household, to care for his children, all while betraying their trust.

Whispers start to ripple through the room, hushed but fast-growing. Kayama—engaged to another—at the center of it all. A scandal, spreading like fire, dragging more names into the mess. Tobirama watches it unfold with cool detachment. His anger hasn’t lessened—just settled into something harder. Colder.

Touka doesn’t hesitate. She salutes him with crisp precision, then turns to the guards. A quick signal, and they close in on Elder Kazuto. His protests ring out as he’s pulled away, chakra flaring in weak, angry bursts. But it’s too late. Nothing he says will stop what’s coming.

Tobirama braces for Hashirama to step in. To stop him. To give mercy to people who don’t deserve it. His brother is kind—too kind—especially when it comes to family and clan or a certain Uchiha. But to Tobirama’s surprise, Hashirama stays quiet. His head is bowed, shoulders stiff, expression unreadable.

The silence is unsettling. Tobirama glances at him, uneasy.

That’s when he feels it—just in time.

Hashirama’s chakra shifts. Sorrow first, deep and aching… and then, resolve. Dangerous, focused resolve. Tobirama’s instincts take over. He summons a water barrier in an instant—just fast enough to block Hashirama from slicing Haruki’s carotid artery.

Chapter Text

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Tobirama’s voice is low and dangerous. The words cut through the heavy silence like a knife, and Tobirama feels the jolt of Hashirama’s chakra, sharp with surprise. His brother— the God of Shinobi—flinches. That split-second hesitation is all Tobirama needs.

He drops the water barrier in one smooth motion and, for the second time since he arrived in the past, forms the seals for a jutsu he’s sworn never to use.

Hashirama had forbidden him from using it, but Tobirama knows its limits better than anyone. He can stop the flow of blood without killing. If he wants to.

He doesn’t pull the water out—doing that could be lethal, though honestly, with Hashirama’s absurd healing abilities, who knows? Hashirama might be just fine. Still, Tobirama isn’t taking that risk today. He directs his chakra with exact precision, targeting just one area. Blood stops flowing in Hashirama’s right hand. The kunai slips from his fingers and hits the floor with a sharp clang, the sound jarring in the sudden quiet.

Hashirama stares at him, shocked. Not because of pain—his hand has gone numb—but because he recognizes the jutsu. There’s horror in his eyes, but no fear. He knows what Tobirama just did, and yet he doesn't fight back. He doesn’t even try to break free, despite the fact that he could—easily. The trust in his eyes is overwhelming, almost maddening.

Tobirama releases the jutsu. His arms drop to his sides, but his face stays cold, unreadable. “I asked you a question,” he says, his voice like ice.

Hashirama’s answer is barely a whisper, full of a kind of grief Tobirama rarely hears from him. “You don’t understand.” His eyes shine with unshed tears. “Haruki’s been put under the Kurama’s genjutsu.”

The words hit Tobirama like a blow to the chest. Kurama genjutsu. His heart stutters as the weight of it sinks in. That technique is feared throughout the Fire Country—not just for the damage it causes, but because once you're trapped in it, there’s almost no way out. Normal methods—injecting chakra to disrupt the illusion—don’t work at all.

His thoughts race. He’s heard the stories—people driven mad, left to suffer until death became mercy. Most clans kill the victims outright, unable to help them. Only the Uchiha, with their Sharingan, have ever broken the curse. And even then, only the most skilled ones.

A grim determination begins to settle in him, but Hashirama’s voice pulls him back.

“There’s no cure—” his brother starts, but Tobirama cuts him off sharply.

“There is,” he snaps. “The Mangekyo Sharingan.”

Hashirama blinks, hope flickering in his chakra. “The what?” he asks, stunned.

Tobirama doesn’t hesitate. He remembers now—something Hikaku once told him. “The Mangekyo Sharingan. It can release the Kurama’s genjutsu. Madara and Izuna use it—it’s that strange pattern in their eyes.”

The room seems to go still, like the air’s been sucked out. Hashirama stares at him, unreadable, caught between hope and disbelief. His chakra trembles.

“Are you sure?” he asks quietly. It’s not just a question—it’s a plea.

“Yes,” Tobirama replies, steady and sure. There’s no doubt in his tone.

Hashirama breathes out slowly, nods once. “Alright. I’ll write to Madara.”

“No,” Tobirama says instantly, already planning ten steps ahead. “Send him a mission request. Offer him 2 million ryo, 35 reusable long-term preservation scrolls, and two medical ninjutsu of his choosing—if they cure a five-year-old from the Kurama’s genjutsu.”

Hashirama stares at him, dumbfounded. “That’s… very generous…”

Tobirama doesn’t flinch. He knows exactly what he’s doing. “Madara won’t refuse such an offer. It gives the Uchiha an advantage, yes, but that won’t matter.” He pauses, calculating every possible outcome. “If we get Haruki back, I’ll ensure the Uchiha sign at least a ceasefire contract. One way or another, I’ll make sure of it.”

Hashirama wavers, torn. The weight of the war presses on his shoulders. Tobirama can feel the sadness in his brother’s chakra before it hardens into resolve. The plan is risky, giving the Uchiha a boost in the middle of the conflict could tip the scales in their favor, but Tobirama has no intention of letting that happen.

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” Tobirama says, firm, unwavering. He’s already thinking about every angle. It doesn’t matter if he has to guilt Madara, or even injure Izuna to leverage treatment. Tobirama won’t hesitate.

Hashirama, for all his warmth and idealism, doesn’t fully understand how far Tobirama is willing to go. But it doesn’t matter. He nods slowly, still shaken, but aware that this is their best—and only—option.

Tobirama’s mind is already far ahead. He’s certain: Madara will cure Haruki.

And after that, Tobirama will end the war—on his own terms.

His eyes sharpen when Elder Hideki speaks up, voice uncertain. “What if he refuses?”

The air in the room feels heavy, thick with tension and the weight of what might come next. Tobirama locks eyes with Hideki, his expression calm and unblinking. The chill of his chakra stands in stark contrast to the nervous energy radiating off the elder. “Madara should be intelligent enough to understand that refusal isn’t actually an option,” Tobirama says, his voice calm and controlled. “He has two choices. One: he accepts the mission, heals Haruki, and gets paid. Two: he refuses—and I’ll track down Izuna and bring him here to force him to do it.”

The silence that follows is thick and oppressive. His words hang in the air like a threat no one dares to acknowledge. Even Hashirama’s chakra flickers with unease, though he doesn’t speak. Tobirama senses the doubt in the room, the silent conflict between doing what’s right and doing what’s necessary.

It’s Hashirama who finally speaks, his tone uncertain but curious. “Just out of curiosity, how do you plan to achieve option two?”

Tobirama doesn’t hesitate. His voice is flat, clinical. “The Uchiha honor marriage hunts. I’m sure mother wouldn’t have minded if I use her marriage rope.” He feels a flicker of emotion at the mention of their mother—a rare and painful memory—but pushes it away. “All I need to do is demand the right vows, catch Izuna, and he’ll be honor-bound to cure Haruki.

As he lays out the plan, Tobirama expands his senses, reaching for the faint traces of Izuna’s chakra. A small, humorless smile touches his lips. “For your information, Izuna is currently on his way back from Wind Country with Uchiha Hikaku. They’re tired, nearly out of chakra, and judging by their slow pace, at least one of them is injured.”

Hashirama’s chakra spikes briefly as realization dawns. “He wouldn’t stand a chance,” he murmurs, accepting the truth. There’s no defiance in his voice, only resignation. And that lack of resistance tells Tobirama how serious things have become.

Hashirama frowns but, surprisingly, doesn’t argue. Tobirama expected him to protest—to speak about morality, or the sanctity of life—but instead, he turns to an empty scroll. His hand trembles slightly as he starts to write. Tobirama notices the shake, subtle but telling. Hashirama still holds out hope that Madara will choose the right path—that the friend he once knew is still in there somewhere.

But Tobirama doesn’t share that hope. He never knew Madara before war shaped him into who he is now. He knows only the hardened version of the man, forged by loss and pain. There’s no room for hope in Tobirama’s calculations. But for the moment, he trusts his brother’s judgment.

Once the ink dries, Hashirama rolls the scroll, seals it, and summons a small bird. It takes off right away, heading toward Madara. “It should reach him in a couple of hours,” Hashirama says softly, as if trying to convince himself. Then he turns to the elders, his voice regaining its command. “I think we can all agree it’s best to postpone the rest of this meeting until next week.”

The elders bow and leave one by one, silent and wary. Tobirama watches them go, picking up on the unease that clings to their chakra. He knows what they’re thinking—he sees the fear and doubt in the way they avoid looking at him—but he doesn’t care. All that matters now are Kaede and Haruki, and the political game he’s just set in motion.

Once the room is empty—only him, Hashirama, and the children remain—Tobirama finally lets himself relax a little. His legs throb, the effort from earlier finally catching up to him. The ache isn’t sharp, but it’s constant, a dull reminder of everything that’s happened today.

He turns to his brother. “Can you take a look at my legs? I strained them trying to reach Kaede and Haruki in time,” he says, the exhaustion creeping into his voice. He’s running on fumes—mentally and physically. The weight of every decision is starting to show. “You also might want to send someone trustworthy to clean up after me…”

Hashirama raises an eyebrow, his chakra brushing against Tobirama’s in mild concern—but he says nothing about the forbidden jutsu. No lecture, no disappointment. Just quiet understanding. He kneels beside Tobirama and lets healing chakra seep into his legs. The effect is immediate—warmth spreads through sore muscles, pain easing as relief takes over. Tobirama exhales, unaware until now that he’d been holding his breath.

---

A few hours later, Tobirama and Hashirama sit on the engawa. The backyard is quiet beneath them as night settles in. Haruki, still unconscious from the genjutsu, lies upstairs in his room. Tobirama has placed seals around the house, each carefully tuned to alert him at the first sign of change in his son's condition.

Kaede rests in Tobirama’s lap, her small body curled against his chest, her face hidden in his robes. Her tears have stopped, but she hasn’t fully calmed. Her chakra still trembles with leftover fear and confusion. He gently runs a hand through her short chestnut colored hair—freshly washed and neatly trimmed, thanks to Hashirama’s careful hands. Seeing her like this—vulnerable but still brave—hits him in a way he can’t quite explain.

The silence between the brothers stretches, heavy with things unsaid. Eventually, Hashirama speaks, his voice low and full of disbelief. “I can’t believe Usami would betray our trust like that.”

Tobirama’s eyes narrow slightly, his jaw tight as he takes in the words. “Not just her,” he says, his tone matching Hashirama’s. “Elder Kazuto knew. He tried to stop me from checking on my children. If I hadn’t noticed how strangely he approached me—hadn’t used my sensing—”

His chakra flares for a moment, a sign of the anger simmering under his calm surface. He remembers the way Kazuto’s behavior had shifted: the hesitation, the guilt in his chakra. Tobirama had felt all of it. How dare they. How dare they betray his family.

Hashirama sighs, his chakra heavy with sorrow and conflict. “Still, don’t you think accusing everyone of treason was a bit much?”

Tobirama frowns, irritation flickering through his chakra. Hashirama’s hesitation has always been a problem. “Usami didn’t just make a mistake. She stole from us for months. She starved Haruki and Kaede, made them do her work.” His voice sharpens, cutting through the quiet. “If we don’t take serious action—if we look weak—no one will take us seriously again. You might want to be a kind clan head, but this is bigger than that. We need to set an example. The clan has to know that there are consequences.”

He senses Hashirama’s chakra shift, unease creeping in. “What if we’ve arrested someone innocent?” Hashirama asks quietly, as if hoping for comfort.

“Everyone will get a fair trial,” Tobirama says firmly. “I suggest we make the investigation and the trials public. That’ll put pressure on the guilty, and it’ll clear the innocent.”

Hashirama hums, clearly still unsure. His chakra ripples with hesitation. “I suppose… but still…”

Tobirama’s patience thins. “If you want your dream with Madara to come true, you need to take control. You’re the clan head. You make the calls. The council is there to guide you—not control you.”

Hashirama’s chakra flares with surprise, and Tobirama catches the flicker of hope beneath it. Hashirama turns to him, eyes wide. “Does this mean you want peace, too?”

Tobirama meets his gaze, his voice calmer now. “I want this senseless war to end.” He pauses, thinking. “The best way to make this happen is to convince your childhood friend to enter ceasefire negotiations. Once we have a peace treaty, we intertwine our trade—so much that we’re dependent on each other. No one would dare to restart the war after that.”

Hashirama blinks, clearly not expecting such a practical plan. Then, to Tobirama’s slight annoyance, he starts chuckling. “Sounds like a plan,” he says, and his chakra lightens.

Tobirama’s frown deepens. “Just don’t start talking about merging our clans into a shared village too quickly. You’re rushing things, skipping crucial steps. That’s why Madara refused your offer before.”

Hashirama pouts like a scolded child, his chakra swirling with playful frustration. “But—”

“I’m not saying give up on your dream,” Tobirama interrupts. “Just slow down. Baby steps. Start with a ceasefire. Then trade—spices, dyes, things that aren’t useful for war. Don’t jump to metalwork or weapons. It’ll take time, but Madara will eventually agree. It’s his dream, too.”

Hashirama’s chakra shifts again, this time more thoughtful. “You really think so?”

Tobirama nods, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “The reason he said no before isn’t because he doesn’t want peace. He hesitates, doesn’t he? That means part of him wants to say yes. You just ask for too much. Ask for less next time and see what happens. I’ll deal with Izuna—keep him from getting in Madara’s ear.”

A plan begins to take shape in Tobirama’s mind, as precise and layered as any jutsu. He could beat Izuna in a fight, prove he’s stronger, but choose not to kill him. Or maybe he could catch Izuna off-guard—tired and fresh from a mission—and force a conversation. There are plenty of ways to handle the younger Uchiha.

Just as the thoughts settle, Hashirama winces beside him. His chakra dips, grief sweeping over him. “Madara just burnt the scroll.”

Tobirama closes his eyes, letting the news sink in like cold water. When he opens them, his focus is razor sharp. “I see,” he says quietly. “Then I’ll go catch my spouse.”

Hashirama takes Kaede gently from his arms, worry in his expression. “Please, be careful.”

Tobirama stands, his chakra steady and sharp. “Prepare for our arrival. I won’t be long.”

Chapter Text

Izuna’s heart drops into his stomach the moment he sees Senju Tobirama waiting for them at the edge of the forest. They’re still hours away from Uchiha territory, even if they weren’t moving painfully slow due to exhaustion and injuries. He curses his broken ankle. It’s over. They don’t stand a chance. Both of them are running on fumes, and in this condition, being two against one means nothing.

Panic creeps up his throat, but he shoves it down, forcing his mind to search for a way out. He’s just beginning to consider what a last stand might look like when Tobirama speaks.

“Uchiha Izuna,” Tobirama’s voice carries, calm and formal, “I hereby declare a marriage hunt.”

Izuna freezes. The words hit like a punch to the gut. For a second, his brain struggles to catch up. Did Tobirama really just say that? He blinks, stunned, trying to make sense of it.

Beside him, Hikaku drops his katana, eyes wide in shock. Izuna barely manages to stay composed, but confusion seeps into his voice as he stammers, “I beg your pardon?”

Tobirama, as calm and unreadable as ever, raises an eyebrow. “You heard me correctly.”

Izuna’s mind races. How did the Senju find them? And how in the world does Tobirama know about the marriage hunt? It’s one of the Uchiha’s most closely guarded traditions. The idea of Tobirama even being aware of it—let alone using it—is unreal. But even worse is the question gnawing at him: how did Tobirama know about that?

That part—the secret Izuna’s never spoken aloud, the attraction he’s tried so hard to bury. Not even Madara knows. It’s dangerous, shameful, something he swore to take to his grave. Tobirama may be cursed with those blessed red eyes, that deadly grace that draws Izuna’s gaze, but he’s still a Senju. An enemy. There’s no room for anything else. No room for admiration, no matter how strong or skilled Tobirama is.

And yet, instead of a blade, Tobirama offers a marriage hunt.

“If you have anything you’d like Hikaku-san to take back to the Uchiha compound,” Tobirama says, unaffected by Izuna’s inner turmoil, “now would be the time to hand it to him.”

Izuna glances down at his ankle, swollen and aching. He can’t run. Maybe he could limp a few steps before Tobirama caught him—but even that feels unlikely. And Tobirama doesn’t look like he plans to give chase. He’ll let Hikaku go. He’s always been honorable like that.

Izuna exhales, frustration bubbling up in his chest. “Go ahead,” he tells Hikaku, voice low and resigned. “Tell nii-san I love him.”

For a second, it looks like Hikaku might argue. Izuna sees the hesitation in his cousin’s eyes. But Hikaku nods, quietly understanding, and picks up Izuna’s bag, money, and weapons. He steps back, clearly reluctant to leave.

Izuna almost wishes he’d just go. Being seen like this is bad enough. But there’s no time to dwell on it—Tobirama is already moving toward him, slowly, calmly, pulling the marriage rope from inside his coat. He walks with the quiet confidence of someone who knows exactly how this will end.

Izuna’s stomach twists. He wants to yell, to tell Tobirama that he doesn’t want this, that he won’t accept a marriage rooted in duty or strategy—one with a man he’s supposed to hate. But the words won’t come. It’s too late. The declaration’s been made. There’s no undoing the marriage hunt. The only escape is to run, and Izuna can’t do that.

By staying, he’s already accepted what’s coming. He could try to fight, throw what little chakra he has left into a last stand—but he knows how that would end. Tobirama is stronger right now. They both know it. Dragging this out would only delay the inevitable.

So instead, Izuna does something else. He looks Tobirama in the eyes, refusing to flinch or flee.

Tobirama’s eyes widen—just slightly—before he glances down at Izuna’s ankle. And then his expression shifts. He understands. Izuna isn’t resisting. He’s chosen to stand his ground and face it head-on.

Izuna clenches his fists, furious. He wants to stab Tobirama—just once. Nothing fatal; marriage hunts forbid killing. But enough to make a point. Enough to feel like he has some control over this mess. Too bad he gave all his weapons to Hikaku.

Tobirama takes his hand, voice even as he begins the ritual. He wraps the rope around their wrists, reciting the ancient words. When their chakra networks connect, a jolt runs through Izuna. Something inside him settles—final, inescapable. He replies, though the words blur in his mind. Everything feels distant, surreal. But it must be right, because the rope splits, transforming into two wedding bands.

Of course, Tobirama doesn’t stop there. He never does anything halfway. The bastard went all in, using the rarest kind of marriage rope—the one that creates chakra tattoos instead of plain rings. Izuna feels it activate, pulsing softly as it binds to his skin. It’s done. There’s no turning back.

The price of that rope is outrageous. Even Madara couldn’t afford it.

At least the tattoos come with some benefits. The bond keeps them both safe—neither can betray or purposefully harm the other without breaking the vows. Not without serious consequences.

It’s not a complete protection – such things don’texist – and won’t protect Izuna from bruises or small cuts, but it’ll prevent Tobirama from outright torturing him, or allowing the Senju to.

Izuna stares at the marks on his wrist, the weight of the ritual sinking in. He grits his teeth, bitter and furious. And yet, deep down—somewhere shamefully hidden—a small, traitorous part of him doesn’t hate it.

As the last strands of the marriage tattoos settle in, Tobirama lets go of Izuna’s hand. The touch lingers longer than it should, echoing in Izuna’s mind before he shoves it away. This isn’t about feelings—it’s duty. He braces himself for whatever order comes next—probably something about following Tobirama or being dragged along like a prisoner. But what happens next catches him completely off guard.

Tobirama kneels.

For a second, Izuna is too stunned to move. The sight of Senju Tobirama—always so composed, always so above it all—kneeling in front of him doesn’t make sense. His first reaction is confusion. What the hell is he doing? Then it clicks: his ankle.

“Hold still,” Tobirama says, voice calm and low. It’s professional, but there’s a strange gentleness in it. The way he touches Izuna’s injury is careful, more careful than Izuna would ever expect from someone he's spent years fighting. Tobirama’s hands move over the swollen joint with a precision that borders on tenderness.

Pain flares when Tobirama presses into the swelling, and Izuna hisses without meaning to. The careful treatment just adds to the mess of emotions twisting through him.

“It’ll be easier if you sit down,” Tobirama says, and before Izuna can protest, strong hands are already supporting him, guiding him to the ground with ease.

The moment feels too close, too quiet, like something intimate. Izuna doesn’t want to think of it that way. He’s heard of the Senju’s incredible healing techniques, but experiencing it firsthand is entirely different. He can only stare in disbelief as the pain fades almost instantly and the swelling goes down.

Tobirama helps him to his feet again, pulling him up with surprising gentleness. The motion is practiced, smooth—efficient, yes, but not cold. There’s something like care in it that makes Izuna’s chest tighten in a way he doesn’t understand.

“Careful,” Tobirama says, keeping a steadying hand on him. “I’m not as skilled as anija. Your ankle will be tender for a day or two. Don’t strain it.”

Izuna takes a cautious step, then another, testing the ankle. It’s almost painless now. He can't believe it—can't quite wrap his head around this whole situation. The absurdity finally breaks through and he blurts, “This is not skilled?”

Tobirama’s expression is as unreadable as ever, but Izuna catches the flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Anija could have healed you in a fraction of the time it took me. Completely.”

Izuna snorts without thinking. “Fucking over-achiever…” The words slip out, unfiltered, and he regrets them instantly.

Beside him, Hikaku draws in a sharp breath. Izuna can feel his cousin’s alarm, even if he stays silent. The tension between them is thick, and for a second, Izuna braces for backlash. But Tobirama surprises him yet again.

Tobirama snorts. A faint smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth—quickly gone, but definitely there. “Do you have any other injuries I should look at before I take you home?” he asks, as if nothing happened, as if his hunted spouse hasn’t just insulted him.

Izuna shakes his head, still unsure how Tobirama managed to brush off the insult so casually. Other than some bruises, he’s fine. The pressure in his chest eases a little, though he stays on edge. Tobirama’s cool calm, so hard to shake, keeps him guessing. Off balance.

Then Tobirama places a hand on his shoulder. The touch startles Izuna with how natural it feels. “Close your eyes,” Tobirama says.

Izuna hesitates, but obeys. He’s not ready to push his luck. A strange sensation follows—a rush of chakra that makes his stomach lurch—then the ground vanishes from beneath his feet.

When it returns, he gasps and opens his eyes. The forest is gone.

Now, they stand in front of a massive mansion—tall, elegant, and unmistakably part of the Senju compound. Izuna stares, throat tightening. “What—How—But—” He stammers, unable to form a full sentence.

Tobirama mutters under his breath. “Ah… should have warned you. I invented a space-time jutsu. I can travel long distances in an instant.”

Izuna’s mind blanks. When he finally processes the words, he can only think: He can teleport? He wants to scream, throw something, demand to know how Tobirama kept that kind of power hidden. But he holds his tongue. He’s in enemy territory. Now isn’t the time.

They’ve only known each other as enemies. But here, in this space that feels far too personal, Izuna feels unmoored. Everything he’s heard in the capital—the rumors about Tobirama being emotionless—don’t match the man standing beside him. And that’s unsettling.

Swallowing hard, Izuna follows Tobirama into the house. He steps into the genkan, removing his shoes and mimicking Tobirama’s movements—not out of respect, exactly, but to avoid causing offense.

Inside, the luxury is overwhelming. Tatami mats line the floors, and rare artifacts are scattered through the rooms, left out like everyday items. Dust gathers on priceless heirlooms. The sheer wealth on display is almost absurd. Izuna’s grown up privileged, but this? This feels excessive, even by his standards.

He glances at Tobirama, who walks the halls like he doesn’t even notice the grandeur. That calm confidence unsettles Izuna more than he wants to admit.

So when Tobirama leads him into a bedroom, Izuna doesn’t act surprised. He knows the customs. A marriage isn’t considered valid until it’s consummated, and the Senju follow that rule like everyone else.

Still, part of him had hoped for a chance to clean off the dirt and blood from the battlefield first. That Tobirama doesn’t seem to care about that stings more than it should.

He is however shocked when he spots a child lying on the futon. The boy can’t be older than 4 or 5 and bears a striking resemblance to Tobirama if you ignore the unusual coloring of the older Senju.

“This is Haruki, my-” Tobirama stops abruptly, correcting himself. “Our son.”

“Oh…” Izuna doesn’t know what to say or even how to react. He looks from his husband to the child, Haruki, who now is his adopted son in bewilderment. How is it possible for Tobirama to have a son this age? They’re the same age, both of them 19 years old. Izuna is only a couple of days older. That’s too young to have a 4- or 5-years old kid.

He immediately rules out adoption, they look too much alike not to be closely related. But if Haruki is Tobirama’s biological son, how young was he when the kid was conceived?

“He’s been put under the Kurama’s genjutsu yesterday around noon. It has come to my attention you can help with that.” Tobirama continues, disrupting his train of thoughts.

Izuna feels like the ground has vanished beneath his feet. “Nobody’s supposed to know that. How did you…?”

Tobirama says nothing, but the look in his eyes is answer enough. And just like that, realization sets in—heavy, sickening. Izuna feels cornered. Not by violence, but by something worse. He can’t say no. Refusing would go against their marriage vows—and worse, it would mean leaving a child to suffer. But now he sees what Tobirama’s been doing from the beginning.

The marriage hunt. The timing. Tobirama’s cold, calculating calm. It wasn’t about peace or duty. It was about this. Putting Izuna in a position where he had no choice but to help.

Of course Tobirama doesn’t want him. Of course this wasn’t about the bond. He’d probably known about Uchiha customs and the Mangekyou Sharingan for years—but he didn’t act until Haruki’s life was at risk.

Izuna’s chest aches. He knew this marriage was a strategy, but now that the proof is in front of him, the coldness of it cuts deep. Still, he breathes through it, forces himself to move.

He steps up to the futon and looks down at the boy. His voice comes out even and flat, despite the mess inside him. “There is no easy fix,” he says quietly. “The only way to break the Kurama’s genjutsu is to overwrite it with a stronger one.”

He glances at Tobirama, who gives nothing away. Not a flicker of emotion. But Izuna keeps going. “It’s also likely that the genjutsu has already damaged Haruki-kun’s mind. I’ll need to put him into a healing genjutsu and keep him in a coma-like state until he’s healed enough.”

Tobirama’s jaw tightens slightly, but his tone stays even. “How long?”

“Anywhere between a few hours and a week. I’ll know more once I see the extent of the damage.”

For the first time since they entered the room, Izuna sees a shift. It’s small—Tobirama’s shoulders drop just slightly—but it’s there. Relief. Despite everything, Tobirama does care. That, at least, is real.

Izuna swallows hard. No time for emotions. He pulls himself back to focus. “You’ll need to keep his eyes open while I work,” he says, steady and firm. “And whatever you do, don’t try to break the healing genjutsu. Let it wear off naturally. If you break it too soon, it could cause permanent damage to his mind.”

Tobirama doesn’t hesitate. He kneels beside his son and gently lifts the boy’s eyelids, exposing the blank stare beneath.

Izuna feels a flicker of something like pity, but he pushes it aside. He takes a deep breath and lets the familiar burn of chakra build behind his eyes. Then, he activates his Mangekyou Sharingan.

The pain hits fast, sharp and brutal, but he doesn’t flinch. He locks eyes with the child and begins weaving the genjutsu, forcing his chakra to overwrite the Kurama’s. It’s grueling. His eyes sting, then ache, then start to bleed. He feels the hot trickle down his cheeks, his knees weakening from the strain. But he doesn’t stop.

He can’t stop.

Finally, the jutsu takes hold. Izuna pulls back, staggering, barely able to stay on his feet. “Haruki-kun will be fine,” he rasps. His voice is thin. “He should wake up tomorrow around noon.”

The second the words leave his mouth, his legs give out.

Chapter Text

“Izuna?” Tobirama calls out. The sound of something heavy hitting the tatami makes his heart jump. He keeps his voice steady, but tension coils in his gut. When there’s no answer, he turns away from Haruki—resting peacefully now—and looks at his husband.

The sight that meets him sends a chill through his body. Izuna is on his knees, both palms pushed hard against his eyes. Blood runs down his face, soaking into the tatami. Tobirama goes still, stunned. Something about the scene feels wrong—deeply wrong. The strong chakra he’s been sensing all for the majority of his younger years now flickers like a dying flame, faint and unstable. Izuna’s chakra is so weak, Tobirama can almost feel the pain coming off him in waves.

It takes Tobirama a moment too long to understand. The damage to Izuna’s eyes—the Mangekyou, the genjutsu—it all clicks at once. Guilt punches him in the stomach. “Fuck!” he mutters, louder than he means to. He moves quickly, dropping to his knees in front of Izuna, hands already reaching for him.

He cups Izuna’s face without thinking, fingers brushing along his temples as he starts channeling healing chakra. The chakra flows from his hands, sharp and focused as he scans for the full extent of the damage. “Don’t fight me,” he says, keeping his voice low and calm despite how fast his heart is racing.

Izuna flinches, but he doesn’t move away. Tobirama feels the faint ripple of fear in his husband’s chakra—raw and exposed, like he’s bracing for something worse. That fear catches Tobirama off guard. He’s fought Izuna before, seen him unshaken in the worst situations. Seeing him like this—drained, vulnerable—hits something deep in Tobirama’s chest.

“Relax, will you?” Tobirama says, his voice softening without him meaning to. “I’m trying to see how badly your eyes are hurt, not gouging them out of your head.”

Izuna freezes. His chakra settles a little, though it’s still shaking with exhaustion and unease. He turns his head slightly toward Tobirama. “You can heal it?” he asks, voice low and tight. There’s a flicker of hope there, faint but real.

Tobirama hesitates. He doesn’t want to promise anything he’s not sure of. “Let me take a look first,” he says carefully. But inside, he’s already made up his mind. This happened because of him. He pushed Izuna into this. Now he has to fix it.

Izuna slowly lowers his hands, revealing the mess his eyes have become. Blood still drips down his pale cheeks. Tobirama’s stomach turns at the sight. The damage is worse than he thought. The chakra channels around Izuna’s eyes are torn open, spilling chakra in chaotic bursts. It’s like his body couldn’t handle the strain. The optical nerves are frayed. The photoreceptor cells are damaged. Tobirama has seen similar wounds before—but not like this.

He takes a steadying breath and pushes his chakra deeper, running a more detailed diagnostic jutsu. The channels are at their limit, on the verge of collapse. But something holds the worst of it back. It’s strange—like there’s a system in place, keeping the damage from spreading too far. It’s not like the usual breakdowns he’s seen in shinobi who pushed themselves too far and didn’t make it. And those few that survives became crippled beyond what even Hashirama could heal. This is different. The damage should be worse.

He frowns, checking again to be sure. But the result is the same. The channels look... designed. Weak points that seem intentional, like they were made to give way under pressure but in a controlled way. Tobirama’s thoughts start to race.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he says finally, breaking the silence, “but does the Sharingan have an intended breaking point?”

Izuna gasps. His chakra flares with shock, then quickly settles into guarded tension. “What?” he replies, his voice strained. But Tobirama feels it—it’s not just confusion. There’s fear in it, too. Fear of something being exposed, something sacred to his clan.

Tobirama narrows his eyes, still focused. “The chakra channels around your eyes—some spots are weaker. It’s like they’re meant to crack under pressure to stop everything else from breaking down. Like a safety vent that keeps the damage contained.”

Izuna’s chakra flares again, this time with disbelief and wariness. He’s not sure what to make of what Tobirama is saying—and part of him doesn’t want to.

“I think those spots are meant to protect your eyes,” Tobirama continues, his voice quieter now. “But either you used the Mangekyou too long, or you pushed more chakra through than even they were designed to handle.”

He watches as Izuna’s shoulders slump slightly. It’s a small movement, but it hits Tobirama hard. That kind of quiet surrender—the kind that comes when someone expects the worst—it’s not what he’s used to seeing from Izuna. His chakra still flickers with fatigue and anxiety, but his face stays blank.

“It’s treatable,” Tobirama says quickly, before Izuna can sink deeper into despair. “I’ll need anija’s help, but we can heal you.” He pauses, taking a breath to collect himself. “For how much chakra you forced through your eyes, the damage isn’t as bad as I expected. Most of the photoreceptor cells are still intact. There’s some damage to the optical nerve, but I think we can repair it. I’ll have to rebuild the burnt-out chakra channels from scratch. They’ll need time to stabilize, so I’ll have to seal your chakra for a few days. But with anija’s help, most of your sight should come back. You won’t even need a blindfold.”

He waits for Izuna to say something—anything. Relief, maybe. But instead, Izuna whispers, “Stop.” His voice is barely there, trembling. Tobirama frowns, confused by the sudden shift.

“Why are you being so nice to me? We’re enemies. You should—”

“You’re my husband!” Tobirama snaps, sharper than he means to. The words hang heavy in the air between them, raw and unfiltered. “That makes you family, and I take care of my family.” He says it like it’s obvious—like it’s something everyone should understand. But the moment it’s out of his mouth, Tobirama realizes how strange it must sound to Izuna, an Uchiha who probably never expected kindness from a Senju, especially not from him.

Izuna stares at him like he’s grown another head. His chakra flutters with confusion and something else—something Tobirama can’t quite name. It feels like longing, but it’s buried deep, hidden behind thick layers of doubt.

Tobirama sighs. He knows this is about more than healing or saving Haruki. If he keeps holding back, if he doesn’t open the door between them, their marriage will turn into something cold and empty—just like his mother’s had been. And he can’t let that happen. The memory of Butsuma’s cruelty toward her still leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, even after all these years.

“I don’t know how much you know about my mother,” Tobirama begins quietly. His words are slower now, more careful. “Her marriage to Butsuma was political. Arranged. He didn’t want her, and he treated her like a burden.”

His jaw tightens. Pain flickers behind his eyes. “He used to beat her. All the time. I stopped counting after a while. I hated him for it.” His voice drops lower. “Eventually, she took her own life.”

He pauses, that memory pressing on his chest like a weight. But he forces himself to go on.

“When anija and I buried her, Butsuma didn’t even show up. Didn’t care. That day, I promised myself I’d never become like him. No matter who I married—even if it was arranged, even if I didn’t care for them—I’d never treat them like that. I’d never hurt them.”

A bitter laugh slips out—short and sharp. “And now, here we are. Not even a day into our marriage, and I’ve already fucked up.” The guilt is sharp and unforgiving, chewing at his insides.

Without thinking, Tobirama moves closer. He wraps one arm around Izuna’s shoulders and slides the other under his legs, lifting him easily. To his surprise, Izuna doesn’t fight it. He leans into Tobirama’s chest like the strength to resist has left him entirely.

Tobirama carries him out of the room and down to the engawa that overlooks the backyard. He can sense Hashirama’s chakra nearby, along with Kaede’s. His daughter is bundled in a blanket and Hashirama’s haori, fast asleep. Tobirama approaches carefully, not wanting to wake her.

“Anija,” he calls softly, his voice just above a whisper.

Hashirama turns, eyes widening when he sees Izuna’s condition—the blood on his face, the stains on his clothes. Concern flashes across his features. “What happened?” he asks quickly, already moving toward them, his chakra sharp with worry.

“It’s my fault,” Tobirama says, lowering Izuna gently onto the wooden floor of the engawa. “I acted on incomplete information. The technique Izuna used to save Haruki… it hurt his eyes.”

Hashirama doesn’t waste time asking more questions. He kneels beside Izuna and immediately sends healing chakra into his eyes, his hands sure and calm. Tobirama watches, feeling a mix of gratitude and self-reproach.

While Hashirama focuses on the damaged tissue, Tobirama begins sealing Izuna’s chakra. Thankfully, he’d prepared everything in advance for the marriage hunt. Once the seal is in place, he gets to work regrowing the damaged chakra channels, weaving them back together with care as his brother tends to the rest. It’s slow work, exhausting and detailed, but necessary. Tobirama forces himself to keep going, refusing to stop until it’s finished.

He senses Touka and aunt Tsumi arriving. They go straight to the kitchen, and soon the smell of food begins to fill the air. He doesn’t say anything, but he’s grateful. They know he won’t have the energy for much after this, and their quiet support means more than he can say.

When they finally finish healing Izuna’s eyes, Tobirama feels like he’s running on fumes. His muscles ache, and his head buzzes with fatigue. He doesn’t care how it looks—he lies down beside Izuna on the engawa with a soft sigh.

“Thanks, anija,” he murmurs.

Chapter Text

“Don’t mention it,” Hashirama replies, though his voice still carries a trace of worry. He turns to Izuna, speaking gently but firmly. “Please keep your eyes closed as much as you can, Izuna-san, so you don’t strain your chakra channels more than necessary. Tobirama or I will need to check them twice a day—once in the morning and again in the evening—to make sure everything settles properly. I don’t expect any complications, but I’ve never healed a Sharingan before. I don’t know when it’ll be safe for you to channel chakra through your eyes again, so we’ll probably keep your chakra sealed longer than strictly necessary. I don’t want to risk releasing it too early.”

There’s a pause before Izuna quietly says, “I see.”

Hashirama glances at their bloodstained clothes, his expression softening. “You two probably need to talk—and rest,” he says, standing up with care. “I’ll clean up Haruki’s room and bring you some fresh clothes. Any preferences?”

Tobirama shakes his head. “I’m good with anything.”

Izuna doesn’t respond, but Hashirama just shrugs and gently shifts Kaede in his arms as he walks back into the house, leaving them alone on the engawa.

Only once Hashirama’s footsteps fade does Izuna finally speak. His voice is low, but there’s tension underneath, like he’s been holding this in for too long. “What’s expected of me? Now that I’ve fulfilled what you hunted me for.”

Tobirama sighs, the sound heavy with the weight of the moment. He knew this conversation would come eventually. He should’ve been ready for it. But even now, hearing it out loud hits harder than he expects. He glances at Izuna, feeling the faint shifts in his chakra—anxiety, suspicion, and resignation. It stirs something uncomfortably familiar in Tobirama’s chest.

“I’m going to assume you don’t want me to sugarcoat any of it?” Tobirama asks. His voice is blunt, though part of him wishes he could soften the blow.

Izuna snorts, bitter but not entirely without humor. “Obviously.”

Tobirama rubs the back of his neck, choosing his words carefully. “I plan to treat this like an arranged marriage for political reasons. That means you’re now the official spouse of the Senju Clan Heir. You’ll be expected to act like it—at least in public. The clan cares about appearances, and we need to maintain them. But in private? It’s not as important. Neither anija nor I are that strict when it comes to etiquette.”

He pauses, watching Izuna for a reaction. His chakra is steady, but tense—like a wire pulled too tight. Tobirama’s own feelings are a mess of guilt, frustration, and quiet resolve. He has to be clear about this.

“We also expect you to clean up after yourself and do your share of the household chores. Nothing more than what’s expected of any other family member,” Tobirama continues. “But more than that, I don’t want a marriage like my mother had. If something bothers you or there’s something you want, tell me. I’m willing to compromise on most things.”

Izuna’s eyes flicker at that, though he stays silent. Still, Tobirama can feel a shift in his chakra—curiosity mixing with doubt.

“And, most importantly,” Tobirama adds, his voice firm, “you need to be a good parent to Haruki and his twin sister Kaede. We won’t fight in front of them, and you will never tell them the reason I hunted you. They don’t need that burden.”

Izuna’s chakra wavers slightly, as if he’s unsure how to take that. But then he asks, “What about their mother, your wife?”

“There is no mother,” Tobirama snaps, more sharply than he means to. He takes a breath, forcing himself to calm down. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter but edged with old bitterness. “You are my only spouse.”

Izuna starts to speak, surprised, but Tobirama cuts him off before he can say anything. “The woman who gave birth to them—she was just a power-hungry opportunist. She wanted to get into the main family. Anija was already engaged to Mito-hime, and she didn’t dare cross the Uzumaki. So she came after me instead.” He clenches his fists briefly, then forces himself to relax. “When seduction didn’t work, she used drugs.”

“Oh…” Izuna murmurs. His chakra flickers with shock, and something else—maybe understanding, maybe pity.

Tobirama watches the change, noting the way Izuna’s chakra shifts like waves against a shore. His own expression stays calm, but he’s aware of every flicker, every pause. There’s something strangely disarming about seeing Izuna like this—unguarded, shaken by Tobirama’s honesty. And for a moment, Tobirama wonders if he’s gone too far.

“You don’t need to worry about me ever being interested in a woman,” Tobirama adds flatly, cutting through the lingering silence. It’s a truth he’s always known but rarely needs to say. “I can tolerate them in fully clothed, distant interactions, but beyond that? No.”

The silence that follows is heavy. Tobirama studies Izuna’s face closely, catching every small reaction—the slight parting of his lips, the tension in his shoulders. He feels the uncertainty rolling through Izuna’s chakra, mixed with confusion and maybe… curiosity. But before Izuna can say anything, Hashirama returns, breaking the tension.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Hashirama says, cheerful as always, though his tone still carries concern. He places two bundles of clothes onto the wooden floor before he looks at Izuna, as if sensing the weight of the conversation he’s walked in on. “I forgot to ask earlier—are you allergic to anything?”

Izuna blinks, the fragile moment between him and Tobirama breaking apart. He slowly shakes his head, still processing everything. “No.”

“Good. Dinner will be ready in about an hour,” Hashirama says with a nod, then disappears back into the house, leaving them alone again.

The silence settles in again—heavier this time. It feels thick, almost suffocating, as if the air itself has weight. Without saying a word, Tobirama starts peeling off his blood-soaked clothes. The cold air brushes against his skin as he steps out of his trousers. The tall mokuton hedge around the yard shields them from view, offering privacy, though Tobirama doesn’t really care. He gave up worrying about being seen a long time ago.

He slips into a clean yukata, but the fabric feels heavy on his shoulders. He’s exhausted. He’d much rather take a bath, scrub the day off him, but there’s still more to say—more to face—before he can rest.

As he adjusts the collar of the yukata, his eyes flick toward Izuna, who hasn’t moved much. His clothes are half-off, but his mind is clearly somewhere else.

“Are you alright with sleeping in the same room as me?” Tobirama asks. He doesn’t even know why he asked. There’s no real reason they have to share a room. But something makes him want to hear Izuna’s answer. Maybe it’s the weight still hanging between them. Maybe it’s just habit—reaching for answers when the silence gets too loud.

Izuna freezes with his shirt halfway off. He turns slowly, eyes narrowed, like he just heard the dumbest thing in the world.

“Wha—? Are you for real?”

Tobirama blinks, caught off guard. “Yes?”

“Don’t you want to consummate the marriage?” Izuna asks, his tone laced with challenge, daring Tobirama to say no.

Tobirama stares at him. That isn’t what he expected. “That would be counterproductive,” he answers.

Izuna’s chakra flares, sudden and hot, like a dry forest catching fire. The indignation is immediate, sharp-edged and angry. Tobirama can feel it rising, even before the words hit.

“What, am I not pretty enough for your tastes?” Izuna spits, voice trembling with bitterness. “Or is it because I’m an Uchiha and you—”

“You’re injured!” Tobirama snaps, cutting in before Izuna can go further. His voice is harsher than he means it to be, edged with frustration. “There will be no… strenuous activities until you get the all-clear from anija.”

“That’s a stupid excuse and you know it!”

Izuna yanks off his leather armor and throws it at Tobirama with a sharp, angry motion.

It hits Tobirama square in the chest. He doesn’t move. He just stands there, watching, letting Izuna unravel. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t respond. He knows better than to try to calm him now.

Izuna kicks off his shoes, pulls off his socks and trousers with frantic, jerky movements. It’s not just about changing clothes—it’s like he’s trying to claw his way out of his own skin. His fingers fumble as he tugs the yukata over his shoulders, chakra pulsing wild and uneven. The heat of his emotions is impossible to ignore—anger, pain, confusion—all of it crashing through him like a storm he can’t contain.

Tobirama stays still. He always does. His mind is sharp, always calculating. He grounds himself, steady in the middle of the outburst. He knows Izuna’s anger runs deeper than this one moment. It’s everything that’s happened—what he’s lost, what he’s had to give up. The vows. The blood. The helplessness.

Tobirama lets it happen. He doesn’t interfere. He’s weathered storms like this before.

“Stop lying!” Izuna yells, his voice cracking with fury. His chakra lashes out like a whip, wild and raw. “You used our traditions and beliefs against me! You made me take vows that forced me to mutilate myself to save your son! Vows that will leave me no choice but to fight my brother in the next skirmish while you and your brother annihilate the rest of the Uchiha! And now you tell me you won’t sleep with me because I’m injured?!”

One of Izuna’s shoes flies and hits Tobirama square in the forehead.

Still, Tobirama doesn’t flinch. His eyes stay locked on Izuna, unshaken. The sting is nothing compared to the emotions swirling in the air—grief, rage, betrayal. He feels all of it in Izuna’s chakra, blazing and erratic like a candle in the wind.

But he says nothing. He doesn’t strike back. He doesn’t defend himself. He stands in the middle of the storm and takes it, letting every word and every emotion crash against him in silence.

Chapter Text

Izuna rips off his leather armor and throws it at Tobirama, rage pounding through his veins. The soft thud as it hits Tobirama’s chest does nothing to calm the storm inside him. He follows it with his shoes, socks, and trousers, yanking everything off like he’s trying to shed the emotions choking him. His movements are frantic. His hands tremble slightly as he pulls on the yukata Hashirama brought. The dirt on his skin feels like a layer of filth—like a physical reminder of all the lies he’s been buried under.

“Stop lying!” he shouts, his voice cracking with fury. “You used our traditions and beliefs against me! You made me take vows that forced me to mutilate myself to save your son! Vows that will leave me no choice but to fight my brother in the next skirmish while you annihilate the rest of the Uchiha! And now you tell me you won’t sleep with me because I’m injured?!”

Tobirama doesn’t move. He stands completely still, face unreadable. When one of Izuna’s shoes strikes him in the forehead, he doesn’t even flinch. He just takes it. And that calm—that stillness—only adds fuel to Izuna’s fire. How can he be so calm when everything is crumbling?

“There will be no more skirmishes,” Tobirama says softly. His voice is quiet, but it carries a weight that cuts through Izuna’s anger like a blade.

Izuna’s breath catches. For a second, he can’t process what he just heard. “What?” he gasps, heart pounding, disbelief crashing over him.

“The war is over,” Tobirama continues, his tone calm and careful, like he’s delivering a truth Izuna might break under. “Anija won’t attack the Uchiha—not unless Madara attacks us first. Which your brother won’t. He loves you too much to raise his forces against a clan with you in its ranks. Nor will he allow an assassination. Not that anyone with the intention to assassinate you could get close enough to try without me noticing—and interfering.”

Izuna opens his mouth to argue, to accuse Tobirama of lying again—but nothing comes out. He can’t. Because Tobirama’s right. Madara would never. Not while he’s alive. Not with Izuna beside Tobirama. His body trembles, rage fading into something hollow. “So you didn’t declare the marriage hunt solely to save your son,” he mutters bitterly.

Tobirama lets out a short snort. There’s even a hint of humor in it. “Believe it or not, declaring the marriage hunt on you was actually Plan B. Plan A had been to pay Madara. We offered him 2 million ryo, 35 reusable long-term preservation scrolls, and two medical ninjutsu of his choosing. Unfortunately, he declined. Even burned the scroll anija sent him.”

The words hit Izuna like a punch to the chest. They knock the air out of him. He can’t breathe. His chest tightens, and before he can stop it, a sob breaks free from his throat. Tears well in his eyes and start falling before he even manages to turn his head.

Tobirama moves instantly, faster than Izuna can track. He crosses the distance in a blur but doesn’t touch him. He hovers—close enough to catch him if he falls, close enough to shield him—but still holding back. “Is it your eyes?” Tobirama asks, his voice tight with worry. “Do you need me to get anija?”

Izuna shakes his head and swallows another sob. “That’s not it,” he manages, voice trembling.

Tobirama’s gaze locks on his. His sharp features soften with concern. They stare at each other in heavy silence, emotions too raw to name pressing in between them. Izuna can see it now—Tobirama’s carefully controlled emotions: guilt, worry, and something deeper he can’t quite understand. Then Tobirama breaks the stare, looking down—and Izuna feels like something important is slipping away.

“I’m sorry,” Tobirama whispers, voice barely audible. “You won’t be separated from your brother and the Uchiha forever. This is only temporary. For a couple of years at most. Once our brothers have their village, you’ll see Madara every day. And even before that, you’ll see him at the negotiations.”

But the words don’t help. They can’t touch the pain inside him. Another sob escapes Izuna, deep and broken. The ache in his chest only gets worse. Tears blur everything, and Tobirama’s face turns into a warped shape.

“What’s wrong?” Tobirama asks, voice tight with worry. “Talk to me.”

Izuna can’t hold it back anymore. He blinks his tears away to clear his vision. His hands clench into fists, and the words burst out of him. “Stop sending me mixed signals! Stop being nice to me while saying you don’t even want me!”

Tobirama stares at him, clearly confused. He lets out a soft sigh, his expression caught between frustration and uncertainty. “What does my treatment of you have to do with whether or not marrying you was my first choice?”

“You asshole!” Izuna shouts. He grabs Tobirama by the collar and yanks him close. He doesn’t stop to think—he crashes his lips into Tobirama’s in a fierce, angry kiss.

Tobirama freezes, going completely still. He doesn’t kiss back, but he doesn’t push Izuna away either. He just stands there, motionless. And that—that—is what finally shatters Izuna. He sobs into the kiss, pouring every raw, tangled emotion into it—every year of pain, of confusion, of wanting and not knowing where he stands.

Slowly, gently, Tobirama wraps his arms around Izuna and pulls him into a firm but careful embrace. Izuna tries to shove him away, overwhelmed by everything—the war, the marriage, his feelings—but Tobirama holds on and doesn’t let go.

“I think there’s a misunderstanding,” Tobirama says softly, his voice close to Izuna’s ear. “The reason I don’t want to sleep with you isn’t solely because of your injuries. I would have refused even if you weren’t hurt.” He pauses, his breath calm and steady. “Not because I don’t think you’re attractive, but because I don’t want my spouse to resent me for the rest of our lives. I want a companion I can trust and rely on. Someone who trusts and relies on me. Forcing myself on you isn’t going to give me that.”

Izuna stops fighting. His body goes limp in Tobirama’s arms, thoughts racing. Trust? Companionship? The words clash with everything in his head—his feelings for Tobirama, the war that forced them together, the vows that bind them.

“I won’t sleep with you until we’ve built some trust,” Tobirama continues, still gentle but steady. “Until we both genuinely want it. If it happens, it happens. If it doesn’t, it doesn’t.”

Izuna’s breath catches. Tobirama’s arms are firm around him, holding him securely. The warmth of his husband’s body seeps into him—strong, grounding, safe. Despite the anger, confusion, and lingering sense of betrayal, there’s something comforting in Tobirama’s touch. It makes him want to give in, to rest in that calm. His heart pounds, and he hates that his body responds, that the warmth spreading through him isn’t just physical.

“Stop being so nice,” Izuna mutters, voice low, chest tight with emotions he doesn’t want to name. “You’ll make me fall in love with you.”

For a second, Tobirama stiffens. Izuna feels it and wonders if he went too far—if he said something that can’t be taken back. But then Tobirama speaks, voice even and calm as always, though there’s a softness in it that Izuna can’t ignore.

“Would that truly be a bad thing?”

The words send a shiver down Izuna’s spine. Something in Tobirama’s voice pulls at him. Would it be? The question lingers in his mind, dangerous and tempting. He doesn’t get the chance to answer. Hashirama walks out at that moment, his cheerful voice cutting through the heavy silence.

“Dinner is ready,” Hashirama announces, unaware of the tension on the engawa. Izuna feels a rush of relief—grateful for the interruption—but also frustration, because something important had just started to unravel.

They follow Hashirama to the table. When Izuna sees the food laid out before them, he stops, stunned. There’s so much of it. Rice, grilled fish—two kinds—chicken, vegetables, all neatly arranged. There’s even miso soup. His stomach growls, and he suddenly remembers how long it’s been since he ate anything real. But what shocks him more is the wealth. The luxury of it all.

Is this normal for them? he wonders. Tobirama and Hashirama settle in like it’s just another meal. The way they treat it so casually makes him feel like he doesn’t belong. It’s not just about food. It’s the gap between their clans—deeper than weapons and war. It’s in things like this.

“Kaede already ate before you returned. I brought her to her room,” Hashirama says as they sit down. His voice is warm as usual, but when he talks about the girl, there’s a quiet sadness underneath. “She needs all the rest she can get after what she’s been through.”

Tobirama’s tone softens too, though it stays even. “Haruki should wake up sometime tomorrow.”

Izuna listens but says nothing. Just hearing about Tobirama’s children stirs something complicated in him. He doesn’t know what his place is here, or what it’s supposed to be. Before he can get lost in it, Hashirama turns to him, smiling with gentle concern.

“Eat as much as you can, Izuna-san,” Hashirama says. “Your body shows signs of malnutrition. Nothing too bad yet, but it’s important to watch your diet for the next few months. Plenty of meat, vegetables, and fruit.”

Heat rises in Izuna’s face. It’s a mix of embarrassment and discomfort. They already know so much about him. It feels like they’re seeing through him, peeling away layers he didn’t want to share. His pride screams at him to argue, to say Hashirama is wrong—but deep down, he knows the truth. The last winter had been harsh. For the Uchiha, it was brutal. Food was hard to come by.

“Bad winter?” Tobirama asks, voice low and careful, like he’s trying not to push too hard.

Izuna doesn’t trust himself to answer. He just nods. Even that small gesture feels like giving something up. Like letting them see a weakness he’s not ready to show.

“We could send food to the Uchiha. Help them out,” Hashirama offers.

Izuna is about to refuse, his mind already spinning with reasons to reject the offer, but Tobirama speaks first. “No,” he says, his voice firm.

Chapter Text

Izuna isn’t surprised by Tobirama’s refusal. What does surprise him is the reason behind it.

“They won’t accept it,” Tobirama says, leaning back slightly. His expression turns thoughtful, like he’s already played this scenario out in his mind more than once. “They’d think we tampered with it. Or they’d assume we’re trying to put them in debt to the Senju. Either way, they’d take offense.” His gaze flicks to Izuna, and there’s something in his eyes—an apology, maybe, but mostly resignation. “They’re a bunch of trigger-happy pyromaniacs with more pride than brain. No matter how well you mean, anija, it’ll backfire.”

Izuna’s breath catches. It’s not just what Tobirama says—it’s how he says it. There’s something oddly protective in his tone, as if he’s trying to shield Izuna from the fallout. Maybe even from the embarrassment of having their clan’s pride laid bare. Hearing Tobirama defend the Uchiha, in his own way, feels strange.

“We can try to trade some food with them later. We could trade the spices the Uchiha grow for rice or wheat,” Tobirama adds, more practical now. “Once the ceasefire treaty is signed. But for now, there’s nothing we can do.”

Izuna watches him carefully, noting every word, every subtle shift in tone. There’s no sarcasm or resentment in Tobirama’s voice. Just a clear, honest understanding of the situation. And somehow, that makes Izuna’s chest ache. Something deep inside him stirs, something he’s been trying not to feel. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s falling for him—and fast.

Tobirama glances at him again. Their eyes meet for just a second longer than they need to. In that moment, Izuna sees past the composed mask: the burden of responsibility, the weight of decisions, and maybe—just maybe—a flicker of the same uncertainty he feels. His heart beats faster.

Then, suddenly, Tobirama freezes. His calm expression falters, replaced by something sharp and alert. His whole body tenses. The shift is small, but Izuna sees it—and with it comes a wave of confusion, followed quickly by worry. Tobirama is usually so controlled, always steady, even under pressure. Seeing him react like this is jarring.

Hashirama notices right away. His cheerful expression fades, replaced with quiet concern. “Tobirama, what’s wrong?” he asks, voice gentle but serious.

For a few seconds, Tobirama doesn’t answer. His eyes are distant, like he’s listening to something far away. Then he speaks. “Hikaku just arrived at the Uchiha compound. He’s giving his report to Madara right now.”

Izuna’s eyes widen. What? His heart skips a beat. Tobirama can sense that far? The compound is a long way off. Far beyond what Izuna thought was even possible. He stares at Tobirama, trying to make sense of it. And it’s not just the range—it’s that Tobirama has clearly been doing this for a while. Long enough that Hashirama isn’t surprised. How much does he know about what’s going on in Uchiha territory? How long has he known?

Before Izuna can say anything, Hashirama speaks again. His voice is quieter now, more serious. “How bad is it?”

Tobirama’s mouth tightens. His expression darkens. “Madara is furious.”

Izuna’s chest clenches. He can picture it perfectly—the storm brewing in his brother, the familiar rage simmering just beneath the surface. Madara’s anger is nothing new, but knowing Tobirama is aware of it in real time—feeling it—without being anywhere near the compound? That shakes him. It’s a harsh reminder of just how powerful Tobirama really is. And for a moment, Izuna feels small, like a piece in a game being played far above his head.

Hashirama sighs, the sound heavy with resignation. He runs a hand through his hair, caught between frustration and sympathy. “I’ll talk to him,” he says, his voice steady but tired. “Maybe I can calm him down. If I’m lucky, I might even be able to talk him into accepting some food for the clan.”

Izuna waits for Tobirama to cut in again, to shut the idea down like before. But this time, Tobirama says nothing. He just stares into the distance, eyes narrowed, lost in thought.

The silence stretches. It weighs on the room, thick and tense. Izuna glances at Tobirama, confused. Why isn’t he objecting? His uncertainty must show, because Tobirama finally looks at him—and his expression softens, just a little.

“As anija’s friend, Madara should be accustomed to his idiocy by now,” Tobirama says dryly. There’s a flicker of humor in his voice, the barest hint of a smirk. “and not take too much offense.”

Izuna stares at him. He doesn’t know what to make of it—of any of this. A strange feeling curls in his chest, something close to admiration. Tobirama, the same man who had every reason to hate his clan, is doing all of this. Not just for peace. Not just for politics. No, Izuna can see it clearly now, feel it in the subtle warmth beneath Tobirama’s chakra. He’s doing it for him.

The thought makes Izuna’s heart ache.

He clenches his fists under the table, trying to tamp it down—the flutter in his chest, the emotions rising too fast to control. But it’s no use. Every time he looks at Tobirama, sees the sharp lines of his face, the flash in his eyes, the quiet power always humming under his skin, Izuna feels himself being pulled in.

“Why?” he asks, before he can stop himself. His voice is softer than he intended, but the question carries weight.

Tobirama turns to look at him again, one silver eyebrow lifting in curiosity.

“Why what?” Tobirama’s tone is steady, but there’s a spark of curiosity in his eyes. He sees too much, always does.

Izuna’s throat tightens. He wants to ask, Why are you doing this? Why do you care when I’ve done nothing but fight you? Why does your touch feel like protection instead of a trap? But he can’t say any of that out loud—not when he’s still trying to make sense of it himself. So he says the only thing he can without revealing too much.

“Why do you care if Nii-san takes offense or not?”

Tobirama holds his gaze, studying his face with that sharp look that always makes Izuna feel bare, like every thought and feeling he’s tried to hide is suddenly visible. Izuna tenses under the scrutiny, his chest heavy with everything he can’t say. When Tobirama finally speaks, his voice is calm, frustratingly so, like always.

“Because if we want this peace to have any chance of succeeding,” Tobirama says, his voice steady and certain, “it can’t start with an insult.”

Izuna hates how Tobirama always makes things sound so clear-cut, like he’s already thought everything through. But the worst part is—he’s right. He always is. Izuna clenches his jaw, tempted to argue just to wipe that calm expression off his face.

“Isn’t it too late for that?” he snaps. “You pretty much insulted the entire Uchiha clan when you took me.”

Tobirama sighs, and Izuna feels a flicker of triumph at seeing his control slip—just a little. “This is why the marriage hunt was plan B,” Tobirama says, the words coming out with quiet frustration. “Why we tried to pay Madara first.”

Izuna’s heart twists, tangled in confusion and anger. “Weren’t you worried that giving us that much would have cost you the war? If nii-san had agreed, it could have cost you everything! Aren’t you afraid he would have targeted Haruki-kun or Kaede-chan? Or attacked you while he was in the Senju compound?”

Tobirama looks him straight in the eye, his voice as calm as ever. “I trust anija’s assessment of Madara. He wouldn’t have invited him into our home if he wasn’t absolutely certain Madara posed no danger for the duration of his stay. And that he wouldn’t have targeted my children afterwards.”

Izuna feels his stomach knot. The way Tobirama talks about Madara so plainly—it’s unsettling. But he knows Hashirama was probably right. Madara wouldn’t have broken the ceasefire, not while he was a guest. And he wouldn’t have harmed or killed five-year-olds, no matter who their father is. Madara hates bloodline hunters and child killers. Even with his temper, he has lines he won’t cross.

Back then, the kids weren’t Izuna’s. But now? Now they are. And if he shows the slightest care for them, Madara would die to protect them.

Tobirama’s voice breaks through his thoughts. “We wouldn’t have lost the war,” he says like he’s stating a fact, not a possibility. “Anija would have talked to Madara and tried to convince him to at least agree to a ceasefire.”

“And if nii-san didn’t?” Izuna asks, his voice quieter now, afraid of the answer. What if peace had never been possible?

Tobirama shoots him a look—dry, unimpressed, and somehow still familiar. “What do you think would have happened if you fought me in the next skirmish?”

Izuna flinches. The memory of Tobirama’s teleportation from earlier comes rushing back. He shudders. If that jutsu works at close range, Tobirama could’ve gotten behind him before he even noticed—and ended it.

“I wouldn’t have killed you,” Tobirama says, his voice softer now, almost gentle. Izuna hesitates. Is that... comfort? “Madara would have never agreed to peace if I did that. But I would have injured you badly enough to keep you off the battlefield for weeks. Madara would’ve had to fight both anija and me while you were stuck in bed, worrying if your brother would survive.” Tobirama’s eyes narrow slightly. “How long would it have taken for you to cave and ask him to agree to a ceasefire?”

Izuna swallows hard. The idea of being helpless while his brother fought alone claws at him. And knowing Tobirama could have done that—easily—is terrifying. Even worse, he knows Tobirama’s logic is solid. He would’ve caved. He would’ve begged Madara to stop.

“If you managed to teleport close enough without getting stabbed in return,” Izuna mutters, though the words feel hollow. Deep down, he knows he probably wouldn’t have stood a chance. Tobirama’s too fast. Too precise. But he refuses to say that aloud.

Tobirama’s mouth curves into a faint, dangerous smile. “You’re awfully sure that’s my only trump card.” His voice is playful, but there’s something sharp underneath it, something dark. “There’s something you’ve forgotten—something everyone keeps forgetting. The human body is mostly made of water, especially the blood. And water is a wonderful element. Don’t you agree?”

A chill runs down Izuna’s spine. “How long…” he whispers, his breath catching, “how long have you been able to control blood?”

Tobirama tilts his head slightly, like he’s weighing the answer. “A couple of years,” he says, like it’s nothing special. “Though I only recently refined my control enough to use it in battle. Before, I could only rip the blood out of bodies. Something I couldn’t do with you, for obvious reasons.”

Izuna’s world spins. He’s been holding back. This whole time, Tobirama could have killed him—again and again—and chose not to. Part of him feels betrayed, like their whole rivalry was built on a lie. Like they were never equals. But another part of him... a part he doesn’t want to face... is deeply, quietly relieved.

Chapter Text

After dinner, Tobirama returns with two sets of plain sleepwear. Izuna takes one without saying anything and follows him down the hall. The house still feels unfamiliar and a little suffocating, despite the warmth of the meal. The silence between them feels thick, almost heavy. When Tobirama opens a door to reveal a large bathroom with a massive tub, Izuna stops in his tracks, staring in disbelief.

The tub is enormous—more like a small pond—and Izuna watches as Tobirama forms a series of quick hand seals. Water pours in from the air, curving smoothly into the tub, flowing like it’s part of Tobirama himself. Once it’s full, Tobirama places his hands on seals etched along the tub’s rim. Steam begins to rise as the water heats.

Izuna feels a flicker of envy—not because he lacks water jutsu, that’s not the Uchiha way—but because Tobirama moves with such confidence, such control. Like the water listens to him without question. It’s hard to look away.

Then Tobirama starts to undress. Izuna blinks, flustered, and quickly turns his back, pulse spiking. He hears the quiet rustling of clothes and risks a quick glance. Tobirama is already scrubbing down with a washcloth and bucket, methodical and focused. His pale skin gleams in the steam.

Without looking back, Tobirama holds out a second washcloth and bucket. “Here.”

Izuna takes them and mutters a quick thanks. He sets them down and starts to undress, far less smooth than Tobirama. His cheeks flush with heat as he tries to block out the image of the other man just a few feet away. He focuses on scrubbing away the grime and sweat, watching the water in the bucket cloud with dirt.

The sound of Tobirama stepping into the tub pulls his attention. Izuna glances up before he can stop himself—and freezes. Tobirama’s body moves with its usual effortless grace as he sinks into the water. The surface ripples around him, and Izuna looks away quickly, his face burning.

Tobirama notices. His brows draw together slightly. “How bad is it really?”

Izuna tenses. “What?”

Tobirama’s eyes sweep over him again, his frown deepening. “I can see your ribs. If you're in that state, things must be worse than you're letting on. I know you won't tell me any clan secrets, but at least answer this: Are people starving?”

The blunt question hits Izuna like a kunai. His pride bristles, but there’s no malice in Tobirama’s tone, only a quiet intensity. He hesitates, unsure how to respond.

“Why do you care?” he finally asks, his voice sharper than intended.

Tobirama’s expression doesn’t change. “Because in cases of food shortage, the weakest are hit the hardest: Children. If there are any children starving, you need to tell me now so we can do something about it.”

The sincerity in his voice leaves Izuna speechless. He stares down at the washcloth in his hands, scrubbing at nothing. He doesn’t know what to make of Tobirama’s concern.

After a beat, Tobirama gestures to the tub.

Izuna hesitates. His gut twists, but the pull of hot water is too tempting. He steps in slowly, sighing as the warmth soaks into his skin. He tries to focus on Tobirama’s face and not the fact that they’re now sharing a bath, sitting close enough that their knees brush under the surface. Tobirama leans back with his eyes closed, completely at ease, like this is normal.

Izuna is very aware of every small movement, every ripple. When his gaze accidentally drifts toward Tobirama’s lap, he flushes and quickly looks away. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

Tobirama opens one eye, lips twitching. “It’s fine,” he says. “We’re married. You’re allowed to look.”

The matter-of-fact response makes Izuna flush even deeper. Embarrassed and annoyed, he blurts out, “What about touching? Am I allowed to touch you?”

Tobirama raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised, though his expression smooths out right after. “I already told you, I won’t sleep with you until we’ve built enough trust.”

“I’m not talking about that!” Izuna snaps, his voice jumping. His embarrassment turns to defiance. Before he can second-guess it, he moves. He stands, crosses the short space between them, and sits right next to Tobirama, close enough that their arms and legs are pressed together.

Tobirama stays relaxed. He lifts the eyebrow further in silent question.

“I mean casual touches,” Izuna says, softer now. His heart pounds, but he doesn’t move away. “You know… like this.”

Tobirama doesn’t pull away. He also doesn’t move closer. He studies Izuna for a moment, thoughtful, before nodding. “That’s fine,” he says. “But try not to surprise me—at least for now. My body’s conditioned to react to all fire natured chakra like a threat. I need time to unlearn that, or I might respond without thinking. I’d rather not hurt you.”

Izuna swallows. He doesn’t know what to say to that. The honesty throws him off. He rarely sees Tobirama so open—even if it’s just about a precaution. He nods slowly and lets the silence settle.

The water grows still around them. The only sounds are their quiet breaths.

Later, when Tobirama leads him to their sleeping room, Izuna places his futon beside Tobirama’s without a word. He lies down and stares up at the ceiling, thoughts tangled and restless. As sleep creeps in, he wonders if the warmth in his chest is from the bath—or something far more dangerous.

---

Izuna wakes slowly, surrounded by unfamiliar warmth that’s both soothing and confusing. As his mind clears, he realizes something is off—he’s not on his futon. His cheek is pressed against a firm chest, and his legs are tangled with someone else’s. It only takes a moment to recognize whose arms he’s in. Tobirama is holding him close, like this is something they’ve done a hundred times before.

His heart pounds, breath catching. How did this happen? Tobirama is still asleep, his face unguarded and relaxed in the morning light. The softness of his expression throws Izuna off. It’s a side of him he’s never seen, and it feels far too intimate.

Flushing, Izuna tries to pull away carefully, not wanting to wake him. But Tobirama stirs at the movement, his arms tightening briefly before his eyes open.

Izuna freezes like he’s been caught in the act.

Tobirama blinks, his red eyes hazy with sleep. His brow furrows for a moment before understanding sets in—and to Izuna’s surprise, a faint blush colors his cheeks.

“Apologies,” Tobirama says, his voice thick with sleep. “I... tend to get cold easily because of my water nature. I must have subconsciously sought out warmth.” He looks genuinely embarrassed.

Izuna’s face heats even more—he’s probably bright red. “It’s fine,” he stammers. His voice is shaky, and he quickly sits up, needing space.

They get dressed in silence, though Izuna’s thoughts are far from quiet. Tobirama pulls on simple training clothes and hands Izuna a spare set.

“These should do until the seamstress arrives later today,” he says. “She’ll take your measurements, and you can request whatever fabrics and styles you prefer. Formal clothes will also be prepared for official events.”

Izuna studies the clothes. They’re plain, functional, and just a little too big—but clean, which is more than he can say for his own. “Thanks,” he mutters as he puts them on.

Afterward, they check on Haruki, who is still recovering from the Kurama’s genjutsu. The boy looks peaceful now, finally able to relax. Izuna tells Tobirama he should wake soon, and they head downstairs together.

What greets them in the dining room is... not what Izuna expects.

Hashirama, the so-called ‘God of Shinobi’, sits cross-legged on the tatami flooring with a little girl next to him. She looks about five, her short chestnut colored hair catches the sunlight as she carefully braids pink ribbons into his long hair. The scene is so ridiculous Izuna forgets to breathe.

Hashirama looks up and grins like nothing is out of the ordinary. “Good morning!”

Izuna is completely thrown. This is the terrifying leader of the Senju? The man who’s made even battle-hardened shinobi tremble? He looks like a child’s playmate.

The little girl glances up and beams when she sees Tobirama. “Papa!” she squeals, leaping up and running to him. She crashes into his legs, hugging him tightly.

Tobirama lifts her with ease, his usual stern expression softening. “Good morning, Kaede,” he says, voice gentler than Izuna’s ever heard. He turns slightly and gestures toward Izuna. “This is Izuna. We married yesterday.”

Kaede tilts her head, eyes wide with curiosity. “Are you a man or a woman?” she asks bluntly.

Izuna blinks, caught off guard. “I’m a man,” he replies politely, still puzzled.

Kaede frowns a little. “But you’re so pretty.”

The comment throws Izuna completely. He clears his throat and looks away. “Thank you,” he says, unsure what else to say.

Kaede grins at him, bright and genuine. She’s... adorable, he admits to himself, despite everything.

“What do you want for breakfast?” Tobirama asks her.

“Strawberries!” Kaede answers immediately.

Tobirama chuckles softly. “If you say please, uncle Hashi might grow some for dessert. Now, go sit with Izuna while I reheat last night’s leftovers.”

Kaede runs back to Hashirama and tugs on his sleeve. “Uncle Hashi! Strawberries, please!”

Izuna sits at the table, still trying to make sense of the cheerful chaos around him. “Does Tobirama usually handle the cooking? Or do you take turns?” he asks Hashirama curiously.

To his surprise, Hashirama shakes his head. “Oh, no. Tobirama forbids me from cooking.”

From the kitchen, Tobirama’s voice calls out, loud and clear. “I forgot to tell you yesterday, Izuna: keep Anija away from the stove. By any means necessary. I don’t care if you have to guilt-trip him, throw one of his potted plants out the window, or set fire to his bonsai garden. He is not allowed to cook.”

Hashirama pouts dramatically, his lower lip sticking out. “But... Tora…”

“No,” Tobirama snaps, leaving no room for argument. “I don’t care if you can rebuild the house in a jiffy—you will not burn it down. Let’s not forget that you can only recreate things made of wood. We’d still need to replace everything else. Or have you suddenly learned how to grow tatami mats, shoji doors, and frying pans?”

Hashirama slumps in defeat, sighing dramatically. Kaede pats his arm like she’s trying to comfort a wounded animal. “Don’t worry, Uncle Hashi. I still like you. Even if you can’t cook.”

Izuna stifles a laugh, hiding his amusement behind his hand. This family is nothing like he imagined. And as chaotic as it is, he can’t help the faint warmth that stirs in his chest.

Tobirama walks back into the dining room carrying trays full of steaming food. The scent of miso soup and warm rice fills the air, and Izuna finds himself quietly impressed. Tobirama works with steady, practiced motions, placing tea in front of the adults and juice in front of Kaede before setting down the rest of the meal.

They sit to eat, the soft sound of chopsticks and clinking bowls the only noise for a while. Kaede fills the silence with stories of a dream about flying bunnies, while Hashirama reacts like he’s hearing the most impressive tale in the world. Izuna eats quietly, still adjusting to the warmth and strange normalcy of life inside the Senju household. It’s so... ordinary. Not at all what he expected from people he once saw as enemies.

About halfway through the meal, Hashirama clears his throat. “We need to talk about replacing Usami,” he says, his usual cheer slightly dulled. “I’ve already received a few applications. Those who meet the basic requirements will come by today. The first one’s scheduled for ten, then we’ll have a new person every thirty minutes.”

Tobirama hums, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly as he thinks. Then, he looks at Izuna. “Would you be willing to help with the hiring process of our new housekeeper?”

Izuna blinks, caught off guard. “Assist? What does that entail?” He hesitates, unsure what exactly he’s agreeing to. He wants to ask what happened to the old housekeeper—but thinks better of it.

Tobirama sets down his chopsticks with the same quiet care he does everything. “It’s simple,” he says in his usual calm voice. “You’ll wrap a bandage over your eyes to make your injury seem worse than it is. I’ll greet the candidates, show them where to wait, and tell them I’ll be with them shortly. Then I’ll secretly follow them into the room where you’ll already be.”

Izuna raises a brow. “And then?”

“I want to see how they act when they think no one’s watching,” Tobirama explains. His tone is level, but there’s a seriousness beneath it. “You’ll ask for a glass of water. If they’re rude, dismissive, or—worse—try to harm you, they’re out.”

Izuna thinks about it. It’s straightforward, and it’s not like he has anything else to do. “Alright,” he says, though part of him still wonders about Tobirama’s protectiveness. Is it just about the alliance Hashirama wants? Or something more? The idea sends a strange heat through his chest that he quickly brushes aside.

Hashirama perks up with a grin. “Oh! Kaede could help too!” His voice is full of excitement, like he’s just had a stroke of genius. “She could pretend to trip and ‘accidentally’ spill juice on them.”

Kaede lights up like a lantern, grinning from ear to ear. “I can do that! I want the new housekeeper to be nice,” she says, folding her arms with a tiny huff. She’s clearly trying to look serious, but it just makes her look more adorable. “Usami-san wasn’t nice.”

Izuna tilts his head, curiosity getting the better of him. “Not nice?” he asks, glancing from Kaede to Tobirama.

Tobirama’s expression shifts—just slightly, but enough for Izuna to catch it. A flicker of annoyance, quickly buried. “Usami... didn’t meet the standards I expect for someone responsible for my children,” he says shortly, his tone leaving no room for debate.

Kaede, completely unaware of the tension, nods firmly. “She made Haru-nii cry! And she yelled a lot.” She frowns and looks up at Tobirama. “The new person has to be nice, Papa.”

“They will be,” Tobirama tells her, his voice softening. “That’s why we’re being careful.”

Izuna watches the way Tobirama moves so easily between his strict, almost distant persona and this much warmer, gentler version. It throws him off. The man he thought he knew doesn’t quite match what he’s seen since cominh to the Senju compound—and it leaves Izuna feeling unsteady in a way he can’t explain.

Still, a faint smile pulls at his lips. “Alright, Kaede-chan. I’ll make sure to check if they’re nice.”

Kaede beams. “Thanks!” she chirps, then returns her full attention to her juice, completely unaware of the storm she’s stirred in Izuna’s heart.

Chapter Text

Tobirama stands near the entrance, waiting for the first applicant. Sume, a young woman from a well-known shinobi family, greets him with a polite bow. Her chakra feels steady—disciplined even—but there’s a hint of hesitation underneath. He doesn’t focus on it; first impressions don’t mean much.

“Good morning,” he says evenly, motioning down the hall. “The dining room is straight ahead. I’ll join you shortly.”

Sume nods respectfully and walks off. Tobirama watches her for a moment, then follows quietly. His steps make no sound. Chakra suppression is second nature to him, and he watches her unnoticed.

When Sume steps into the dining room, Tobirama turns his focus to Izuna, who sits calmly at the low table. Tobirama knows that look is carefully maintained. Izuna’s sealed chakra is steady, but there are faint ripples of discomfort—likely from the blindfold.

Izuna tilts his head toward Sume and speaks gently, his tone polite and a bit reserved. “Excuse me, could you please refill my glass of water? I’m unfamiliar with the house and can’t see well enough to manage on my own.”

Tobirama watches Sume closely. Her chakra spikes with irritation, her polite expression slipping right away. She sneers, her voice sharp with mockery. “Do it yourself,” she snaps.

Tobirama steps into the room like a cold wind. “You can go,” he says flatly, his voice as sharp as a blade.

Sume stiffens, her chakra flaring with anger, but she leaves without a word.

Tobirama lets out a quiet breath. His jaw tightens as frustration builds beneath his calm surface. One applicant down. One failure. Not surprising, but still disappointing.

The same thing happens with the next five. Some are openly rude, their chakras buzzing with contempt when they speak to Izuna. One—a middle-aged woman who seemed promising at first—goes so far as to poison the water. Tobirama has her arrested on the spot.

By the time the seventh person shows up, Tobirama’s patience is wearing thin, though his expression stays unreadable. This woman is at least polite, and her chakra is calm. But when Kaede bumps into her and spills juice on her expensive kimono, her mask cracks. Her chakra flares with anger, and Tobirama steps in just in time to stop her from raising a hand to Kaede.

He sends her away immediately, fury churning under his calm face.

After a short break for the seamstress to take Izuna’s measurements, the eighth applicant arrives. Risa, a middle-aged civilian from a branch family. Right away, Tobirama notices the steadiness of her untrained chakra—peaceful, dependable, and warm.

Risa greets Izuna with a small bow, even though he can’t see her. “Good day, Uchiha-sama.”

Izuna corrects her. “Technically, it’s Senju Izuna now.”

Risa’s chakra jolts with embarrassment, and she bows again and again, her voice sincere. “Forgive me, Izuna-sama!”

When Izuna asks her to refill his water, she responds right away. Her movements are smooth and efficient. She comes back quickly, handing him the glass with care. Tobirama watches from the shadows.

Kaede enters the room, her little face serious with focus. She “trips” into Risa, juice splashing on both of them.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Kaede says in a high, nervous voice.

Risa kneels at once, her chakra full of calm reassurance. “It’s nothing, Kaede-chan,” she says kindly. “Just be more careful next time. If the glass had broken, someone could’ve gotten hurt.”

Tobirama steps in and hands her a towel. “Kaede, go change your clothes,” he says, firm but kind. He gives her a small nod of approval. She nods back and hurries off.

Quietly, Tobirama checks the glass Risa gave to Izuna. It’s clean. His shoulders loosen a little. “You’re the first applicant to make it to the actual interview,” he tells Risa.

Risa looks genuinely surprised. Her chakra flickers with curiosity and a bit of confusion. “Truly, Tobirama-sama?”

Tobirama nods. “The others… failed to meet our expectations.”

He glances at Izuna, whose chakra now hums with quiet approval. Izuna unties the blindfold, revealing his black eyes.

Risa’s reaction is immediate. Her chakra wavers, her calm expression slipping as she looks between them, clearly trying to make sense of it all.

“I apologize for the deception,” Tobirama says, voice steady. His eyes stay on her, watching every shift in her chakra: surprise, a touch of unease, but no anger or resentment. That’s a good sign.

Before Risa can say anything, Kaede runs back in wearing fresh clothes. Her chakra is bright and cheerful. She flashes a grin at Tobirama, as if saying, See? I cleaned up.

At that moment, the front door opens, and Hashirama walks in, voice booming through the house. “I brought lunch!” he announces, holding up two big boxes of sushi like they’re a prize.

Risa’s chakra flickers with a mix of awe and nerves. Tobirama can tell she recognizes Hashirama—the Senju clan head, the God of Shinobi—even though she tries to stay composed.

Hashirama stops mid-step when he sees her. “Oh! You must be the first applicant that actually passed the test.” His surprise is clear, his chakra full of curiosity and honest delight. Without missing a beat, he waves toward the table. “Please, have a seat! Let’s discuss the job while we eat.”

Risa bows deeply. “Thank you, Hashirama-sama,” she says, then carefully takes a seat.

Tobirama walks to the kitchen with even steps to get the dishes and cups. He notices Risa’s chakra start to steady—it’s a good sign. She’s adjusting.

When everything is ready, they start the meal. The smell of fresh sushi fills the room, and Kaede hums happily while picking her favorite pieces. Tobirama watches her for a moment, his expression softening slightly. Then he turns back to Risa.

“As for the job,” he begins in a practical tone, “your main duties will include taking care of the house—cleaning, dishes, laundry, mending clothes, and shopping for groceries. You’ll also cook for Kaede and Haruki when I’m not around and keep an eye on them.”

Risa listens closely, hands folded in her lap. Her chakra is calm, but there’s a hint of nervous excitement underneath.

She nods and asks, “And what about the children’s training?”

Tobirama’s lips twitch just slightly—her question shows she’s thinking ahead. That’s a good sign. “That will not be your responsibility,” he replies. “Izuna and I will handle their training personally.”

Hashirama adds with a warm grin, “We’ll provide you with money for groceries, of course. And if you ever need assistance with anything, just let us know!”

Risa nods again and bows slightly. “Understood, Hashirama-sama. Tobirama-sama.”

Tobirama studies her closely. Her chakra is calm but full of purpose and respect.

As the meal continues, Kaede chatters happily about the sushi, and even Izuna quietly comments on the food. Tobirama leans back a little, his sharp gaze moving from one person to the next at the table.

Risa, for her part, blends in easily. Yes, Tobirama thinks. This one might do just fine.

---

After lunch, Tobirama watches as Hashirama and Kaede take Risa on a tour of the house. Kaede’s chakra buzzes with excitement, bright and full of energy, while Hashirama’s glows with his usual cheerful warmth. Tobirama hopes their enthusiasm doesn’t overwhelm Risa, but her steady chakra suggests she’s handling it well.

Once they’re out of sight, Tobirama turns to Izuna. “We should check on Haruki,” he says. His tone is calm, but there’s tension underneath. He hasn’t stopped worrying about his son since they brought him home.

Izuna nods without a word. His face stays neutral, but Tobirama senses a small ripple of concern in his chakra.

When they enter Haruki’s room, Tobirama’s eyes go straight to the small form under the futon. The boy is breathing steadily, but the faint changes in his chakra tell Tobirama that something’s shifting.

Izuna crouches beside the futon, his gaze soft. “His eyelids,” Izuna murmurs, “they’re fluttering. He’s about to wake up.”

Tobirama steps closer. He’s been waiting for this moment, though the shadow of Kurama’s genjutsu still hangs heavy in his thoughts.

Haruki’s eyes open slowly, unfocused and wide. His chakra jumps—sharp with fear, like he’s still trapped in a nightmare. His small body tenses, eyes darting around the room.

Tobirama kneels beside him, keeping his movements slow and calm. “Haruki,” he says softly.

The boy’s eyes find him, and the fear begins to shift. Recognition sets in. Tobirama’s heart tightens—his brave little boy, now trembling like a leaf.

“It’s me,” Tobirama says, reaching out to pull Haruki into a firm hug. Haruki clings to him, burying his face in his chest as the sobs break free. His chakra is wild and raw at first, but it slowly calms under Tobirama’s steady presence.

Tobirama holds him close, one hand gently running over his hair. “You’re safe now,” he murmurs. “You’re home, Haruki. No one will hurt you here.”

Haruki’s crying slows, his small body relaxing bit by bit. He leans into Tobirama for a moment longer, then pulls back, his tear-filled eyes looking up at him.

Tobirama shifts to the side so Haruki can see Izuna. “Haruki, this is Izuna,” he says, his voice still soft, but more formal now. “He’s my husband.”

Haruki blinks, trying to make sense of the words. His eyes flick to Izuna, and his chakra shifts again—no fear this time, just curiosity. “Izuna,” the boy repeats, tilting his head. Then he frowns. “Papa, is this the Uchiha rival you’re always fighting?”

Tobirama feels a spark of embarrassment but doesn’t show it. “Yes,” he says simply, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Haruki’s eyes jump between them, chakra buzzing with confusion. “Why did you marry him, then?”

Tobirama pauses just briefly before replying, “To stop the war between our clans.” The words are heavier than he’d like, but his tone stays even. He doesn’t want to explain more—not now. Preferable not ever.

Izuna’s chakra flutters—surprise, amusement, and something gentler—but he says nothing. He just gives Haruki a small, reassuring smile.

Haruki looks thoughtful, his face scrunched in concentration. “Okay,” he says finally, a little hesitant but accepting.

Tobirama breathes out slowly as Haruki leans into him again, small hands gripping his sleeve. Relief spreads through him. His son is safe.

Chapter Text

Izuna wakes slowly, wrapped in warmth. The first thing he notices is Tobirama’s steady breathing, calm and even against his back. When he opens his eyes, he finds himself once again curled up in his husband’s arms. The awkwardness he felt yesterday morning doesn’t return—this time, he knows why it happened. Instead of pulling away, he stays still. The gentle weight of Tobirama’s arm across his waist feels strangely comforting.

He closes his eyes again and listens to Tobirama breathe. The rhythm is steady, soothing. There’s a quiet closeness in this moment that Izuna can’t quite explain. Part of him wants to move away, but another, quieter part wants to stay like this just a bit longer.

A few minutes pass before Tobirama shifts slightly. His arm tightens around Izuna for a second, like he’s reluctant to let go, before he exhales and pulls away.

Izuna sits up, brushing his hair back, and glances over to see Tobirama already reaching for his robes. Their eyes meet briefly. Tobirama gives a small nod, his face as unreadable as always. They dress in silence, a calm quiet hanging between them, and head downstairs to the dining room.

The smell of breakfast greets them before they even step in. In the kitchen, Risa is moving efficiently, cooking with practiced ease. Kaede and Haruki run around the dining room, happily setting the table. Their bright energy is a sharp contrast to the quieter weight Izuna notices in Tobirama.

“I need to check the warding seals,” Tobirama says suddenly. His voice is short but not cold. Without waiting for a reply, he steps outside.

Izuna watches the door close behind him, then decides not to stand around doing nothing. He walks into the kitchen. “Is there anything I can do to help?” he asks Risa. His tone is polite, but he’s also genuinely curious.

Risa glances up, her expression softening. “You can cut the vegetables,” she says, nodding toward the cutting board, “and make the tea.”

Izuna gets to work. The repetitive tasks are simple, but he finds them oddly relaxing. The quiet rhythm of the kitchen gives him a moment to breathe.

Tobirama comes back just as breakfast is nearly finished. His presence brings a kind of calm with it. Without saying a word, he steps in to help. At the same time, he calls over his shoulder, “Kaede, Haruki—go wake your uncle.”

The kids rush off, giggling. Moments later, a loud shriek echoes from upstairs. Izuna can’t help the small smile that creeps across his face.

Breakfast itself is calm. The earlier noise fades, leaving a peaceful atmosphere. Hashirama, still grumbling a bit about being woken up so rudely, turns his attention to Izuna. “How are you settling in?” he asks, clearly interested.

Izuna thinks for a second before answering. “It’s… alright. Though I imagine it will take a bit more time to adjust.” He casts a sideways glance at Tobirama, letting a sly smirk appear. “Especially to my husband’s habit of cuddling at night.”

Tobirama freezes, chopsticks suspended above his plate. A faint flush creeps across his cheeks. Izuna feels a flicker of amusement—seeing the usually composed man thrown off is oddly satisfying.

Hashirama perks up, clearly curious now. “Cuddling?” he repeats, leaning in. “You’ll have to elaborate.”

Izuna shrugs casually. His voice stays calm, but there’s a teasing edge to it. “Apparently he gets cold at night. I’ve been conscripted as a personal heater.”

Hashirama’s playful look fades, replaced by a more serious frown. He turns to Tobirama, now watching him with a concerned expression. “How long have you been overusing your sensory abilities without getting proper rest?”

Tobirama stiffens. He doesn’t respond at first. Then, in a quiet voice, he says, “Since Madara burned the letter.”

For a moment Izuna fears he overstepped. But if Tobirama has been reckless with his health… Surely, it would be better for him to take some time to recover?

The room goes still. Hashirama looks at him with clear worry, his voice sharper now. “Tobirama, that’s reckless! You’ve been putting unnecessary strain on your body and brain!”

Tobirama sighs. His posture is rigid, but there’s a weary acceptance in it.

Hashirama’s tone softens, though it’s still firm. “Put on dampening seals to block your sensory abilities. Leave them on until tomorrow morning, no arguments.”

Tobirama looks like he wants to argue, but then he breathes out, just a little of his usual control slipping. “Fine,” he mutters.

Izuna watches the two brothers quietly, his own thoughts stirring. From Hashirama’s reaction, whatever Tobirama did to himself doesn’t seem to bad, it it can be healed in a day. So there probably is no need to worry or anything.

But Izuna still feels a bit uneasy about it.

---

After breakfast, Tobirama and Hashirama leave the house, their serious expressions making it clear that the clan meetings they’re heading to are important. Izuna is relieved to be excused—his injured eyes still ache slightly, and the idea of sitting through a room full of Senju elders doesn’t sound appealing.

Once the door closes behind them, he turns to the twins, who are hovering nearby, full of curiosity. Their energy is hard to resist, and before he really thinks about it, he offers, “Would you like to train a bit?”

Haruki’s eyes light up, but Kaede glances toward the kitchen, where Risa is still busy cleaning. “Papa and Uncle Hashi said Haru-nii is still recovering,” she says seriously, impressive for someone so young.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Izuna replies. “We’ll stick to something easy.”

Risa doesn’t say anything, but from the kitchen, she gives him a warm smile that tells him she approves.

Outside, the backyard is cool and calm. The air is crisp, and the soft rustle of grass adds to the peaceful feeling. There’s plenty of space to train. Izuna studies the twins, picking up on their excitement. They remind him of himself and Madara when they were young—before life became complicated, before war turned dreams of a brighter future into something bitter.

With his chakra sealed, he knows he can’t teach them anything chakra related. “No jutsu today,” he says. “But I can teach you something else. Would you rather practice throwing kunai and shuriken, or work on your taijutsu katas?”

“Kunai!” Haruki blurts out without hesitation, and his excitement earns a grin from Kaede.

Izuna laughs. “Kunai it is.”

He sets up a makeshift target, using his sharp eye to place it at just the right height for the kids. Pulling a kunai from his pouch, he shows them the proper stance, how to hold it, and how to throw. The blade hits the target with a satisfying thunk.

“Now, your turn. Watch your stance, and don’t rush.”

The twins take turns throwing. At first, their aim is way off. Izuna helps them without frustration, guiding Kaede’s hand and adjusting Haruki’s footing. Haruki struggles more—his body still hasn’t fully recovered. Izuna watches him carefully, a tight feeling in his chest. Haruki is tired, but he’s determined, and Izuna can’t help but admire that.

When Haruki stops to catch his breath, Izuna decides to change things up. “Let’s take a break from throwing. How about a quiz?”

The twins glance at each other, curious, then nod.

Izuna folds his arms. “Tell me, how would you recognize a potential intruder or spy?”

Their answers come fast—too fast. “If they’re wearing a disguise!” Kaede says proudly.

“If they’re sneaky,” Haruki adds, though his voice is a little unsure.

Izuna smiles faintly, but he doesn’t let them off easily. “Good ideas, but what if the disguise is perfect? What if they don’t act sneaky?”

Their faces scrunch in thought, and he can’t suppress a small surge of amusement. Their answers are naïve, as expected for children their age, but it’s a good chance to teach them how to pay attention to subtle signs.

By noon, the kids are getting tired, and Izuna is starting to feel the strain on his eyes. Right on cue, Risa walks out into the yard with a tray of lunch. “Time to eat,” she announces.

The twins perk up right away and rush to the food. Izuna follows at a slower pace, still thinking about the morning’s lesson. He’s surprised by how much he enjoys this—teaching them, seeing them improve, and watching how close they are as siblings.

After they have eaten, Haruki looks a little steadier, though he’s still clearly not back to full strength.

“Do you want to continue?” Izuna asks him softly.

The boy nods, his determination solid.

“Alright,” Izuna says, smiling a little. “Back to kunai practice, then.”

While keeping an eye on the twins, Izuna finds his eyes drifting toward the house. He wonders how Tobirama’s meetings are going. There’s a strange pull in his chest—part concern, part something else he doesn’t want to name yet. He pushes the thought away and brings his focus back to the kids. They deserve his full attention.

Then, a sharp knock at the front door pulls his attention from Haruki’s wobbly but improving throw. Izuna straightens on instinct, scanning for any signs of danger.

Before he decides whether to go check, Risa appears in the backyard doorway.

“Izuna-sama,” she says, her voice steady but tight. “You’re needed at the door.”

The tone of her voice tightens his gut. He quickly tells the twins to take a short break and follows her. His mind races as he walks to the front. Is it news from the meeting?

But when he reaches the door, everything in his head stops. Four Senju shinobi stand there. Their faces are unreadable, but their stiff posture screams authority. And in their hands are two children he knows too well—Kazuki and his little brother Kagami.

His heart seizes.

The boys aren’t badly hurt, but they’re clearly shaken. Their clothes are dirty and torn. Kazuki’s hands and feet are bound with ninja wire, and even though his eyes show fear, they also burn with defiance. Kagami, who’s barely three, isn’t tied up, but one of the shinobi holds him too tightly. The little boy’s face is streaked with tears.

“What is the meaning of this?” Izuna demands, stepping forward as anger rises in his chest. “Why are Uchiha children in Senju custody?”

“They were found trespassing,” one of the shinobi says coldly. “We’re taking them to the clan head for questioning.”

Izuna’s jaw clenches. His chest burns. “Give them to me,” he says, voice low and firm.

The Senju don’t move. “We’re under orders to—”

“Get Tobirama,” Izuna cuts in, glancing toward Risa. She nods and hurries off without a word.

The air grows heavier as they wait. Kagami wriggles in the shinobi’s grip, his tiny hands tugging at the arm holding him. Izuna’s hands curl into fists. He sees the tremble in Kagami’s face—scared, overwhelmed, desperate.

Then, suddenly, Kagami twists and bites the arm holding him. The shinobi shouts in surprise, loosening his hold. The boy slips free, stumbles, then bolts for Izuna with his arms out.

Izuna drops to one knee without thinking and catches him. Kagami clings to his robes, his small body shaking hard.

“Return him,” the shinobi growls, stepping forward.

Izuna’s glare sharpens. His protective instinct flares hot. “You will not touch him.”

Kagami buries his face in Izuna’s chest. Izuna’s heart aches as he holds him tighter.

“Stand down,” he says, voice firm and full of warning.

Before the Senju can react, Tobirama and Hashirama appear, striding quickly to the door. Risa follows behind, her face pale and worried.

“What’s going on here?” Tobirama demands. His voice slices through the tension like a blade. His red eyes sweep over the shinobi, the children, and Izuna.

One of the shinobi steps forward to answer, but before he speaks, the one nearest to Izuna reaches for Kagami.

The movement is fast. Too fast. Too bold. And something inside Izuna snaps.

His arms tighten around Kagami on instinct, and before he can stop himself, he blurts out, “Meet my son.”

The genkan falls silent.

“Oh,” Izuna adds, glancing at Tobirama with wide, slightly panicked eyes, “and since we’re married, he’s also yours.”

Chapter Text

Tobirama stares at the scene in front of him. He looks from his husband to the child in his arms to Keita’s patrol unit and the boy they’re holding. His eyes narrow as he tries to make sense of Izuna’s sudden and bold claim.

His son?

He can’t decide if he’s annoyed or impressed by Izuna’s sheer audacity. He knows without a shred of doubt that Izuna has no children. None. Tobirama would’ve known. Because his sensing ability is still sealed, he can’t feel the boy’s chakra to check how closely they’re related. But he doesn’t recall any close cousins either. When they built Konoha Madara and his cousin Hikaku had been the last of the main line.

He opens his mouth, ready to call Izuna out for attempting to foist a random Uchiha child onto him in some ridiculous scheme, but then the boy in Izuna’s arms shifts.

Big, tear-filled eyes turn up to meet his.

Tobirama freezes.

He knows those eyes. Kagami.

The name comes to him without warning, dragging a wave of memories with it—memories from a future that hasn’t happened yet. Memories of the bright, talented student he once mentored. Of a boy whose loyalty and brilliance stood out, even against impossible odds.

For a second, the present fades. He sees Kagami as he will be—a capable young shinobi, steady and devoted to Konoha.

But right now… this Kagami is tiny. Fragile. He’s shaking with fear, clinging to Izuna like his life depends on it. Tobirama swallows hard, forcing himself to breathe, to come back to the present.

Keita steps forward and reaches out, ready to grab the boy.

“No!” Kagami cries, clutching Izuna’s robes even tighter as tears spill freely down his cheeks.

Tobirama’s resolve crumbles and his restraint snaps. “Hands off my son,” he says sharply.

Keita and his unit freeze. Confused and uncertain, they glance at him, silently questioning.

One of them turns toward Hashirama, clearly hoping for backup.

But Hashirama doesn’t even acknowledge the tension. His face lights up as he leans forward to get a better look at the child in Izuna’s arms. His smile is wide and full of warmth. “I have a new nephew?” he asks, delighted. “He’s so cute! What’s his name?”

Izuna holds Kagami closer. “Kagami,” he says, voice calm despite the chaos.

Tobirama’s gaze shifts to the older boy—about eleven or twelve—still bound and standing stiff beside the patrol unit. “And the other one?” he asks.

Izuna’s expression softens. “Kazuki,” he answers. “He’s my student.”

Tobirama studies Kazuki more closely, frowning. Why doesn’t he recognize him?

Did Kazuki die in the original timeline, caught up in the violence before the clans united? The idea unsettles him more than he wants to admit.

“Where are his parents?” he asks, voice quiet but firm.

Kazuki’s face hardens, but the pain in his eyes is clear. “They’re dead,” he says flatly.

Tobirama doesn’t react outwardly, but the answer hits harder than he expects. “What about aunts, uncles, or grandparents?”

“They’re dead too,” Kazuki says, his voice tight. “I only have Izuna-sensei.”

Tobirama looks at Izuna. His face is unreadable. Tobirama turns back to Kazuki. “Do you wish to remain Izuna’s student?”

Kazuki’s eyes widen in surprise, and even Izuna looks thrown off.

“Yes,” Kazuki says quickly, his voice steady and certain.

Tobirama gives a small nod, decision made. “Then you are under my care as well. Release him,” he says to Keita.

The patrol unit hesitates. The tension is thick in the air. One of them opens his mouth, trying to protest. “But—”

Tobirama cuts him off. His voice is cold and final. “Remember our laws. Orphaned children become the wards of their sensei until they come of age. Izuna is his sensei. And since Izuna is married to me, the boy is now our ward.”

The logic is clear. The shinobi know it. Reluctantly, they let Kazuki go. He stumbles forward, legs shaky.

At first, Tobirama assumes the ninja wire had cut off his circulation. But then he notices Kazuki clutching his thigh.

Tobirama crouches in front of him, eyes narrowing in concern. “Are you injured?” he asks.

Kazuki nods, biting his lip to hide a wince.

“Show me,” Tobirama says, voice gentler now, but still firm enough to reassure.

Kazuki hesitates. Then, slowly, he rolls up his trousers, revealing a tight, bloodied bandage wrapped around his thigh. The faint smell of dried blood and infection reaches Tobirama, and his jaw clenches.

Without saying anything, Tobirama slides his arms under the boy and lifts him gently. Kazuki is far too light—too thin for his age. He’s clearly malnourished. The fact that no one noticed or cared enough to treat his wound earlier fills Tobirama with quiet, simmering rage.

"Risa," he calls over his shoulder, voice calm but firm, "fetch two spare futons and bedding from the closet. Then I need you to watch Haruki and Kaede."

He turns to the patrol who brought the boys. “You are dismissed. I’ll handle things from here.”
There’s no room for argument in his tone. The shinobi glance at each other, clearly uneasy, but they obey and leave.

Tobirama carries Kazuki into the house with practiced ease, moving efficiently but carefully. Upstairs, he steps into one of the unused rooms and gently lowers Kazuki onto the tatami mats. The boy winces, fear and pain tightening his features. Tobirama offers a quiet, steady reassurance.

“This will only take a moment,” he says.

He carefully removes Kazuki’s trousers and unwraps the bandage. The wound underneath is worse than expected—angry, red, and swollen. The infection is clearly advanced. The heat coming off Kazuki’s skin is a clear sign of fever, and a quick scan with a medical ninjutsu confirms it.

Tobirama’s stomach drops. The infection has reached his blood. If they don’t treat it soon, Kazuki won’t make it through the night.

But Tobirama doesn’t let any of this show on his face. Years of war have taught him how to stay calm when it matters most. Still, his chest tightens with pressure. He won’t let this boy die.

“Anija!” His voice is calm but urgent as he calls for his brother.

Hashirama appears moments later, expression shifting from curious to serious the instant he sees the injury. Izuna follows close behind, still holding a shaking Kagami.

“What happened?” Hashirama asks, kneeling beside Tobirama. His chakra flares with concern.

“It’s bad,” Tobirama says quietly. “Blood poisoning. He needs immediate treatment.”

Izuna gasps, his chakra spiking with panic. “No,” he whispers, holding Kagami even tighter. The child presses his face into Izuna’s shoulder and whimpers.

Kazuki’s breath hitches. He’s trembling. “Am I... am I going to die?” he asks, barely audible.

Tobirama places a steady hand on Kazuki’s shoulder. “No,” he says with certainty, meeting the boy’s eyes. “Anija is the best medic in Fire Country—probably the best in all the elemental nations. You’ll be fine.”

Hashirama flashes Tobirama a quick, grateful look before focusing fully on the wound. Green healing chakra glows from his hands, and he begins to work in silence, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Tobirama shifts beside Kazuki and gently brushes damp hair away from the boy’s forehead. “You’re brave,” he says, voice calm and even. “Braver than a lot of grown shinobi I’ve met. Just hang in there.”

Kazuki sniffles but nods, his tears slowing as he clings to Tobirama’s calm presence.

Izuna sinks to the floor nearby, gently stroking Kagami’s hair. His eyes keep darting to Kazuki. “He’ll be okay, right?” he asks. His voice is soft but strained.

“He’ll be fine,” Tobirama says firmly, though the weight in his chest hasn’t lifted.

Minutes crawl by. Finally, Hashirama leans back, the green glow of his chakra fading. “The poisoning’s cleared, and the wound is healing,” he says gently. “He’ll need rest and proper nourishment, but he’s out of danger now.”

Kazuki exhales shakily, relief washing over him.

“See?” Tobirama says, giving the boy’s shoulder a light squeeze. “I told you he’s the best.”

Kazuki nods, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion but shining with trust. “Thank you,” he whispers, his voice rough with emotion.

Tobirama turns his attention to Kagami, who clings tightly to Izuna’s neck. The boy’s small body is trembling, though he’s clearly trying to stay brave.

“Let me take a look,” He says, his voice gentler than usual as he motions for Izuna to lower Kagami a little.

Izuna hesitates but nods, adjusting his grip to give Tobirama better access. Kagami glances at him with wide, tear-filled eyes, uncertain. Tobirama offers a small, calm smile in return.

“This won’t hurt,” he promises, activating a diagnostic jutsu and letting it pass gently over Kagami’s body. The boy flinches slightly at the cool touch of chakra but stays still, watching.

Tobirama relaxes a little as the scan finishes. No wounds beyond a few bruises. No illness. Just clear signs of malnourishment. Kagami is far too thin, his ribs visible through the worn fabric of his shirt, but there’s nothing more serious.

“You’re alright,” Tobirama says, meeting Kagami’s gaze with a steady look. A faint smile touches his lips, though his red eyes stay serious. “Just a little underfed. We’ll fix that.”

Kagami blinks, surprised by the softness in Tobirama’s tone, then hides his face against Izuna’s shoulder again. A quiet “thank you” slips out.

Tobirama rises and addresses Izuna, his tone returning to its usual firmness. “Both boys are malnourished. They’ll need proper meals—balanced, regular, and nutrient-rich. It’ll take a couple of months, but they should make a full recovery.”

Izuna lets out a slow breath, some of the tension in his chakra easing. “Thank you, Tobirama,” he says sincerely, his eyes moving between him and Hashirama. “Both of you.”

Hashirama grins, brushing off the thanks with a wave. “It’s fine. These boys are family now, aren’t they? And family takes care of each other.”

The easy warmth in his brother’s words stirs something in Tobirama. He gives a small nod, accepting the sentiment without saying anything.

“Kazuki can have this room,” Tobirama says, motioning to the simple space where the boy now sleeps. “Kagami will take the one next door.”

Izuna looks at him for a moment, unreadable, then nods. Kagami, still tucked into Izuna’s arms, peeks out at Tobirama with a curious look.

“Anija will make them furniture,” Tobirama adds, shooting a pointed glance at his brother. Hashirama chuckles quietly. “For anything he can’t build, we’ll buy what we need tomorrow. The seamstress will have to measure them. Kagami should fit into Haruki’s old clothes for now, but we don’t have anything in Kazuki’s size.”

“We’ll manage,” Izuna says, his voice low but steady.

Chapter Text

The night is quiet. The faint rustle of tree branches brushes against the wind, distant and thin, as if the world itself is holding its breath. Moonlight spills through the windows in soft, silver ribbons—lighting the room just enough for Tobirama to see.

He sits on his futon, upright. Awake.

The seal is still in place. He can’t feel anything beyond the reach of his skin. No chakra patterns flickering through the trees, no warmth pulsing from the next room, no flicker of emotion he doesn’t have to guess at. He’s used to knowing everything. To sensing the world before it touches him. But now it’s like someone shoved him underwater and left him there.

He hates it.

He’s supposed to keep it on until morning—Hashirama’s orders, to give his brain time to rest. He agreed to it. Intellectually, he knows it’s necessary. But being helpless like this...

Without his senses, the world is wrong. Dull. His eyes still work. So do his ears. But it’s like peering through dirty glass—he can see, but not clearly.

He breathes slowly, evenly, as if control alone can steady the unease that coils in his stomach.

Rest doesn’t come. It won’t with the seal applied.

His eyes drift sideways. To Izuna.

Izuna’s futon rests beside his, close enough their arms might brush if one of them rolled too far. Izuna’s blanket is bunched at the hips, dark hair fanned out across the pillow.

It still feels surreal.

They’re married.

He hadn’t planned it to end this way. Not exactly.

When the marriage hunt became the only remaining option to safe Haruki, he’d thought—perhaps foolishly—that Izuna would be reluctant.

But Izuna had accepted without protest.

More than accepted—he’d stepped into the role as if he meant to honor it.

Tobirama frowns, watching the slow rise and fall of Izuna’s chest. He’s still not sure what to make of it. Of the quiet presence. Of the polite gestures. Of the way Izuna placed his futon next to his without comment. Of how he’s treated his children—no, their children—with warmth and patience and not a hint of resentment.

He should have been difficult. Should have demanded foreign delicacies or refused to eat at all. Should have refused to join family dinners or made cutting remarks about how backward the Senju were compared to the Uchiha.

He hasn’t done any of that.

Even Kagami...

Izuna must not have knows that Tobirama can sense how closely people are related to each other. Then again… He’s probably the only living sensor that can sense so much detail in others’ chakra. And even he has trouble distinguishing between a half-sibling and a cousin or aunt or uncle.

Tobirama exhales, low and steady. He doesn’t mind the lie. Not really. Ever since Kagami graduaded from the ninja academy and became part of Tobirama’s ge-nin team he’d already thought of the boy as his son in everything but name. Izuna only gave it form.

And that—he won’t pretend otherwise—is a gift.

Logically, Tobirama understands why Izuna would honor the bond. The marriage hunt may be an old tradition, but the Uchiha still follow it, as do the Inuzuka and the Hatake. Among the Senju, the practice faded generations ago, remembered more as a myth than a custom. But the rules are clear. A successful claim, sealed properly, must be upheld.

Izuna shifts in his sleep. He urns onto his side, facing away from him. The edge of his sleeping yukata slips down, exposing the pale line of his shoulder, the soft dip of his spine. Under the glow of the moon spilling through the open window, his skin almost glows—smooth, unmarred, utterly vulnerable.

Tobirama stares. He shouldn’t, but he does.

Moonlight brushes against Izuna’s neck, delicate as a kiss, and Tobirama can’t look away.

He breathes out slowly.

If it were possible, he would return Izuna to the Uchiha. Set him free. Let him choose a different path—one with a proper courtship and space to decide.

But it’s too late.

He used his mother’s marriage rope, the one her mother, Hatake Nanami, gave her as a coming of age gift. Before a drought forced her to accept a marriage to Butsama.

Once tied, the rope binds deeper than thread. Only death can break them apart now.

Tobirama closes his eyes briefly. The cool air touches his face. Somewhere in the trees beyond the compound, an owl hoots.

He’s stuck with Izuna. And Izuna is stuck with him.

If Izuna were a Senju, it wouldn’t matter. They could have simply coexisted. Shared space without closeness. They could eat together, speak when necessary, and retire to separate rooms without it being strange.

But Uchiha don’t work that way.

They burn too brightly, feel too deeply. They need. Not just partnership, but connection. Touch, understanding, a merging of hearts and minds. Tobirama has seen it—how they cling to one another in grief, how they fight for each other with every breath, how even the smallest bonds are treated as sacred.

In a traditional Senju marriage, an Uchiha would wither.

He can’t let that happen. Not to Izuna. Not if he wants peace to have any chance of surviving. Not if he wants their brothers to build Konoha again.

No, Izuna needs to be happy. Or at the very least content.

Tobirama sifts through memory. Conversations with Hikaku come to mind.

He’d asked once, years in the future, why the Uchiha even allowed arranged marriages when they prized love so highly.

Hikaku had looked at him and said simply, “Because romantic love isn’t the only kind of love. But even arranged matches are tested first. We don’t bind strangers. We find compatibility. We choose to trust what could grow.”

Tobirama remembers how Hikaku described it: shared meals, time spent together, casual touches, long conversations. No one is forced into a marriage without seeing a future. Without seeing something.

But Tobirama didn’t offer Izuna any of that.

He just took him. He tied the rope in desperation and claimed a man he barely knew outside the battlefield.

And still—Izuna hasn’t withdrawn.

He tried, Tobirama realizes. First in the bath, back when their marriage was still raw and sharp around the edges. Then again with the futons, wordlessly placing his beside Tobirama’s.

Not grand gestures. Not romantic overtures.

But something.

Is this Izuna seeing a future? Or is it just loneliness, the ache of not wanting to be completely alone?

Tobirama doesn’t know.

But he knows that he has to make this marriage work.

Failure isn’t an option.

And that means—Tobirama exhales slowly, steadying himself—it means he has to adapt.

He will need to learn to not just endure casual touches, but actually like them. The warmth of another body near his. Izuna brushing their arms together in the kitchen. Izuna laying a hand on his shoulder without warning. Izuna speaking softly in the dark when they’re both too tired to sleep. Closeness. Familiarity.

Intimacy.

He steels his spine.

It’s not unbearable. Already, Tobirama finds himself… not recoiling, when Izuna draws near. His chakra is soft. Steady. Warm. It hums in the air like the flicker of a hearth fire—bright, but never burning. His voice is always calm when it should be sharp. His hands always careful, even when Tobirama knows he could wound.

Objectively—Tobirama allows himself the thought—Izuna is…

Beautiful.

That’s the word, isn’t it?

His mind is quick, too, and his wit subtle. There’s something dignified in how he carries himself, how he speaks.

If Tobirama were to choose a husband for peace… it could have been worse.

Much worse.

He closes his eyes, forcing the heat rising to his cheeks down into his chest.

But.

There is a limit to what he knows he can give.

He’s aware of it like a scar beneath armor—silent, unseen, but unyielding. If things between them ever grow more physical—if Izuna one day reaches for more than shared space, more than warmth and routine—

Tobirama’s throat tightens.

He does not fear that moment. Not entirely. He knows his body. He knows what hands can do. What he can give. If Izuna ever reaches for that—should he desire that kind of closeness—Tobirama is relatively certain he can deliver. He can make Izuna enjoy it. Take care of him. Be gentle.

He’s spent a lifetime mastering control, after all.

But.

He isn’t sure he can enjoy it himself.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

He doesn’t know, and that unknowing presses like ice just beneath his ribs.

So he shuts the thought down hard, a white wall slamming into place.

He does not think about that. He won’t.

He does not remember.

And he will not allow those memories—fractured, unspoken, unwanted—to dictate the future. He’s not the broken boy he once was. He is a man now. A husband. A pillar holding up something fragile and new.

He will not fail.

He just needs time. And patience. And—

A knock interrupts the stillness.

Tobirama startles, barely suppressing the flicker of irritation that surges through his chest. He draws the blanket over his lap more firmly, posture already stiffening as the door slides open.

Hashirama peeks inside, face sheepish and apologetic. “Sorry for disturbing your night,” he says quietly, eyes flicking toward the still-sleeping form of Izuna.

Tobirama arches an eyebrow. “Something happened.”

Hashirama grimaces. “Yes. Apparently… Kayama managed to get out of his holding cell.”

Tobirama's frown deepens.

“He pretended to need a medic,” Hashirama continues. “Overpowered the poor doctor as soon as they got close. Then he broke into Usami’s cell—don’t ask me how, I’m still figuring that out—and we’re lucky they didn’t escape but ended up shouting at eact other for some reason.”

Hashirama looks increasingly uncomfortable.

“Usami… kicked him,” Hashirama says, voice lowering, “between the legs. His howl woke everyone in the building.”

Tobirama exhales slowly, unimpressed. “And the guards?”

“Apparently didn’t realize anything until the shouting started. There appear to have been several… oversights.” Hashirama rubs the back of his neck. “Touka and I could use your help sorting through this mess. We all know no one dares to make too many excuses when you’re in the room.”

Tobirama pinches the bridge of his nose. “The sun isn’t even up yet, anija.”

“I know.” Hashirama winces. “But you’re the only one who can tell when they’re lying.”

Tobirama sighs again, deeper this time. “Fine. But I need to remove the seal first. I won’t be much use like this.”

“Alright,” Hashirama agrees, already stepping back toward the hallway. “But don’t overdo it again. I’m serious, Tora.”

Tobirama waves him off. “Give me a moment to get ready.”

Hashirama pauses in the doorway.

“And while you wait,” Tobirama adds, “please check on Kazuki.”

Hashirama nods, immediately more serious. “Of course.”

Then he slips out, the door clicking softly behind him.

Tobirama draws a breath, deep and steady, then reaches up to his neck to remove the seal. The warmth of chakra floods back into his senses like a tide rolling in—loud, bright, alive.

He should probably wake up Izuna and tell him. Maybe he could arrange for him to run into Madara, who probably is still hovering near to the border from time to time? It should calm the Uchiha clan head enough he won’t do anything stupid that could endanger Konoha, like storming into the Senju compound.

Chapter Text

Tobirama’s hand on Izuna’s shoulder is gentle but firm enough to wake him right away. Izuna blinks as his eyes adjust to the morning light streaming through the window. When he meets Tobirama’s gaze, the usual sharpness is there—but softened. Still, his face is serious.

“Apologies,” Tobirama says, his voice low but steady. “There’s an emergency anija and I need to handle.”

Izuna sits up, heart sinking a little. “And the children?” he asks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“I’ve asked Risa to prepare breakfast and lunch,” Tobirama replies. “I need you to watch them.”

Izuna raises an eyebrow. He expects rules, limits, some quiet reminder that he still doesn’t fully belong here, even after the wedding. “Am I allowed to leave the grounds with them?” he asks, cautious and bracing for a flat no.

To his surprise, Tobirama nods. “The seamstress will come after breakfast to take the boys’ measurements. Once that’s done, you’re free to take them to the river or the cliff, if you want to.”

Izuna blinks, uncertain he heard right. He’d wanted to know if they were allowed to leave the property to go to the market or something. To hear Tobirama is letting him—an Uchiha—take Senju children outside the compound, alone? It feels almost unreal.

“Anija already checked on Kazuki,” Tobirama continues. “He’s well enough to get out of bed, but no strengenous activity. You can take them for a picnic. I’ll ask Risa to pack enough food for everyone.”

Before Izuna can reply, Tobirama pulls a kunai from his pouch and places it in Izuna’s hand. The hilt is warm against his palm. A seal is drawn onto the cloth wrapped around the handle.

“If there’s trouble,” Tobirama says, voice firmer now, “throw this. I’ll feel the signal and hiraishin to you immediately. But only if you or the children are in danger.”

Izuna nods slowly, staring at the kunai. It feels heavier than it should. Still, the gesture is more comforting than he wants to admit.

“There’s one more thing,” Tobirama adds, lowering his voice. “The seal I placed on you isn’t meant to be permanent. If you push enough chakra through it, it’ll break without harming you. But I strongly suggest you leave it in place until your eyes are fully healed. Forcing chakra through your optic nerves before they’re ready could cause permanent damage.”

Izuna swallows hard. The thought of damaging his Sharingan is terrifying. He nods again, throat tight. “I understand.”

Tobirama watches him for a long moment, his red eyes narrowing slightly. Then his tone shifts—calmer, softer. “You won’t betray our marriage vows, Izuna. I trust you. You won’t harm the children.”

The words hit Izuna hard. He would never hurt the children—that much is obvious—but the certainty in Tobirama’s voice still shakes him. Trust between their clans has always been fragile, almost non-existent, yet Tobirama gives it freely now.

Izuna presses down the swell of guilt and warmth in his chest. “Thank you,” he murmurs, barely audible.

Tobirama’s lips twitch into the faintest smile. “Have a good day, Izuna. I’ll be back in time for dinner.”

As Tobirama walks out, Izuna stays seated, staring down at the kunai in his hand. His thoughts spin, caught between Tobirama’s trust and his own doubt.

Not wanting to dwell on feelings he can’t sort out, Izuna gets ready for the day. After dressing, he heads downstairs, where Risa is already busy in the kitchen. He steps in to help without a word, his hands working on habit while his mind drifts back to that morning’s conversation. Risa hands him a picnic basket, filling it with more food than he thinks they could possibly eat.

“Bring back whatever’s left,” she says with a smile, brushing off his protests before he can speak.

Once the table is set, Izuna heads upstairs to wake the children. Kagami clings to him sleepily as he helps him into Haruki’s old training clothes. They’re a bit loose, but they’ll do. For Kazuki, Risa has found hand-me-downs from her youngest son. They’re not perfect, but they fit well enough.

Breakfast is cheerful, the children’s voices filling the house. Izuna watches them with a faint smile, their energy infectious. Still, part of him can’t get over how much food is on the table. In the Uchiha compound, breakfast might’ve been a small bowl of rice and a sliver of fish. This spread feels almost excessive.

The seamstress arrives just as they finish eating. She quickly and kindly takes Kagami’s and Kazuki’s measurements, putting both boys at ease with her warm presence. Then she hands Izuna a bundle of clothes.

“These are for everyday wear?” he asks, stunned by the softness and quality of the fabric.

The seamstress smiles. “Of course. They’re simple compared to the formal attire I’ll make next.”

Izuna thanks her, though it feels strange to wear something so fine for everyday use. Still, he can’t argue with clothes that actually fit.

With the measuring done, Izuna gathers the children and the picnic basket. Together, they set out for the river that marks the border between Senju and Uchiha land. Kagami holds his hand tightly, his small fingers warm and steadying. Kazuki walks just behind, eyes wary and alert. Kaede and Haruki run ahead but pause at every turn to wait for them.

As they walk, Izuna looks back at the Senju compound. The trust Tobirama has placed in him feels like both a burden and a gift, one he’s not sure how to carry. But as the children’s laughter rings out around him, he finds himself smiling despite the weight in his chest.

The air is warm, buzzing with insects as Izuna leads the children down the path to the river. The picnic basket swings lightly in his hand. Kagami lets go of Izuna’s hand and races after Kaede and Haruki, their laughter echoing as they dash to the water’s edge.

When they reach the river, Izuna sets the basket down under a large tree. The shade offers some relief from the sun and helps keep the food cool. He watches as the children gather around the water, their excitement easy to catch. The river sparkles under the sunlight, so clear that the smooth stones on the bottom are easy to see.

“Can we fish?” Kaede asks, already reaching for a branch.

“Fish?” Izuna repeats, slightly surprised. He hadn’t planned for that, but the children’s eagerness is hard to resist. “You want to try fishing?”

“Yes!” Kagami nods quickly.

Haruki steps forward too, quieter but just as interested. “We can make rods. Just need some sticks and string.”

Izuna lets out a soft chuckle, surprised even at the sound of it. “All right. Let’s see what you can come up with.”

The children scatter, searching nearby for what they need. Izuna leans back against the tree and lets his gaze drift toward the river. It’s quiet here—peaceful, in a way he didn’t expect. This stretch of land once ran with blood, and even now, the river still feels like a line drawn between enemies. That history isn’t so easy to forget.

The kids’ happy voices pull him back. They’ve made simple fishing rods from sticks and woven grass, the tools clumsy but made with care. Izuna crouches by the river to join them, watching as they throw their homemade lines into the water.

Time passes. The excitement fades when it becomes clear there are no fish biting. Shoulders droop. Kagami lets out a dramatic sigh, and Haruki grumbles quietly, frowning in frustration.

Izuna puts a hand on Kazuki’s shoulder. “Fishing takes patience,” he says softly. “It’s not your fault.” He stands up and looks around at all of them, the edge of a smile forming. “We’ll come back again with real fishing gear. I’ll ask Tobirama to help.”

“Really?” Kagami’s eyes light up, his earlier disappointment vanishing.

“Really,” Izuna says, voice steady.

The promise lifts their mood right away. They start chatting excitedly about what they’ll catch next time. Izuna watches them, a warmth settling in his chest. It’s been so long since he’s felt anything like this. It’s strange, but not unpleasant. For a moment, he lets himself imagine this could be normal—a quiet life, with laughter echoing around him.

A flicker of movement on the far bank catches his eye. Instinct takes over. In a blink, the kunai Tobirama gave him is in his hand. “Children, come back here,” he says, sharp but calm.

They move fast, gathering behind him without protest. Izuna shifts in front of them, shielding them with his body as he locks onto the shadowy figure across the river. His heartbeat pounds, muscles tensed.

“Izuna!” a familiar voice calls out.

His grip loosens as the figure steps into view. Relief hits hard. “Nii-san,” he exhales, lowering the kunai.

Madara crosses the river in long, determined strides, his face a mix of anger and concern. “What are you doing out here? Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?”

Izuna straightens, meeting his brother’s stare. “I’m fine,” he says, calmer than he feels.

Madara doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he grabs Izuna and pulls him into a tight hug, arms locking around him. It catches Izuna off guard, but after a second, he leans into it, his cheek brushing the familiar shoulder. Madara’s presence is grounding—like coming home in the middle of foreign land. “I’m glad you’re alright. Kazuki and Kagami, too. You have no idea how scared I was when I found them missing. I feared for the worst.”

“A Senju patrol found them.” Izuna answers the question Madara doesn’t ask.

When Madara finally lets go, Kaede tugs at Izuna’s sleeve, her curious eyes bouncing between the two men. “Izuna, who is that?”

Chapter Text

Izuna turns toward the children, his expression softening. “This is my nii-san,” he says, nodding toward Madara.

Madara raises an eyebrow, his sharp gaze now focused on the children. “And who are they?”

Izuna steps back and gently places a hand on Haruki’s shoulder and the other on Kaede’s. “Haruki-kun, Kaede-chan,” he introduces, “this is your uncle Madara. Nii-san, these are my adopted son and daughter Haruki-kun and Kaede-chan.”

For a second, Madara just stares, jaw slack in disbelief. “Adopted—what?” he finally blurts out, voice rising in shock.

Izuna can’t hold back the smirk tugging at his lips. It’s rare to see Madara this stunned, and he enjoys the moment. The children’s small hands grip his sleeves, steady and trusting, and he finds himself standing taller.

“Would you like to join us for lunch, Nii-san?” Izuna asks, motioning to the picnic basket still packed with food. “We have enough to feed an army.”

Madara shakes his head, but the low grumble from his stomach gives him away. “Fine,” he mutters, crossing his arms. “But only because I don’t want it to go to waste.”

The kids take off at once, their earlier shyness around Madara forgotten in their eagerness to explore. Kaede and Kagami head straight for the riverbank, picking up stones and stacking them carefully. Izuna watches, amused, as they argue over what they’re building. A castle? No, the shape’s too round. A sleeping cat? Possibly, considering the curved tail they’ve positioned carefully.

Meanwhile, Haruki and Kazuki are trying to skip stones across the water. Their technique is... lacking. Most of the stones either drop straight down or land with a loud splash. But their laughter rings out anyway, bright and carefree. It hits Izuna unexpectedly—how much joy and warmth those simple sounds bring.

Madara stands beside him, watching the children with an unreadable expression. “They remind me of myself and Hashirama when we were kids,” he says quietly, almost as if talking to himself.

Izuna glances at him, surprised by the softness in his tone. “How much do you know?” he asks, keeping his voice neutral.

“Just Hikaku’s report,” Madara replies, eyes still on the children. “I sensed Hashirama waiting at the river a few times, but I didn’t go to him. I was too angry—too ready to lose control. I didn’t want to make things worse for you by starting a fight.” His jaw clenches. “Who knows what that white-haired bastard would’ve done to you in retaliation.”

Izuna lets out a sigh. “Tobirama is my husband now, Nii-san, so I would appreciate if you could stop insulting him,” he says firmly.

Madara finally turns to look at him, frowning. “I wasn’t aware Tobirama had children,” he says, nodding toward the twins.

Izuna follows his gaze, watching Haruki throw another stone that immediately sinks. “The Senju kept them hidden,” he explains. “Didn’t want anyone using them as leverage.”

Madara grunts but doesn’t press the issue. Keeping children of high-ranking clan members secret is pretty common in most clans. Instead, his stance relaxes, and his voice lowers. “How are you settling in with the Senju? Are they treating you... appropriately? If not, I’ll speak with Hashirama myself. It might not do much, but I do hold some sway over him.”

Izuna shakes his head. “It’s fine,” he replies. “Some people were rude at first, but that’s to be expected. Tobirama and Hashirama treat me well. They’ve even adopted Kazuki and Kagami into their family. Risa, their housekeeper, is polite too.” He pauses, then adds, a hint of pink touching his cheeks, “Though it’ll take some time to get used to Tobirama cuddling me at night.”

Madara whips his head around, staring at him with a look of pure disbelief. “He’s touching you?” he demands. “Inappropriately?”

Izuna rolls his eyes, though the blush on his face deepens. “He’s my husband,” he says dryly. “We’re expected to touch each other inappropriately. But no, he hasn’t tried anything. Apparently, he gets cold at night and decided I make an excellent personal heater.”

Madara just stares at him for a moment. Then, unexpectedly, he bursts out laughing—loud, genuine, and a little surprised.

Izuna watches him, lips tugging into a reluctant smile despite the awkwardness of the topic. It’s rare to see Madara laugh like this, and he lets himself enjoy the moment for what it is.

But the peace is broken by a sharp cry. “Give it back! It’s mine!” Kaede shouts, her voice high and frustrated.

Izuna turns immediately, brows drawing together. Haruki is running from the sculpture Kaede and Kagami are building, a flat stone clutched in his hand. He’s grinning, clearly enjoying teasing his sister.

“Haruki,” Izuna calls, his tone calm but firm. To his surprise, Haruki stops right away and turns to face him. There’s a flicker of guilt in his eyes as he slowly walks over, dragging his feet.

Izuna crouches a bit to meet him at eye level. “Did you take that stone from Kaede’s and Kagami’s project?” he asks, keeping his voice even.

Haruki fidgets with the stone in his hands. “No,” he mutters, not meeting Izuna’s gaze.

Izuna lifts a single eyebrow, a look he’s honed from years of dealing with Madara’s antics. It works immediately—Haruki squirms, his resistance fading.

“Okay, yes,” Haruki admits in a quiet voice.

Izuna nods, his expression softening just a little. “Return the stone and apologize to your sister,” he says. “Now.”

Haruki hesitates for only a second before heading back to Kaede and Kagami. Izuna watches to make sure he goes through with it. Haruki offers the stone with a quiet apology, and Kaede, arms crossed, gives him a stern look but nods. Then she and Kagami return to their creation as if nothing happened.

Haruki walks back and sits beside Kazuki. Izuna lets out a slow breath.

“They’re rather well-behaved,” Madara says beside him, sounding genuinely impressed. He watches the kids for a moment, then adds, almost to himself, “Where’s their mother?”

Izuna stiffens at the question. His stomach twists into a tight knot. How much is he even allowed to say? He glances at the children to make sure they’re out of earshot before answering.

“There is no mother,” he says cautiously, keeping his tone even. “I don’t know what happened to her. She… drugged and raped Tobirama about six years ago, so I didn’t dare ask too many questions. And it’s probably better not to bring her up in front of the children.”

His voice drops to a whisper, thick with unspoken anger—not at Tobirama, but at the woman who forced herself on him.

Madara’s expression darkens. His lips press into a thin, grim line. “Sounds like a sore topic,” he mutters, his voice low and edged with restrained fury.

Izuna nods and glances toward Haruki and Kaede. They’re laughing again, the earlier tension already forgotten. How much do they even know?

“I don’t know how much they’ve been told,” he admits. “For all I know, they might believe she died in childbirth or from some illness before they could remember. And with how protective Tobirama is of them, I really don’t want to find out what he’ll do if I hurt them. Hashirama, too.”

Madara gives him a sharp look, surprise flashing in his eyes. “Protective?” He scoffs. “Then how the fuck are you here, watching over them? If Tobirama’s so damn careful, how did you—”

Izuna cuts him off with a smirk, crossing his arms. “Because he trusts me.”

Madara’s incredulous stare is almost funny. Izuna lets himself enjoy it for a moment.

“He trusts me to look after Haruki-kun and Kaede-chan,” he says. “And, apparently, he must trust you not to harm them, or he would’ve come here already.”

Madara frowns, clearly unconvinced. “You can’t know that.”

Izuna gives him a pointed look. “I can,” he says, voice steady. “Tobirama is a sensor, and a ridiculously overpowered one. We’re well within his range.”

His fingers twitch slightly at his sides, resisting the instinct to check the kunai strapped to his thigh.

“After what happened just a few days ago, there is no way he isn’t keeping an eye on his children.” He tilts his head, gaze sharpening. “Meaning he knows you’re here. And since he hasn’t shown up yet, he must trust you not to harm them.”

Madara looks stunned. It’s rare for Izuna to catch his brother off balance, and he savors the moment. But the surprise fades quickly, suspicion creeping in. “What do you mean, ‘after what happened just a few days ago’?”

Izuna’s smirk fades. He stiffens again, lowering his voice so only Madara can hear.

“It’s highly classified, so don’t repeat this to anyone,” he murmurs. “I’ve been forbidden from telling the children, and I don’t even know half of what really happened.”

He exhales slowly. “They were attacked—by shinobi from the Kurama clan.”

Chapter Text

Madara’s breath catches. His face drains of color. “What?”

Izuna nods, grim. “I don’t know how bad it got or the details of the fight. But the caretaker who was supposed to be watching them?” His voice drops even lower. “She’s been imprisoned. She’ll be put on trial soon.”

Madara’s hands curl into fists. He shakes his head in disbelief, muttering, “I can’t believe they survived an encounter with the Kurama.”

Izuna hesitates, then leans in closer. His voice is now a whisper. “Tobirama found them before the Kurama could kill them.”

Madara goes still. Izuna watches his brother silently work through the implications, tension settling in his shoulders as understanding dawns.

Izuna leans in even more, angling his head to shield his lips from view. “Haruki-kun was caught in the Kurama’s genjutsu.”

Madara goes rigid.

Silence stretches between them, dense and suffocating. Izuna doesn’t move. He waits, watching Madara’s thoughts catch up—watching his brother’s face darken as each piece falls into place.

At last, Madara exhales sharply. He speaks just as quietly, his voice barely a breath. “That’s why he took you.”

Izuna’s lips curl into something not quite a smile. “Actually,” he whispers, “I was only Plan B.”

Madara’s head snaps toward him, eyes narrowing. But Izuna doesn’t stop.

“They tried to hire one of us first—preferably you, but they would’ve settled for me as well.” His voice stays steady, but his pulse spikes as he recalls what his husband had told him—the price he had been willing to pay.

“They sent you a mission scroll. Offered two million ryo, thirty-five reusable long-term preservation scrolls, and two medical ninjutsu of your choosing—for breaking Haruki-kun out of the genjutsu.”

Madara’s eyes widen, shocked.

“You declined,” Izuna murmurs. “So Tobirama declared a marriage hunt on me.” He pauses, then adds, voice dry, “And carefully selected the marriage vows so I would have no choice but to save Haruki-kun.”

Madara moves before Izuna can react.

A sharp tug pulls him forward. Madara cups Izuna’s face in both hands, thumbs resting against his temples. His expression is raw—filled with pain and guilt.

“How badly were your eyes hurt?” he demands.

Izuna blinks, startled. “Nii-san—”

Madara’s grip tightens slightly. “I burnt that scroll,” he breathes, voice heavy with regret. “I thought it was just another one of Hashirama’s stupid pleas to meet and talk about peace. If I had just read it—”

Izuna leans into the touch and closes his eyes briefly. Madara has always loved fiercely, his emotions worn plainly on his face.

“I’m fine,” Izuna murmurs, voice soft. “Tobirama and Hashirama healed my eyes.” A wry smile tugs at his lips. “Tobirama was... pretty shocked when he realized it had hurt me. He seems to genuinely feel bad about it.”

His chest tightens at the memory—at the look on Tobirama’s face.

Madara’s jaw clenches. “How bad was it?”

Izuna sighs. “Bad enough. Tobirama had to regrow part of my chakra channels because they were too damaged to heal properly.”

He lifts a hand and rubs his wrist, fingers brushing over the chakra suppression seal there—an ever-present reminder of how fragile his body still is. “So my chakra is sealed for a few days, until the channels settle.”

Madara exhales hard. His grip on Izuna’s head softens into something almost gentle. His thumbs brush over Izuna’s temples before he finally lets go, hands dropping to his sides.

For a while, neither of them speaks.

Everything Izuna just revealed hangs between them, heavy and unspoken. But he has no desire to linger on it—not now, not when his emotions already feel stretched thin. He takes a breath and shifts the topic to something else.

“What were Kazuki and Kagami even doing outside the Uchiha compound?” he asks, voice quieter now, but still firm. “They had to be far for a Senju patrol to pick them up.”

Madara runs a hand through his hair and exhales again, guilt flickering across his face. It’s a rare look for him. “They must have snuck out,” he admits. “I didn’t even notice they were gone until they were already out of my sensory range.”

Izuna frowns. “Why would they do that?”

Madara hesitates. His brows draw together. Another sigh. “They were probably looking for you,” he says. “After word got out that Tobirama marriage hunted you, the elders started pushing for the boys to move out of the clan head’s house. I… should have shut them down more firmly. I didn’t make it clear enough to the boys that they were allowed to stay.”

Izuna clenches his jaw. Frustration stirs beneath his skin. “Of course they wanted to find me,” he mutters.

The thought of those boys wandering alone—lost, desperate, abandoned—makes something twist deep in his chest.

Madara gives him a look, one filled with regret. “I’m sorry,” he says sincerely.

“We’re lucky they did, and that they were found by that Senju patrol.” Izuna’s voice drops, steady but more subdued. “Kazuki was injured. A badly infected wound on his thigh.”

“How bad was it?” Madara asks, voice tight. “I didn’t notice anything amiss. Surely—”

“Kazuki would be dead now if Hashirama had been a less skilled medic!” Izuna snaps, cutting him off.

“Oh…” Madara mutters, shoulders tensing. He looks torn between relief that Kazuki is alive and guilt that he didn’t catch the injury.

Izuna exhales through his nose and shakes his head. “The boys are staying with me now.” His voice is calm, but resolute. “Tobirama and Hashirama already agreed.”

Madara blinks, clearly surprised. “Are you certain? Hashirama, sure, that’s no surprise. He’s just a big softy,” he says, waving a hand. “But Tobirama? I wouldn’t have expected that level of generosity.”

Izuna lets out a quiet laugh and shakes his head. “It’s not generosity,” he corrects. “The Senju have a law. If a child is orphaned and has no close relatives to take them in, that child becomes the ward of their sensei. That sensei—and by extension, their family—becomes responsible for them.”

Madara’s eyes narrow as he processes that. He crosses his arms, and Izuna can practically see the thoughts turning behind his brother’s eyes. “So Kazuki and Kagami are now wards of the Senju main family,” he says, tone even but with a trace of unease.

Izuna understands. It’s not easy to feel good about it. He’s grateful the boys have a place—but being bound to the Senju comes with strings.

“About that…” Izuna rubs the back of his neck, embarrassment prickling at his skin.

Madara’s gaze sharpens instantly.

“I might have… panicked and, uh, told Tobirama that Kagami is my son.”

Madara turns to stare at him like he’s grown another head. “You what?”

Izuna winces. “I didn’t know what else to say!” he says quickly, throwing up his hands in a helpless gesture. “One of the patrol members wanted to take Kagami away, and he was crying, and—I panicked.” He shifts under Madara’s stare, squirming slightly. “I was afraid that if Tobirama thought Kagami wasn’t mine, he might…”

His voice trails off. He looks away, unwilling to finish that thought.

Madara doesn’t miss the hesitation. His expression shifts, the sharp edges softening into something harder to read.

“You’re unbelievable,” he mutters after a pause. “Do you realize how much trouble this could cause?”

Izuna sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I panicked, nii-san,” he says again, frustrated. “I didn’t know about that stupid Senju law. Kazuki’s obviously too old to pass for my kid. I didn’t have time to think, and it’s not like I could take it back after I said it!”
He looks up at Madara, lips pressed together. “And now that I have said it… Can you just go along with it? If anyone asks, can you please claim Kagami is mine?”

Chapter Text

Madara glares at him. Then his eyes drift down to Izuna’s wrist, to the chakra tattoo that marks him.

“You alright lying to your husband?” Madara asks, voice deceptively casual.

Izuna blinks.

Madara’s gaze sharpens. “The bond isn’t hurting you, is it?”

Izuna glances down at the seal. It pulses faintly under the skin, dormant for now. It’s more of a tether than a shackle.

“No,” he says softly. “There’s no pain. Just…” He pauses, fingers brushing the mark. “Just a pull. An urge to speak the truth when I’m talking to him. That’s all.”

Madara hums—neither comforted nor convinced. Then he glares at him, clearly unimpressed.

Izuna meets his gaze, steady and unmoving.

A long, tense silence stretches between them before Madara finally groans and drags a hand down his face. “You’re so lucky you’re my brother,” he mutters. “Fine. I’ll help you cover up this mess.”

Relief floods through Izuna. “Thank you,” he breathes, and he means it.

Madara rolls his eyes. “I’ll inform the clan about Kagami’s new status. Just in case someone decides to ask questions.” He mutters under his breath, “Honestly, Izuna, what the fuck were you thinking—”

Izuna sighs and rubs his temples. “I didn’t mean to lie to Tobirama,” he says, voice low with guilt. “I already told you, I panicked.” The frustration in his tone is no longer aimed outward—it’s all turned inward now.

Madara clicks his tongue. “Let’s just hope Tobirama never finds out.”

Izuna nods, but the pit in his stomach doesn’t ease. Tobirama had believed him immediately. Without any suspicion. That kind of trust—so freely given—makes the lie feel even heavier.

For all Tobirama’s caution, for all his guarded nature, he had believed Izuna without a second thought. And now Izuna sits on that trust like it’s a fragile thing, waiting for the moment it shatters.

Would Tobirama be angry? Would he turn away, convinced Izuna was just another liar he never should have let close?

The thought unsettles him more than he wants to admit.

Before he can spiral deeper, a sudden splash cuts through the quiet, followed by a panicked cry:
“Haruki!”

Izuna’s head whips toward the river, his heart stuttering. His breath catches in his throat when he sees Haruki flailing in the water, small arms reaching and clawing for the surface. The boy goes under once—twice—before breaking through again, coughing and gasping.

Madara doesn’t hesitate. He bolts forward and dives in. Water explodes around him as he slices through the current, fast and sure. He reaches Haruki within seconds, pulling the boy tight against his chest.

Izuna is already up, every muscle wound tight as he watches Madara swim back. The river isn’t deep or fast—but for a child as small as Haruki, it’s more than enough to drown in.

Madara steps onto the bank, soaked and dripping. He hands the trembling boy over, and Izuna immediately wraps his arms around him.

Haruki is shaking, his small frame cold and wet, but there’s no sign of serious injury—just a few scrapes and bruises.

Still, Izuna’s heart is hammering. He holds the boy tighter and exhales slowly. He’s safe.

“Let’s get you out of these wet clothes,” Izuna murmurs, voice soft and steady. Haruki sniffles and nods.

Quickly, Izuna strips off the soaked fabric and tosses it aside. Without thinking, he pulls off his own shirt and wraps it around the boy, tucking it snug to keep him warm. Then he wrings out the wet clothes and lays them in the sun to dry.

“What happened?” he asks gently.

Haruki ducks his head. “I slipped,” he says, voice small. “I’m sorry.”

Izuna sighs and shakes his head. “It’s fine,” he says, reassuring him. “As long as you’re not hurt, that’s all that matters.”

Madara, grumbling to himself, starts peeling off his own wet clothes. With a huff, he strips down to his undergarments and wrings the excess water from the fabric before laying it beside Haruki’s.

Izuna watches from the corner of his eye, noting how Madara is entirely unfazed by sitting half-naked in the sun.

Satisfied that Haruki is okay, Izuna finally calls the other children over for lunch. It’s still a bit early, but he wants them away from the river for now. He needs time to settle.

The moment he speaks, the kids come running, feet kicking up dust in their excitement. Kazuki and Kaede rush straight to Haruki, concern written across their faces.

“Are you okay?” Kazuki asks, worried.

Haruki, a little steadier now, gives them a small smile. “I’m fine,” he says.

Izuna gives a small nod and turns to the picnic basket. As he starts unpacking, he notices Madara staring at the spread in disbelief.

Madara blinks at the sheer amount of food. His face twists into a look of confusion and reluctant awe.

“…What the…” he mutters. “You weren’t kidding when you said you could feed an army.”

Izuna smirks and hands him a portion. “Told you.”

The kids dive into the food eagerly, chatter rising around them in bursts of laughter and chewing. It’s a comforting contrast to the earlier tension.

Izuna lets himself breathe, basking in the warmth of the sun, the sound of children being children.

But then he notices it—Haruki’s shoulders are trembling. His hands clutch his food too tightly. He hasn’t taken a single bite.

Izuna’s brow furrows. “Haruki, are you cold?”

The boy hesitates, then gives a small nod.

Before Izuna can react, Madara reaches over without a word and lifts Haruki into his lap. He settles the boy against his chest, arms wrapped loosely around him in what looks like a casual gesture of comfort.

But Izuna knows better.

Madara isn’t just offering body heat—he’s pushing chakra through his body, gently warming himself and, in turn, Haruki. It’s an old trick. One he used on Izuna back when they were kids—after training in the rain, or after their mother scolded Izuna for running barefoot in the snow.

Haruki sighs in relief, his small body going slack as he snuggles closer.

Izuna watches them, something catching in his chest. A quiet mix of gratitude, relief, and an unexpected flicker of affection that almost makes him forget how infuriating Madara can be.

Then Kagami climbs into his lap and looks up at him expectantly.

Izuna blinks. Then he lets out a soft laugh, ruffling the boy’s hair. Kagami grins and happily returns to munching on his food. Izuna shifts slightly, adjusting his posture so Kagami can lean against him more comfortably.

For a while, it’s peaceful. The quiet murmur of conversation and the soft rustle of leaves fill the air. But then, with her usual blunt curiosity, Kaede glances between Madara and Izuna and asks:

“Why do you have long hair?”

Izuna blinks. “What?”

“You’re shinobi, right?” she presses, tilting her head. “Don’t shinobi have short hair? Papa said so.”

Madara lifts an eyebrow. “What about Hashirama?”

Kaede shrugs. “Papa says uncle Hashi is weird, so he doesn’t count.”

Madara snorts. Izuna nearly chokes on his food.

After a beat, Izuna clears his throat. “Well, your papa isn’t wrong—about the hair thing, I mean.” He puts his food down and gestures vaguely. “Long hair can be a weakness in battle. It’s easy to grab, easy to use against you. That’s why most shinobi cut it short or tie it up tight. Only the strongest shinobi—the most confident—keep it long.”

“Why?” Haruki asks, wide-eyed.

Izuna leans in, voice dropping like he’s sharing a secret. “Because they know no one can get close enough to take advantage of it.”

Haruki’s mouth forms a soft “o” as he nods in understanding. Then realization sparks in his expression. “So that means you’re really strong?”

Madara, smug as ever, puffs up his chest. “Obviously,” he says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. “In the entire Fire Country, the only people strong enough to even think about grabbing our hair are Hashirama and Tobirama.” He pauses for effect. “Maybe Sarutobi Sasuke, if he’s having a really good day. But that’s it.”

Izuna rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue.

“If you ever meet an experienced shinobi with long hair,” he says seriously, “you run.”

Kazuki, who’s been listening intently, suddenly sits up straighter. “Is that why you forbade me from growing out my hair, Madara-sama?”

Madara nods without hesitation. “Of course.”

Kaede frowns and looks down at her lap. “Papa told me that if I want to be a kunoichi, I have to cut mine short.”

Madara studies her for a moment, then shakes his head. “Your length is fine,” he tells her. “No need to cut it shorter—unless you want to.”

Kaede hesitates. Then her small hands ball into fists in her lap. “I had long hair,” she murmurs, barely audible.

The mood shifts.

Izuna watches her shoulders tense. The light in her eyes dims just a little.

She doesn’t look at anyone when she speaks again.

“Before…” she begins. “But when Haru-nii and I went to pick berries, we were attacked. One of the men grabbed my hair. I tried to get away by cutting it, but it didn’t work. And—” Her voice trembles. “And Haru-nii got hurt.”

Haruki presses closer to Madara, quiet.

Kaede’s fingers tighten around her knee. “I don’t want long hair anymore.”

No one speaks for a moment.

Izuna swallows, his throat dry. He looks at Madara, who’s gone still—face shadowed, lips pressed in a hard line. They both only know bits and pieces of what happened that day. But hearing Kaede say it out loud, her voice so small and ashamed—as if her hair was to blame for what happened to her brother—

Something inside Izuna twists sharply. He hates that she carries this guilt. Hates that the memory clings to her like this. And more than anything, he hates that Tobirama isn’t here. Because Tobirama would know what to say. He’d know how to fix it. How to make her feel safe again.

Izuna does the only thing he can. He reaches over and gently rests a hand on her head.

“You’re brave, Kaede-chan,” he says quietly. “Braver than most adult shinobi I know.”

She looks up at him, eyes glassy.

“And if you want to keep your hair short,” he continues, “then that’s your choice. But don’t blame yourself for what happened. It wasn’t your fault—not because you had long hair. Even if you’d cut it the day before, they still would’ve grabbed you—by the shoulder, your arm, anywhere they could.”

Kaede stares at him. Then slowly, she nods.

Izuna offers a small smile. He ruffles her hair gently before pulling his hand away.

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Madara watching him, face unreadable.

He looks away.

Because if he lets himself think about it—about how easily these children have crept into his heart, about how Tobirama’s children have become his children too—

He might start asking himself why.

And that’s a question he’s not ready to face.

Chapter Text

The children have finished eating, their energy returning in full force now that their stomachs are full.

“Can we go back to playing?” Kagami asks, bouncing slightly in Izuna’s lap.

Kaede nods eagerly, already eyeing the riverbank. But Haruki doesn’t move from where he’s pressed against Madara.

Kazuki stays silent, eyes lowered, fingers twitching at his sides.

Izuna is just about to give them permission when Madara’s hand comes down on his shoulder—firm, but careful.

He turns, frowning slightly, but Madara says nothing. He just gives a subtle shake of his head, barely noticeable.

Then, with practiced ease, Madara’s fingers form a sequence of hand signs—sharp, quick, deliberate.

We’re being watched.

Izuna stills. He lets the breath slip from his lungs in a slow, controlled exhale. His fingers move in response.

Enemy?

Madara’s eyes narrow. His expression darkens as he signs back.

Most likely.

Kaede tugs at Izuna’s sleeve again. “Can we go back to playing now?” she asks brightly, oblivious to the sudden tension coiling in the air.

Izuna opens his mouth to tell her to wait, to stay close—

And then the world erupts.

Thick wooden branches explode from the ground without warning. They twist and lunge like living things, crashing toward them with terrifying speed. The air trembles from the impact, leaves torn and scattered as the attack rips through the quiet afternoon.

Izuna reacts in an instant.

Madara’s already moving, grabbing Haruki and Kazuki and leaping back in a blur of motion. Izuna mirrors him, scooping up Kaede and Kagami, driving his body to its limit despite the weight of the chakra seals dragging him down. His movement isn’t as smooth as it should be—his reactions feel just a second too slow—but he forces himself forward anyway.

The attack slams into the ground where they’d just been sitting. Dirt and splintered wood explode outward in a violent burst. The picnic basket is obliterated, its contents flung across the wreckage.

Izuna lands with a grunt, holding the children close. His mind races. With his chakra is still sealed he’s at a disadvantage.

They are at a disadvantage.

Madara lets out a sharp breath. He’s staring at what’s left of their picnic—the jagged wooden spikes buried in the earth.

“…Mokuton?” he breathes, voice edged with disbelief.

Izuna doesn’t hesitate. “It’s not Hashirama.”

Madara’s fingers twitch at his side. “I know,” he mutters. His brow furrows, expression hard. “I can’t sense him.”

Izuna follows his gaze—and freezes.

A figure steps out from between the trees on the far side of the river.

The man moves with quiet confidence. His skin is dark, his eyes an unnatural yellow that glows against the forest’s shade. There’s no visible clan symbol, but the Mokuton means he could be Senju.

Even though Izuna’s never heard of any Senju besides Hashirama who could wield it.

This isn’t just a political disaster. It’s a tactical nightmare. They don’t have supplies for a drawn-out fight. Neither of them came here expecting battle. Between them, they carry only a handful of kunai and shuriken. His katana and Madara’s gunbai are at the Uchiha compound.

They’re outmatched.

Izuna’s fingers brush the kunai at his hip. The one Tobirama pressed into his hand before leaving, that’s infused with some technique Izuna doesn’t understand—but trusts anyway.

He doesn’t stop to think.

He draws the kunai and hurls it at their attacker.

The stranger reacts. His eyes sharpen, and his body twists just in time. The kunai whizzes past and embeds itself in a tree with a solid thunk.

Izuna keeps his expression blank.

Madara pushes the boys behind him and steps forward into a defensive stance. His eyes are blazing with fury, his body tense.

The air thickens. The tension crackles, heavy and waiting.

And then—

The stranger smiles.

But it’s not a human smile.

There’s nothing warm about it. It stretches across his face like something copied, like a poor imitation of how a person is supposed to smile. Almost right.

But deeply, horribly wrong.

A chill crawls down Izuna’s spine. His fingers twitch at his side. His heart hammers in his chest, though he forces his breathing to stay even. He’s used to battle. Used to war. But this—this feels different. Wrong.

Tobirama won’t arrive immediately. Izuna knows that. He can’t just teleport to the kunai without preparation. He’ll need to grab his armor, his weapons—preferably even Hashirama—before making his move. That takes time.

And they have to survive until then.

Izuna swallows down the unease rising in his throat. He shoves it aside, forcing calm over himself. His mind sharpens. Focuses. They need information.

“Who are you?” Madara demands. He steps forward, body tight with barely restrained aggression. “What do you want?”

The stranger doesn’t answer. He just watches, yellow eyes gleaming with eerie amusement.

Izuna takes a step forward, his voice steady despite the dread twisting in his gut. “Your name,” he says, each word deliberate. “Tell us who you are.”

A name could give them a clue—a clan, an origin. Anything.

The stranger tilts his head, considering. Then he speaks. “…Zetsu.”

Just that. One word.

The name means nothing to Izuna. But the way he says it—with mockery—makes it clear he enjoys their ignorance.

“What business do you have with us?” Izuna presses. He’s still stalling. Still trying to understand the threat.

That grotesque smile widens. “You,” Zetsu says simply, “ruined my plan.”

Izuna stiffens.

Zetsu’s voice is smooth, almost casual. But underneath, it seethes with fury.

“I worked carefully,” he continues, tilting his head in mock thoughtfulness. “It took me a long time. Everything was perfect—so close to completion. But then you—” his glowing eyes lock onto Izuna’s, and the twisted amusement vanishes. What replaces it is cold and cruel—“had to go and marry Senju Tobirama and ruin everything.”

Izuna barely has time to register the words before Madara moves.

Fire explodes through the air. A massive Grand Fireball screams toward Zetsu, the heat of it scorching the earth. Behind Madara, the children gasp.

Zetsu dodges easily. He sinks into the ground like a shadow.

Then, without warning, twisted wooden tendrils shoot out at them.

Watching Mokuton being used by someone other than Hashirama makes Izuna’s stomach drop.

Madara moves in a blur. He grabs Haruki and Kazuki, twisting midair to avoid the attack. He lands in front of Izuna, fluid and practiced, guided by years of experience.

He sets the boys down. His red eyes burn.

“Watch them,” Madara orders. His voice is low and sharp. There’s no room for argument.

Izuna nods, though every part of him aches to fight. If this were a regular shinobi, he would have told the kids to run to the Senju compound while he and Madara hold the line.

But this isn’t a regular shinobi. And with Mokuton, escape is impossible.

Madara launches forward. Fire against wood. His strikes are calculated and sharp, weaving flame into every movement, forcing Zetsu to keep his distance.

But Izuna knows his brother is at a disadvantage.

Madara has no armor. Not even regular clothing. Just undergarments. And without his gunbai, close combat is too risky. So he keeps moving, keeps burning chakra, staying just out of reach.

Then Zetsu changes tactics.

The next attack is faster. Branches and wooden spears twist toward Izuna and the children, merciless and unrelenting.

Izuna steps forward without hesitation, ready to shield the children—even knowing it won’t be enough. He’s unarmed. His chakra is sealed. And there are too many projectiles to block.

Suddenly a burst of chakra floods the clearing.

An enormous blue construct erupts into being. It slams into the Mokuton with crushing force, stopping it midair before it can touch them.

Madara’s Susanoo.

Izuna exhales sharply, muscles coiled and tense. The children are safe. For now.

But… He glances toward Madara. The cost is clear. His brother’s shoulders are set in rigid focus, his stance showing the strain. Keeping up the Susanoo while fighting is draining him fast.

Izuna’s gut twists. He knows what this is taking from him.

Another Mokuton strike lashes toward Madara. It’s faster. More focused. And Madara is still shielding them—

But before it can land a second Mokuton crashes into it, sending it flying off course. The ground quakes beneath them.

Izuna’s breath catches.

Two figures step out onto the river.

One is clad in red armor, dark eyes hard, long brown hair brushing his shoulders. His chakra hums so strongly the air itself seems to bend around him. Senju Hashirama. The God of Shinobi. And he’s not just angry—he’s furious.

Beside him stands a man in blue armor, white hair gleaming, red eyes burning with purpose. His usual composed gaze is gone—replaced with pure, focused rage.

Izuna barely registers the way his shoulders sag. Barely notices the relief slamming into his chest. His heart stutters at the sight of Tobirama and his brother.

Never, not once, has he seen them look like this.

Zetsu, whoever he may be, is not going to survive.