Archive of Our Own

“You’ve been here for twenty hours!” Madara grumbled from where he leaned against the doorway, “take a goddamn break already, you workaholic.” 

“Just a moment, koibito. Let me finish up and I’ll be with you.” Tobirama grunted distractedly as he continued to putter away.

“Lies,” Madara hissed back. “You always say that, but you’re never done.”

“That’s unfair,” replied Tobirama mildly, his focus only half on the conversation.

“Unbelievable,” Madara huffed. How Tobirama could still say that when there were at least six separate incidents in the last two months was beyond him - Tobirama had said that exact phrase and the opposite occurred. “I don’t think you even know what the definition of ‘done’ even is!” Madara threw up his arms in exasperation. 

When Madara found out that Tobirama had sequestered himself away in his laboratory, he knew he had to do something. His husband had been in there for twenty straight hours without emerging for food or water - which was forbidden in the laboratory for good reason as every inch of space available was covered with unknown chemicals or half-finished jutsu and seal notes. After one too many accidental poisonings (that Madara knew about - he was sure that his husband had managed to just cure himself of the milder ones without telling anyone), it had been decided that it was better if Tobirama just came out and ate something instead. Then at least he would come out. 

It had the opposite effect. 

Tobirama insisted that his experiments were ‘too delicate’ and ‘in a state of flux that required constant monitoring’ to leave the laboratory. He would often ignore the ‘whims of his stomach’ as ‘mere constraints of the flesh’ in favour of continuing. Thus, it usually fell to Hashirama, Mito, Izuna, or Madara to drag him out forcibly. 

(Madara usually hauled him over his shoulder and paraded him around like a sack of beans. He hoped that some mild humiliation would deter his stubborn husband, but Tobirama just took the time to appreciate Madara’s nicer...assets.)

Madara would have done something earlier about his beloved’s latest research blitz, if he hadn’t been caught up in back-to-back meetings with the Hatake delegation as a Founder of Konoha to hammer out the details before the Hatake officially moved in. He had also had one meeting that stretched into three with the head of the Academy as the Uchiha clan head to ensure that the Uchiha children will be taught certain things and not taught certain things, and also that certain things are not taught to other non-Uchiha students. Finally, he had a meeting with the head engineer of the electrical grid (he wasn’t even in charge of this project - why did he have to go and fix something he didn’t have a clue about?). 

Which led him to this predicament.

Since nobody could find his dear husband anywhere (and by the eternal burning flame, he was not going to deal with the electrical grid again), here he was - off to haul his lovely husband out for some fresh air. 

Madara let out a long-suffering sigh and turned back to the matter at hand. 

“It’s like no-one ever taught you what a rest is,” grumbled Madara under his breath from behind the safety of his high collar where he had tucked his face behind. “You’re going to run yourself into the ground.” 

Tobirama staunchly ignored him as he decanted a brilliant purple liquid into an ominously sizzling beaker of green sludge. Madara watched in horrified fascination as he held the neck of the beaker and gave it a swirl. After a couple of swirls, those lovely red eyes squinted at the mixture, and he proceeded to drip the mixture slowly over a seal inked with bold lines and swooping curls.

Madara squinted at the seal. That had better not be one of those confounded time travelling…space travelling…whatever it was seals that his Senju was so fond of. It looked slightly different, but Madara could have sworn those squiggles in the centre looked familiar.

No, bad Madara! Trust is important in a relationship. He was probably being too suspicious anyways. Tobirama wouldn’t play around with them anymore after he promised…

…who was Madara kidding? His beloved would absolutely experiment with things that he was told explicitly not to. Tobirama was like a child in that aspect – tell him not to do something, and he will immediately go and do the thing, often out of spite or a desire to prove himself. To whom or for what, Madara didn’t have a blasted clue.

A few more seconds passed and Tobirama must have found what he was looking for despite it looking unchanged (and no, Madara did not use his Sharingan to see if he could spot whatever it was that Tobirama did...of course not!), because when he turned to his husband, Tobirama sent him that rare smile that never failed to make Madara’s stomach swoop in delight.

“Mhm. Let’s get some inarizushi since you were so patient, love.”

“Finally!” Madara’s eyes brightened in delight as he pushed himself off the doorframe. “I knew this was why I married you.” 

“Here I thought you married me because you fell for my charms.” Tobirama’s lips curled mischievously upwards.

“What charms? Charms- No, you’re ugly! You’re the ugliest person I’ve ever seen!” Madara turned away as he felt the temperature rise in his face. “I try to do a nice thing, and this is the thanks I get. See if I ever do anything nice for you again…”

Shoulders up to his ears, Madara made his way to stomp out of the lab when he felt white strands tickling his ears and a face nuzzled into the back of his neck. He didn’t melt back against the warm body pressed to his back and anyone who said otherwise is a liar! 

...unless it was Tobirama. He would make an exception for his husband.

“I love you,” came a soft, low voice from behind him.

“Hn...I love you too,” mumbled Madara brusquely as he looked away as the red flush climbed higher on his cheeks. 

That was when he spotted it: a blue-white spark just above the seal that Tobirama had just been playing with.

Tobirama must have felt the muscles in Madara’s back stiffen as he came to full alertness, because he stepped away - chakra pulsing as he scanned the surroundings, eyes darting around, and palmed a kunai in full battle readiness. Madara would have enjoyed the sight of his battle-ready beloved a lot more had he not had other matters to be more concerned about. As anyone with a single brain cell knew, seals were not a matter to be trifled with and any problem would multiply tenfold. 

“Did you see that? The seal that you were dropping that liquid into - there were some sparks.” 

“Sparks?” Tobirama relaxed the tiniest fraction, having ascertained that the threat was not an outside force. “There shouldn’t be any sparks. I calculated that-”

Then the seal rapidly expanded without a warning, painting the walls and floor in a plethora of thick dark strokes. Tobirama turned to him, wide-eyed and shoved him hard. Madara stumbled away from the malfunctioning seal. Sharingan activated with the unexpected contact, Madara had just enough time to see the despair twist his beloved’s face with the realisation that it wasn’t enough - until a second later, where it bloomed to life under both their feet in brilliant bursts of blue and gold.

With a loud boom, Madara made a violent impact with the ground and the momentum caused him to roll a few meters. Flashes of the phantom explosion still played out under his closed eyelids. He lay there bruised and dazed, in pain and confusion, for the couple of seconds it took to collect his thoughts.

The ground felt different. Where was he? Tobirama’s stupid seals always went wrong and exploded, and poor unlucky Madara was left to help clean up the mess that his husband made. Wait a second- Where was…! Tobirama, he was right there but- Madara had to find his beloved!

(Once Madara found his Senju and this was all over, Madara would take great delight in telling his husband a thousand times with intense glee that ‘I told you so’. He’d crow about it and make snide comments for the next week until Tobirama caved and bought him some of the inarizushi from that new Akimichi place that just opened. The taste of victory always tasted so sweet...as did the kisses that his Senju showered him with to chase away the aftertaste of apology. The perfect ending.)

When the light cleared from his eyes and he could see again, Madara found himself staring up at the dark sky above his head. The sounds of screams, shouts and of jutsu being cast and of the earth being torn apart was all too familiar to a man born and bred to fight. 

It was the sound of battle. 

He shot up, clutching his head as it spun from the rapid change in position as his eyes sought out Tobirama. When confronted with unknowns, if possible, a good shinobi should always retreat to a safe place to observe. But Madara had never been a good shinobi. Even from young, he had never been that nor claimed to be that - his first transgression being his ‘betrayal’ of his family and clan on the banks of the Naka. So, Madara’s spinning red and black eyes searched amongst the rock-strewn and shattered battlefield for his first and best priority - his husband.

At the same time that doujutsu-sharpened sight swept the battlefield in front of him, Madara unfurled his senses – a chakra sensor as he may be, he still wasn’t as proficient with it as Tobirama. Nor would he ever be. But before his sensing could fully activate, a sharp pain blossomed in his head that was so strong that it forced him to his knees. 

Well, that avenue was out. He knew from experience that when his sensing got like this, it would take about a day to recover. 

Groaning, he shook his head and the unruly mane of hair flopped along with the movement. A loose strand of hair fell in his eye and another one invaded his mouth, making him splutter and choke like a cat coughing around a hairball. Madara winced as he spat out the last invading lock of hair. He really needed his husband. Only Tobirama could tame his massive mane of hair. Madara loved the feeling of fingers through his hair and the repetitive stroke as the brush straightened out those knots that refused to come loose. Madara was convinced that his beloved was magic. There was no earthly force that could fix his hair – and he would know because he spent his entire life trying to make it behave!

Madara wanted his husband not because he was worried or anything. Tobirama could take care of himself. He didn’t get that horrible moniker of ‘Demon’ and ‘Ghost’ for being weak. No, he was a fearsome sight to see in battle – that lovely white hair whipping around as the person it was attached to unleashing his prized water dragon with the force of a tidal wave right in the enemies’ faces. Not to mention those piercing red eyes as he got that look in his eyes – the one that said that he’s got you right where he wants you. Yes, Tobirama was a big strong shinobi that didn’t need to be coddled over.

(Madara was a big fat liar because Madara was very worried. He only grew more anxious the longer he couldn’t find Tobirama. He hoped dearly that his husband was alright.)

There. A glint of something in the distance caught his eye. A giant water dragon rose up high into the air and dove down in a spray of seawater, eliciting a chorus of shrill screams. Once again, he was grateful for his kekkei genkai allowing him to spot the things that ordinary people not blessed with his clan’s doujutsu, could see. 

Madara sighed deeply. It seemed that he had found Tobirama. It was time for Madara to go and fish him out of whatever situation his husband had gotten himself into. Honestly, why did his Senju have to go and stick his nose where it didn’t belong? His husband had the gall to complain that Madara was the reckless one when he went around and did things like this. 

Heart in his throat, he hoped that by the time he finally tracked down his Senju it wouldn’t be too late. The life of a shinobi is unpredictable even at the best of times - and throwing Tobirama’s penchant for weird reality-breaking stunts into the mix definitely did nothing to alleviate that.

The sounds only grew clearer the closer he got to the fighting - a familiar cacophony of the worst of humanity. As he neared the fringes of the fighting, he spotted a veritable sea of people. Idly, Madara revised his observations of this being a mere fight. No, this was an all-out war.

But looking closer, he noticed that despite the different uniforms, all of the shinobi sported the same forehead protector - a hitai-ate with the character for ‘shinobi’ on it. Even the Konoha nin (easily identifiable from those with distinctive clan markings and green vests displaying the unique Uzumaki swirl - and which other village could boast of strong ties to the proud inhabitants of Uzushio?) had discarded the leaf in favour of this ‘shinobi’ one. Madara shook his head in disbelief. It seemed rather redundant to declare that they were shinobi. Any civilian with eyes could tell that they were obviously shinobi especially dressed like that. It was like writing ‘paper’ on paper. It was beyond obvious and actually a little insulting. 

He could see an Iwa nin helping up a Suna nin and wasn’t that something to gawk at. As far as he knew, the relations between those two villages were not that good. To his left, a pink haired Konoha nin was desperately channeling that green healing chakra thing to her hand that Hashirama had created as a Kiri nin gurgled wetly around the spike of stone lodged in her chest. 

Madara sighed and wished he had paid more attention to Tobirama’s ramblings about the Hiraishin. He knew that seal had looked suspicious. Stupid time and space nonsense...this had to be a different reality to his own. The faster he found his Senju, the faster they could leave this strange place.

Just as he turned to make his way into the fray as he just knew Tobirama was in here somewhere, a shrieking cry came from behind him. He turned his head over his shoulder just in time to see the pink haired iryo-nin pointing straight at him. 

“Look, it’s Madara!”

As one, the crowd of people within earshot turned to face him. Madara paused and eyed them warily. He didn’t like those grim and determined expressions that they were wearing. And he would be right, because not even a second had passed since the declaration that he was dodging what seemed to be an unending stream of attacks.

Great. It was just his luck to land in a place where everyone hated his guts. 

Panting heavily after weaving his way through the crowd, dodging attacks and smacking away those that got too close to him, he ducked behind at an outcropping of stone that jutted out of the ground as if rejecting gravity. Madara hissed as he pressed a hand to his side where the consequences of a lucky shot from a Kumo nin lay. As he twisted away from a Suna nin’s doton jutsu, he had leapt straight into one of what must be thousands of flying kunai erupting from the mouth of that one Kumo nin. Madara didn’t even want to think of the logistics behind that. Instead, he scoffed even as he pulled his hand away only to see it coated a slippery red. He must be getting lax if such a minor thing like that had managed to harm him. 

Madara really regretted not carrying around his field kit. He hadn’t thought he needed it in the safety of the village but maybe he should start preparing for all-out war every time he stepped out of the house. He had a couple of kunai which he had thrown in the escape and his ninjutsu, of course, but he had a distinct lack of bandages on him. 

Tilting his head back to rest against the cold stone, he closed his eyes to the ache in his heart. Where was his beloved? His one point of familiarity in this hostile new world? Madara wanted to leave right now but Tobirama was nowhere to be found.

A deep voice sounded out from behind the outcropping, authoritative and commanding. Madara frowned. He knew that voice. Taking a risk, he stuck his head out and peered around the rock. 

Madara’s eyes widened.

He knew that figure with the long and straight dark hair falling down his back. He knew that distinctive red armour and giant sealing scroll. He had known that figure since the banks of the Naka even if the man had been a boy at the time and had sported the world’s ugliest haircut. Even more than a decade later, his dreams were still haunted by that image.

Madara sighed again. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.

Maybe his best friend could help him. 

He stepped out fully from behind the outcrop still clutching at his bleeding side with one hand.

“Oi!” Madara cupped his hand around his mouth and called out to the man. “Hashirama!”

Hashirama whirled around, eyes wide with surprise painted on his face.

“Madara?!” Black eyes on cracked skin met swirling black-on-red. Then Hashirama leveled an accusatory finger at him, face set in a determined scowl. “I won’t let you do this!” The Senju cried as he brought his hands together in the snake hand seal. Mokuton. 

Madara reeled back. Things must really be different if his best friend’s first reaction to him is attack-on-sight. 

“Woah!” He lifted the arm not clutching his wound up in surrender. “Don’t attack! I swear I’m not whoever you think I am.” 

“I won’t fall for your tricks again, Madara!” 

“Dramatic as ever, Hashirama! But I really am not here for a fight.” 

Hold on, cracked skin and black eyes? Madara leaned forward. Was that-

“Hah! Who managed to kill you, Hashirama?” Madara snickered as a thought occurred to him. “Was it Mito? Did she finally get mad and snap after you gave your kid too much sugar before bed again? I keep telling you, Heima doesn’t need any extra encouragement. That boy is hyperactive enough to rival Kagami.”

Defying all logic suggesting that a corpse should not be able to pale, Hashirama went white, and his hands fell out of the snake seal to hang limply at his side. 

“Heima?” Hashirama whispered. “You know him?” 

...ah. This world truly was different after all, if Hashirama had that reaction to Madara’s teasing. What could be so different that his best friend was surprised that Madara knew his son? 

Madara had lost count of the number of times Hashirama had asked him and his husband to babysit his son while Hashirama went out on a date night with Mito. Madara was always so envious that Tobirama was able to calm the baby and keep the tiny Senju that was the spitting image of his father, happy with ease. Tobirama would always receive a tiny gummy smile and squeals of bright and clear laughter whenever he played with the child. Seeing his Senju’s face with its usual harsh slant to his eyes and striking red lines soften as he tickled his nephew and blew raspberries into his little tummy, reminded him why it was worth it. Why Konoha was worth it. 

It was one of Madara’s most favourite things in the whole world and he watched it unabashedly through Sharingan-red eyes.

However, whenever Heima was passed to him, they would stare warily at one another until Heima scrunched up his face and let loose with a piercing yell that wouldn’t abate until he was passed to Tobirama. It just wasn’t fair! He wanted to stomp around but it would have made him more of a child than the actual child and Madara had just enough maturity to realise that. 

…that’s what his husband always said, anyway. Madara knew he was mature! He was a grown adult and head of his clan. He could totally be mature!

Madara admitted that it was probably his face. Even the Uchiha kids would run away when they saw him around the compound and whisper in corners about how scary he was. 

Except Kagami. But Kagami was a precious child and liked everyone, so he didn’t count. 

It's not like he could help it! It was his face - he was born with it! Tobirama had probably guessed the reason for his often despondent attitude after visiting Hashirama and his family, as the Senju would always come and kiss away the pinched look. He’d pepper his husband’s face relentlessly with little barely-there kisses until Madara cracked a reluctant smile. 

To not have that was-

Madara cleared his throat and looked away.

“Now is not the time for your useless dither, Hashirama! Pay attention,” he chided, tongue heavy in his mouth. “I’m trying to find my husband.”

Hashirama blinked, “Husband? You got married?”

“Wha- of course I-,” Madara huffed in exasperation. His eye twitched violently as he felt his blood boil in an instinctive reaction to the tree’s stupidity. Hanging around Hashirama was bad for his blood pressure. It was not an easy task to ignore the man’s particular brand of excessiveness, as being around Hashirama meant that his blood pressure never failed to rise exponentially the longer he talked with the man. Tobirama often scolded Madara for letting his best friend rile him up. “Nevermind, you idiot! Just tell me where your brother is!”

“Tobi-?” The Senju frowned. “Why do you want to know where Tobirama is?” He narrowed his eyes with suspicion. “Are you going to hurt him? I’m not going to tell you if you’re going to hurt him,” he said with a stubborn set to his jaw.

“Wha- No! I’m not going to hurt him.” Madara slapped a hand to his face and dragged it down. He couldn’t believe he was still friends with the oaf. “And yes, your brother. Tobirama. My dumbass husband who got us into this mess with his stupid magic teleportation seals. Where. Is. He?” He punctuated with a poke to the other man’s armoured chest.

“Don’t call my brother a dumbass! I keep telling you that you need to get along more. I think you would be really good friends if you could put aside your differences and just try-”

Madara could see the exact moment that the words sunk in. Hashirama’s too black eyes widened and the cracks across his skin grew more pronounced as his eyebrows practically flew off his face. Not to mention that his jaw was on the ground. Hashirama looked very unattractive like this - dumbfounded with his mouth flapping open and closed while he searched for words. He looked a lot like the goldfish that swum around aimlessly in the numerous ponds in the Daimyo’s palace. Madara felt that as his best friend, it was his duty to tell the other man that.

“You look like a fish,” Madara stated bluntly. 

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOUR ‘HUSBAND’?” Hashirama shrieked.

Madara closed his eyes at the ear-splitting wail. For all that this world was new and strange, it seemed that some things did manage to be universal. He would begrudgingly admit, if only to himself, that it was a comfort.

The now exasperated Uchiha strode forward in one, two quick steps and grabbed Hashirama’s collar with the hand not covered in blood. He leaned in until his face was an inch away from the other’s. But Hashirama met his eyes steadily. Perhaps he was not afraid of the raging Uchiha, or perhaps he was already desensitised to Madara’s dramatics. 

Maybe a combination of both.

“Stop wasting time and tell me where he is!” Madara demanded, fed up with Hashirama and then stepped back at the glare he received. It had been devoid of all affection. From a man as warm and forgiving as Hashirama, it was disconcerting to say the least. As he stepped back, Hashirama’s attitude flipped around and returned back to his normal upbeat disposition. Yet Madara could not shake the cold look that his best friend had levelled at him, leaving him off-kilter.

“Jeez, no need to be so angry. You could just ask nicely.” Hashirama pouted as he brushed himself off.

“Hashirama…” Madara warned, still caught off-guard by the unexpected hostility. 

“How do you even know that I know where Tobirama is?”

“Don’t be stupid, tree-man!” Madara was this close to losing it. “We both know that Tobirama would find you if he was lost. You’re his big brother. There is no world in which Tobirama would not trust you. Now, I’m not going to ask again. Where. Is. My. Husband.” 

Hashirama opened his mouth to answer before a battle cry from behind them interrupted.

“SUITON: SUIRYUUDAN NO JUTSU!”

Madara perked up at the voice as his lips curled upwards in greeting. He knew that voice. It was his Senju! His beloved! Madara had finally found him. 

He whirled around, heart light and fluttery inside his chest. There he was! Oh, what a sight for sore eyes. 

Pretty red eyes slanted in anger, brilliantly shining hair whipping in the wind creating a striking contrast to the barren monotony of the surroundings. The feral grin that his Senju had stretched the cracks in his skin as the bloodlust shone in his red and black eyes. 

...hold on, cracks and black eyes? 

The Uchiha didn’t get any time to process, as water erupted from his husband(?) to form a giant water dragon that barreled, roaring and screeching, at break-neck speed towards his face. Like a madman, Madara dived out of the way, loose stones pressing into sensitive skin. But he could hardly feel any of that as he rolled up and braced for the next attack. 

As he came up into position, reluctantly having pulled his hand away from his injured side to reflexively grab for a brace of kunai that weren’t there, roots surged up from under his feet and encased him within a protective wall of wood. 

THWIP. THWIP. THWIP. 

The sound of thin needle-like objects lodging itself deep into the wooden shell rang in the hollow chamber where Madara sat. Water bullets. He scooted away from the sounds until his back was pressed against the opposite wall, heart beating frantically in his chest as the wall in front of his eyes shuddered in sync to those distinctive thuds.

Madara was intimately familiar with the range of sound that water makes upon impact. When he had gotten a little too excited with a Katon jutsu once and burnt their house down, Tobirama had chased him all through the streets of Konoha while hurling insults amidst unceasing Suiton jutsu. And some Raiton spiked Suiton jutsu. Those ones hurt. Madara had tried to apologise at the start, but when Tobirama had turned to him with a promise of death in his eyes and the word ‘Run’ on his lips...Madara was not ashamed to admit that he ran like the gates of hell were open and the Shinigami himself was personally after him. (He would probably have preferred the Shinigami…) That incident is not something that one would forget so easily and now Madara doesn’t do any jutsu in the house. There were many nights that his food had gone cold because the stove wouldn’t light, but Madara dare not risk Tobirama’s ire again. That was one time too many. Not to mention, Izuna laughed so hard that he actually pulled a muscle and had to be sent to the hospital when Madara shamefacedly told him. He wouldn’t even stop laughing even after he had been checked in and was being wheeled off, cackling loudly all the way down the hallway. 

...Madara wanted another brother, please and thank you.

He was only now realising how much he had never wanted to know what his beloved looked like under this unnatural jutsu. He never wanted to even imagine Tobirama dead, much less reanimated with this perversion of nature. Madara sighed despondently. He hadn’t found his husband yet, just a warped version of him. 

The disappointment swamped him and stuck his throat shut for a brief moment. Then he swallowed hard, throat bobbing with the movement. He pressed a hand to his eyes and breathed, forcefully letting that sour taste of disappointment disappear with the exhale. 

He waited.

As the shudders from the wall slowed in frequency and intensity, Madara could hear the sounds of muffled arguing coming from beyond his cocoon. 

“-tand down, Tobirama!” 

“Have you lost your mind, Anija?! That is a dangerous criminal in there! Did you not listen to what that Uchiha brat said?” 

“It’s not like that, Tobirama! This Madara is different, he’s-”

Madara curled one hand into a fist and thumped it against the side of the wall, causing Hashirama and Tobirama to instantly quieten. 

Madara was thoroughly fed up with all of this. First, he got blown up by a seal and then he got dropped in the middle of nowhere. Then, it seemed like everyone hated him and he was public enemy number one - the worst person to walk the earth. Everyone even stopped whatever they were doing to attack him! He got chased and stabbed by a kunai. Finally, when he found someone whom he thought would give him a chance, he got attacked. Straight after he got his best friend to stop trying to kill him , the man refused to answer his question. Now, the alternate version of his husband nearly drowned him. 

No, Madara was not having a good day. 

“Hashirama!” He called out to the older man. “Let me out and I’ll explain it to him myself!” 

No answer came, but the wall before him shivered, twitched, and then rolled away to retreat deep beneath the ground. 

Madara strode out affecting a nonchalant air only to see Hashirama standing next to his brother, hand gripping tightly to this other Tobirama’s shoulder in a stern warning. He shot the man a grateful look, one which was hesitantly returned. He turned to address Tobirama mainly but knew that Hashirama would be listening on. 

“Look, there was a problem with one of your seals, yadda, yadda, yadda. And Tobirama and I were thrown into this world. I have no quarrel with you or your brother. I just want to find my husband and get out of here .” 

“Uchiha,” this strange Tobirama spat out, “if this is another one of your tricks…” 

“Shut up. I don’t care. You can ask your brother all you like after this.” He turned to Hashirama and shook his fist. Madara was sure he looked beyond deranged - standing there with eyes tinged red in a torn up, scorched and battleworn robe with a bleeding side. “Hashirama, you’d better tell me now , where my husband is-”

“Husband?” Tobirama raised a thin white eyebrow. “Who would marry you-?” 

Hashirama slammed a hand over his brother’s mouth before he could finish that sentence. He laughed boisterously to cover up his brother’s faux pas and his own nerves. Madara was well adept at the art of ignoring Hashirama and was summarily not impressed with the older Senju’s abrupt subject change but brushed the incident off with a well-practised ease. The man was truly as unsubtle as those trees he kept growing from his paperwork when he got distracted, wiggling around in his seat like he had a perpetual case of ‘the ants in his pants’.

Perhaps it was more appropriate to say that it was a case of ‘the ants in those garish Hokage robes’.

“Alright, alright!” Hashirama held his arm up in surrender - still careful to keep the hand over his brother’s mouth as this world’s Tobirama seethed from the indignation of such a childish action. He stroked his chin in deep thought. “Ah yes, I remember now! Tobirama went off to confront Madara! He should have reached him by now.”

This entire thing was a waste of time. Madara felt like smacking himself. Of course, his idiot husband would look for him. His Senju must have arrived first, sensed the other Madara and mistook him for his husband. 

“Wait, but if you’re here,” Hashirama pointed at his equally undead brother, “then-”

Hashirama trailed off. What colour he had just regained bled out again. Madara, having faced the other way, hadn’t noticed. If he had, he would have known something was very, very wrong. 

“Oh, well that’s alright then,” he shrugged nonchalantly. 

“But-” Hashirama tried plaintively to interrupt with a raised hand, but Madara was well-practised in the art of ignoring his best friend, and he continued on blithely.

“Tobirama will be safe wherever I am. I wouldn’t let anything happen to him,” he said with a voice unwavering in its devotion. Madara would always protect Tobirama. It was a fact of life just as the sky was blue, or the grass was green. 

“You don’t understand!” Hashirama begged. “This Madara is-”

BOOM. 

A spray of rocks flew up high as the trio’s attention was momentarily distracted by the emergence of a towering blue glowing avatar in the distance. 

Madara grinned and all the tension fell away from his body. He was so close to finding his wayward Senju.

“Thanks, Hashirama! I’m off to get my husband!” The words hung behind in the air, their speaker having leapt away in the direction of the glowing Susanoo. 

The two Senju brothers stood alone and with Madara gone, Hashirama felt it safe enough to take his hand off Tobirama’s mouth. 

“Anija, wha-” 

“No time, little brother.” Long hair flew as he shook his head. Then those Edo-Tensei-black eyes locked on the blue monstrosity stomping around. “If I sent that other Tobirama to him without knowledge of what he was going into… I’ve made a grave mistake.” 

Hashirama searched his brother’s eyes then nodded, mind made up. 

“I’m going with him.”

“No.” An arm covered in blue clamped down on Hashirama’s own arm. “We are needed here. Whatever it is, he can handle it.” 

Hashirama sagged back and patted the arm holding onto him. They both looked into the distance where a black blur was speeding away. 

“I hope you’re right, little brother.”

Sharingan eyes spotted silver hair as it darted under glowing blue arms like quicksilver fish amidst waving reeds. With lips turned up in a wild and elated grin, Madara flooded his system with a surge of chakra and sped up. Tobirama! It had to be his wayward husband. No more distractions, no more delays. This was it. 

Madara was more determined than ever to reunite with his beloved and get the hell out of here! 

(Something niggled insistently at the back of his head. A blaring warning that good shinobi heeded. But Madara had never been a good shinobi, had he?) 

Madara sent spikes of chakra through the soles of his feet to grip the found as one particular blast rocked the battlefield and sent shockwaves rippling outwards in a tremendous show of power. 

He absently channeled chakra to his eyes and feeling the familiar burn accompany shapes becoming more distinct and colours sharpening, he continued on through the dust cloud without slowing. 

When the dust settled, only one lone figure stood with head bowed dramatically in the center of a crater as loose dirt crumbled down the steep sides. 

Madara’s heels dug into the rocky ground as skidded to a stop in front of…himself. 

He turned a wary eye on the other. There were the obvious differences such as the cracked skin indicative of him being an Edo Tensei like the other Hashirama and Tobirama. This Madara looked slightly older and wearier - the years must not have been kind ones. However, it wasn’t any of the more obvious physical differences that made Madara sit up and take notice. 

Madara couldn’t say for certain what it was, but he knew himself. He knew that expression on the other Madara’s face. He knew that look in his eyes. That was the same look he had worn on that night. That terrible night. The night all those years ago that his two older brothers had come back home...dead.

This Madara was broken.

Something had gone terribly wrong in the other man’s life. Surely the man’s husband wouldn’t have let it get that far. Why hasn’t this world’s Tobirama stepped in yet? The second Madara had a single thought cross his mind to do something even remotely funny, his beloved was there to slap it out of him with extreme disapproval (verbally or otherwise).

Sage, he really missed Tobirama. 

After some typical Uchiha flailing and (mild) violence, the two Madaras had managed to calm down enough to have a decent conversation. Inside, a tiny Madara was doing a happy victory dance. He couldn’t wait to tell Tobirama all about him not escalating something. Madara was sure that he was going to be getting lots of...quality time tonight or whenever they got back home. 

“Alright, I’ll play along. Now speak, worm.” 

Ok, so the other Madara was still antagonistic, but Madara would take what he could get. 

Was he always like this? 

So unreasonably angry and eternally fuming about one thing or another? No wonder Kagami called him a prickly porcupine and people always spoke carefully around him. If they were wary of setting him off… It was not pleasant to be on the receiving end of such unapproachability. Tobirama really was Sage-sent to be able to put up with him. Madara would give him an extra long kiss just for that. Not that Madara needed extra incentives to shower his husband with love. Any Uchiha would do that gladly and Madara was the most Uchiha-uchiha to ever uchiha.

“There was a seal - it was my husband’s. It blew up and sent us here,” Shaken by the unexpected hostility, he was caught off guard - wrong footed by the other Madara’s words. “Where is he, anyway? I’m sure I saw my husband around here…”

“Husband?” The other Madara frowned. 

“By Amaterasu’s holy burning flame, yes ,” Madara despaired. Thick calloused fingers fisted themselves into course and perpetually unkempt hair making him seem much like a puffer fish when inflated. “My husband. Tobirama. Silvery-white hair. Red eyes. Stripes on his face. About this tall,” Madara exasperatedly held a hand out roughly three centimetres above him. “You of all people should know who your own husband is.” The ‘duh’ at the end of the sentence was left unspoken. 

“Tobirama? Your husband?” The other Madara choked and looked deeply pained at the thought. He shook it off and scoffed, “Hah! There is no possibility that you are me. You must be an imposter. I would never marry that bastard.” He leaned in close and hissed, the syllables sharp and distinct. “Because. I. Hate. Tobirama.”  

Before Madara could even think of a response to that quite frankly world-shattering declaration, a shout drew his attention. People were shouting a lot lately. Madara nodded sagely to himself.  This was another tally for the ‘its not Madara who is dramatic’ chart.

“MADARA!” 

“Tobirama!” Two identical voices replied - one with a vicious snarl and the other overjoyed.

Tobirama arrived in a swirl of verdant leaves next to his husband, with soot turning his hair from a brilliant white, and pale skin to an ashy grey. One of his eyebrows had been half singed off but…

He was the most beautiful sight that Madara had ever seen.

His heart pitter-pattered and flopped around in his chest and in any other scenario, Madara would have been embarrassed. But the feeling of relief overwhelmed anything else he could have felt in that moment.

Tobirama always said that Madara was one of those people who could only feel one emotion at a time. Usually, Madara would argue with him, and they would work themselves up, red-faced and trembling with pent up rage, into an all-out screaming match. But in this instance, he was (reluctantly) inclined to believe it.

“Where have you been?” Madara tried to keep a straight face, but the corners of his mouth kept turning up. He was trying to reprimand his stupid Senju, so how dare his body disobey him like this?!

His beloved ignored him to instead address the other Uchiha. 

“How dare you, Uchiha.” Madara shivered at Tobirama’s frigid tone. He had gone all quiet and serious in the way that he usually did when Madara had royally screwed up. Or when Danzou had screeched and barged in during an important diplomatic meeting that he ‘did not like Hiruzen so don’t listen to them, sensei!’ Oh, he would not like to be that other Madara right now.

“The Hatake told me what you did. How could you do this? You are the reason why there is a war here! Look around,” Tobirama swept a hand out. “You are the cause of all the misfortune here.”

As he listened to Tobirama air all of the other Madara’s crimes, Madara felt shaky. 

“You’re a monster,” Madara whispered. It came out weak and saturated with the horror he felt. The other Madara ignored it, laughing wildly as the spark of insanity grew from an ember into a roaring bonfire. 

It stung fiercely, but Madara could see the echoes of himself in this twisted and insane version. It was well known amongst Uchiha, that they needed a tether and clearly this pitiful version of himself had no one. In those blood-soaked days of war… if he didn’t have Tobirama, and Izuna had died - his last little brother fallen bloody on the battlefield - he would have gladly razed the world to the ground and danced on its ashes. A single individual in a ruined world of his own making.

But this Madara…he was no Madara. After all, what Madara didn’t have a Tobirama?

It was unfathomable that a Madara could not be in love with a Tobirama. How could any versions of themselves lead lives that would take them so far apart? They were…they belonged together. Tobirama was Madara’s home more than anything else in his life! The light of his life, his beloved Senju, was every reason that Madara had needed. He revolved around him like the stars do with the sun - helpless to resist its pull. 

He felt pity for this facsimile of a man. This was what the elders had warned about - the fallacies and vulnerabilities of being an Uchiha. Their clan was one that lived hard and loved even more, and everything they did was done with all their heart, but should they push away or be left bereft of their ties…

Well, Madara was looking right at it.

“Monster?” The other Madara intoned. “ I’m the monster?” He pointed a finger at Tobirama, who looked back with defiant eyes under battle-tousled hair.

“I hate that savage, soulless, farce of a human being more than anything! That monster is the cause of all the pain and suffering in my life. Tch,” the other Madara spat at the ground in derision. “There is no one more devoid of kindness and loyalty. No other has as much claim to that title as Senju Tobirama. If anyone should be called a ‘monster’, it’s him .” 

Two pairs of identical swirling Sharingan met as the Edo Tensei dropped into a battle-stance, Tobirama and Madara following suit. 

“And if anyone deserves to die…it’s him .” His doppelgänger chuckled darkly as the shadows on his face seemed to length and intensify with the sound. 

The blast hit Madara squarely in the chest, sending him flying to collide with the ground for the second time that day. Wheezing, it was all he could do to prop himself up on one knee. Damn Edo Tensei for rendering the other Madara indestructible. If it were any other fight, Madara and Tobirama would have had the opponent subdued by now. But whenever Madara or Tobirama landed a hit, the other Madara would rudely reform. 

The sound of groaning calmed his panicked heart. He would know his beloved’s voice anywhere. Even if it hurt him deeply to hear his husband in pain, it was a natural comfort to know that Tobirama was there and whatever the other him had done, they would face it together.

Which was why that last attack had deliberately separated the two - the other Madara knew well that they worked better in tandem. Like a well-oiled machine, they had fought against and with each other long enough to know how the other would react, jumping in to cover any openings with motions smooth as the water that Tobirama wields. Their synchrony made the other Madara snarl inarticulately with rage and put more force behind each blow. 

Footsteps crunched on the dry ground. There was a rustle, an exhale of exertion, and then Tobirama’s groans turned abruptly into choking. Madara’s heart skipped a beat. Dragging his eyes up reluctantly and hoping against all hope-

His lovely Tobirama was struggling in that other Madara’s arms - those pretty and pale hands wrapped desperately in a white knuckled grip around the forearm pressing on his throat. Tobirama was wheezing and gasping as he kept trying, and trying, and trying to pull the arm locked around his neck away from him.

Madara distantly remembered biting that same neck as he looked up coyly through dark lashes at Tobirama’s head thrown back in pleasure - eyes squeezed shut and that pretty mouth open and moaning for more.

Back then, Madara had watched eagerly with ravenous hunger yet underneath it all had been the undercurrents of love between the two. 

Now he just felt sick. 

There was none of that trust that he could see in this other Madara’s eyes. Just the cold light of insanity as they glared at him. 

Ice flooded his veins and once again he wondered about the distorted reflection of himself in front of him. Thoughts tripping and tumbling over one another. 

How could the other him treat Tobirama like this? Tobirama was a gem, a- a treasure to be protected! The Senju should be treated with love and care - not like this! Nothing like this. 

Every Madara out there should be showering his Tobirama with love. 

All higher order thinking immediately vacated the premises, leaving behind only one fact. Only one warning from the tales of long ago: beware the Uchiha with nothing to lose for they will take the world from you . 

“No!” Madara cried. “Don’t touch him! My husband-”

“Stay back or you’ll regret it.”

“Please,” Madara ignored the other him and advanced cautiously towards his trapped husband, telegraphing every move so as to not to startle the other Madara into making any hasty decisions that could lead to Tobirama...

Faced with the real possibility that he would live even a moment without Tobirama…without his beloved - fearsome and gentle, strict and kind, terrifying and lovely - it would be a living hell. Shinobi were strong, that was true, but Uchiha had always been weak to the effects of the heart. 

“Give me back my husband and we’ll go.” And because he was a selfish man who only cared about his precious ones, he added, “You can do whatever you want to the rest of the world. We won’t interfere.” 

He would have kept pleading but he halted in his tracks, spotting Tobirama frantically shaking his head in a silent plea even as he still struggled and gasped for breath. Don’t come closer. Don’t fight. Disengage and leave . 

Madara stared back. Leave without you? That was an impossible thing to ask of him. No, he shook his head just the slightest amount, he would stay. 

Tobirama’s eyes clouded over with despair. Then, his head was wrenched back exposing his neck as he gasped for breath. The red lines stood out starkly against that pale skin. The other Madara gripped white strands tightly in his fist, uncaring to the soft whimpers that Tobirama was letting out unconsciously. His other arm, previously across the now bruised throat, anchored Tobirama’s arms to his side in a way that made escape more impossible than it already was. 

“Got any last words, bastard?” 

His husband did a good job of hiding his fear, but it was no match for the legendary Uchiha doujutsu. The Sharingan could easily perceive the minute trembles that made its way through Tobirama’s body. 

“Madara, I love you.” Tobirama gasped. Red eyes locked onto frantically swirling black on red with all the desperation of a man who knew his time had come. “I’m so sorry. I love you so much.” 

His heart sank.

A litany of apologies and affirmations of love continued to fall from those thin lips, but Madara couldn’t hear it over the sudden tightness in his chest and the rushing in his ears.

(For his not verbally affectionate husband to do this in the middle of the battlefield…)

Madara didn’t even realise that he had been desperately pleading until the other Madara gave the Senju in his arms a jerk. Madara froze.

“Pain?” The other Madara scoffed. “You dare to talk to me about pain, imposter?” The tone grew meaner in the same way that bandits threaten an innocent child - condescending and patronising. “You don’t know true pain,” then he smirked, “but you will soon.” 

“No,” Madara breathed soundlessly. In a flash of Sage-given clarity, he knew what was going to happen. He could see the malicious glee in the other Madara’s face as those gloved hands reached up to cradle Tobirama’s cheeks. Then one moved down to grip that red lined chin and-

Madara staggered forward, arm outstretched uselessly. 

SNAP. 

Between one heartbeat and the next, the world slowed to a standstill and the sounds of battle faded to a muffle in the wake of the echoes of that horrible noise. 

For a moment, Tobirama hung there motionless in midair. Then Madara watched in uncomprehending horror as his Senju (bright, beautiful, and wonderful Tobirama) fell to the ground with a thud that sounded like the earth tearing itself asunder. 

(His neck wasn’t supposed to look like that-) 

For what seemed to be an eternity, he stood there, gazing blankly at the crumpled and lifeless form lying ungracefully in a heap on the ground.

(Tobirama had always moved with an unearthly grace - strong and lithe with a daring lethality, he had cut an imposing figure on the battlefield and in the village.) 

A guttural scream tore itself from his throat as he surged forward, uncaring of the pain as his wound tore further with the movement. It was nothing compared to the pain in his heart. His knees hit the ground as he frantically gathered his husband and settled him ever so gently in his arms. 

“Tobirama?” He called softly in barely a whisper. He watched his husband’s face carefully for any sign of a response. “Can you hear me?”

But his lover’s head only rolled limply from side to side - the broken bones not enough to provide support.

“Wake up.”

Rocking back and forth under the cold unfeeling light, he threw his head back and screamed his pain into the sky. 

Madara blinked back tears that he didn’t know he was crying. A droplet of crystalised loss fell onto his beloved’s cheek and rolled off, Madara brushing the tear tracks away as if it were actually Tobirama’s. He smiled softly down at the blank face beneath him. 

“Neither the cold light of the moon, nor the depths of the oceans can keep me from you, koibito. Just wait a while longer,” whispered Madara as he bent his neck to inhale the scent of his beloved. He pressed a sweet kiss into snow-white hair for the last time. “I’ll see you soon.” 

He stood up, laying the body of his lover down carefully, smoothing that fringe from which his lover’s bright red, alive , eyes had shone beneath. 

Red and black eyes spun wildly before the tomoe morphed into concentric black rings as red turned into purple, he finally allowed grief to turn to rage and fill every line of his body. Then, he turned to face the one who took the one who gave him the breath in his lungs, the beat in his heart, and who gave him reason and purpose for which he woke up every morning.

The one who took Tobirama from him.

“You,” spat Madara, “I’ll see in hell.” 

Beads of sweat dotted Madara’s brow as a scorching plume of fire burst forth from his lips, forcing the other Madara to counter with his own wall of fire. The other Madara scowled with exertion and then darted forward, face set in a snarl around his own pair of Rinnegan. 

“Mmrph?” 

Madara lifted his face just the tiniest bit from where it had been pressed into the couch pillows and looked blearily up at the source of his awakening. A blob of white with red lines squinted down at him from above the back of the couch. He would know that general arrangement of white and red even if he was blind. 

Blinking rapidly, the shape coalesced into the clear vision of an irritated Tobirama peering down at Madara with extreme judgement. 

“I said,” came from the vision of beauty, “why are you sleeping on the couch when we have a perfectly good bed?”

Irate as he was, it didn’t detract from his handsomeness. Only in the sanctity of his mind, would Madara admit that his husband looked more attractive the more he was riled up.

…and that Madara maybe…sometimes…okay, so it was a lot of the time, purposefully pushed his beloved to the brink just to see that sight. 

The fierce lines of his body and narrowed eyes gave Tobirama the presence of a predator out for blood and reminded all who saw him that he was not someone to be trifled with. The sight of him like that highlighted his often forgotten heritage. It was times like these that reminded Madara that his husband’s mother had been aptly named the ‘Hatake Hellhound’. No, he was dangerous, and he wanted others to know it too.

(Madara would often have to discreetly rearrange his pants when it happened.)  

Alas it was not one of those times now. 

Madara scrubbed at his eyes and sat up, pushing the thin couch blankets off him. He leaned against the back of the couch and tilted his head, so he was looking straight up at his lovely husband. 

“I didn’t want to-” he broke off with a yawn, “disturb you. You’ve been really tired lately - pulling all those extra shifts at the tower archives trying to get it all set up before the delegation arrives. So, when I came in after my mission last night and saw you sleeping spread out on the bed, it was such a lovely sight that I didn’t have the heart to wake you.”

“You silly man.” 

Sometime during the explanation, Madara had looked away, but at his husband’s words, he chanced a look up. Hopefully, he wasn’t too mad. 

Those lovely red eyes had softened considerably. Madara breathed a sigh of relief. He would rather die than admit it, but this soft version of his husband was his favourite. It made him feel all squishy and melty inside.

“Come on then, foolish husband. It’s our day off. Let’s go to bed.” 

Madara was sure he looked absolutely besotted as he kicked off the thin blankets and padded barefoot to the bedroom, trailing after his beloved like a lovesick puppy. But Tobirama would never make fun of him. He was respectful like that.

(He knew with the surety of a shared life together, that Tobirama loved these moments in his own quiet way.)

Besides, this was their secret that stayed within the four walls of their little home in the village they created.  

The battlefield shook under the force of two equally matched Susanoo. Every step from those intangible glowing legs stomped craters into the ground while the air whistled from the force of each punch. The Kage (Edo Tensei or otherwise) herded the retreating shinobi out of the line of fire. 

It was the perfect weather for a wedding. The sun blazed high overhead in the infinite cerulean sky. Despite the lack of clouds, the day was still cool - the grass and flowers at his feet waved in the light breeze. 

Madara was thankful because the ceremonial robes were too damn heavy. Any other day he would be sweating (and what a sight that would have been: both grooms red faced and heat-flushed saying the traditional words in front of a crowd equally as disheveled by the weather), but for once, fortune had smiled on him. 

Next to him, stood Tobirama. He stood there silently, listening intently to the words spoken. The Senju was the very picture of poise and elegance.

Unbeknownst to the onlookers, that chakra like surging waves brushed up against Madara’s own scorching heat - ocean and fire entwining in an intimate caress that reflected their joining.

The ceremony might be for their families and clans as much as it was for them, but this? 

This was just for them. 

Then, Tobirama smiled softly and shyly at Madara with overwhelming love shining in those mesmerising red eyes. 

And Madara? Madara fell even more in love as he felt his world melt and reform to solidify into a certain future with Tobirama forever at his side. 

The sky trembled under the onslaught of artificially created satellite moons that collided, negating the potential devastation they wrought. Far below, thousands of shinobi hailing from every corner of the Elemental Nations, yet united under one symbol, watched with bated breath. 

“Put down your scrolls, Senju.” Red met coal black as Madara leaned on Tobirama’s desk, smirking. “Got a surprise for you.” 

“A surprise…?” Tobirama drawled. Madara was a bit offended at the incredulity encompassed in the raised eyebrow that he received. “It had better be worth my time.” 

Madara would have been more offended, but the speed at which Tobirama packed up was akin to a whirlwind and belied his excitement at the prospect of a break. Madara’s lips twitched up at the sight and he ruthlessly forced them back down before his husband could see. His Senju would take one look at him, read his mind and know what he was thinking (because he was just amazing like that), and then he would get all huffy and refuse. 

“How dare you! I’ll have you know that I give the best surprises.” Madara crossed his arms over his chest.

“Prove it to me, Uchiha.” Tobirama taunted.

Madara gestured sarcastically to the door. “Follow me then, oh sceptical one.” 

Tobirama stalked out. 

As they strolled through the streets of Konoha, Madara couldn’t keep the wild grin off his face. He wanted to capture the sight of his Senju’s expression when they arrived. Oh, he could see it already. Those pretty red eyes blown wide open and his jaw slack but not enough so to hang open. Even in surprise, his beloved was always dignified. 

The complete opposite of Madara, who practically defined the word ‘undignified’, with his temper, brashness, flailing…he could go on. 

Madara could see the corner that it was behind, and his grin grew wider as he unashamedly turned Sharingan-red eyes to his husband in barely contained excitement. The grin became softer at the transition from recognition to surprise. Then what Madara had been waiting for: pretty lips softening into the tiniest of smiles. This is what made everything worth it.

Everything, if it meant that Madara could have this. 

They stood outside of a fancy sashimi restaurant as Tobirama gazed up, intrigued at the fish that swum lazily in the clear aquariums set into the walls. 

From the research that Madara had done (including a sneaky reconnaissance two days prior), this particular restaurant stood apart from others of its kind, with a brightly lit and polished and pretentious interior. Most of all, it had an overwhelming number of good reviews from Konohans and travelling merchants alike, praising it for having the best sashimi in all of Fire Country. 

Most of the eateries of Konoha could only boast about their homely and cosy atmosphere.

Madara stepped in, and Tobirama followed with a curious look as he catalogued all he could see with a keen eye. The Uchiha confidently strolled up to the counter where he exchanged a few hushed words before a waiter was showing the two to a table in a private room. 

They had scarcely sat down before Tobirama was interrogating him. 

“What’s the occasion? It’s hard to believe that you’d do all of this for no reason.” 

“Hey!” Madara pouted theatrically. “I can do nice things for no reason.” 

Tobirama raised an eyebrow. 

“Fine,” he grumbled. “Happy one year anniversary, husband.” 

Tobirama frowned and it was clear that he was visibly counting the days in that beautiful mind of his. “That’s not until next week.” 

“Yes, but we’re both going to be busy with the Suna delegation.” Madara shrugged nonchalantly.

Tobirama acquiesced with a nod then switched tracks. “Why here?”

“Ah, well,” Madara felt heat rise in his cheeks and it wasn’t from any Katon. “Hashirama mentioned that you told him that you’d like to eat here one day. But you couldn’t justify spending so much just for some fresh fish which you can catch yourself.” He scratched his cheek. “So, uhh, I decided to take you here for our anniversary.” 

“You don’t like fresh fish.” Tobirama stated matter-of-factly.

“That’s true, but you like fish,” Madara trailed off and looked away, blushing intensely. Curse his propensity for having emotions. “It’s your favourite so of course we had to have it for-”

Without a warning, Tobirama leaned forward mid-sentence and grabbed his husband’s face in his hands. He captured Madara’s lips in a bruising kiss that left him dumbstruck.

“Now, then, husband,” Tobirama sat back as if nothing had happened. “Let us look at the menu.” 

Madara’s only response was to stare blankly off into space, mouth hanging open and face flushed a flaming red.

It had scarcely been a second after the other Madara had fallen, that Madara seized his chance. He raced forward towards the crumpled form with a chakra reinforced fist that would put an end to it once and for all. 

Perhaps it was poetic after all, that their fight had taken them all around the battlefield, yet the final blow would be at the sight of where it all started, where his beloved lay lifeless , untouched by the destruction. 

With a jolt, he felt his punch halt in its tracks as a hand caught his fist, breaking his momentum before he could enact his well-deserved revenge.

Madara stumbled back and cocked his arm, preparing to punch his way through the new obstacle. However, it was only for the respect that he held for the man now standing in front of him, that he refrained. 

“No,” Hashirama uttered softly, yet his gaze was as hard and unrelenting as his stance. 

Madara screamed wordlessly at the Senju. He was sure he looked like something straight out of a nightmare - with wild red eyes with even wilder hair and robes torn up and smoking at the edges. 

“I can’t let you do this,” Hashirama clenched his jaw, determined to see his end through. Then his shoulder dropped and although his next words were said softer, his demand was no less unrelenting. This was the Shodai Hokage standing in front of Madara and only his respect held him back and gentled his tone as much as it even did. “At least until after I speak with him.” 

Something about Hashirama’s tone cut through the haze of rage, lending a bolt of clarity to his thoughts. Madara held the stare of the man who was, in a way, his best friend, and searched his face carefully before tossing his head to the side as he stomped off. 

“You have five minutes,” Madara conceded and then flashed a wicked grin that promised an unending storm of pain towards the bloodied near corpse. “But after that, he’s mine .” 

After all, he was going to pay for what he did to Tobirama.

Madara took a few paces back and stood back only as far as the two could have privacy yet still be within striking range if the other Madara tried anything. He could hear hushed pleading spilling from underneath the dark tresses of hair shadowing Hashirama’s face as he begged with tears in his eyes for his friend, his Madara, to stop this and fix everything. Even if Madara wasn’t within earshot, he didn't need to have heard the other Madara’s words to know that he was vehemently arguing back. Then something the other Madara said caught his attention. 

“Tell him to go fix it himself if he cares that much about the Demon.” The other Madara’s words sent Hashirama reeling back, blinking in confusion. 

“What do you mean, fix it?” Uncaring of the other Madara’s grievous injuries (and Madara felt a dark glee settle deep within him - languishing in the sun like a satisfied cat who got the cream), Hashirama’s arm whipped out to clasp the other Madara’s shoulders in a vice grip. 

“Fix it…” Madara muttered with his head bowed deep in thought. The thought consumed him...consumed his need for revenge and filled every inch of his being. It brought a brief clarity to his thoughts. The other Madara was, as much as he was loath to admit it, right and although he hated the man more than he had ever hated in his entire life and burned to deliver a hell unto him that would be written in the unfaded scars of the land and in the shadows of human nightmares for millenia to come, his need for Tobirama outweighed it all. “Of course...”

He straightened up and the line of his back showed only determination as he walked with the air of a man going to his death. He looked down at Tobirama’s face for a moment before sinking to his knees and gathering his husband tightly in his arms for the last time. 

Madara took a breath and held it for a moment before he let it out slowly, glancing upwards at the darkened sky with purple eyes.

“Rinne Tensei.”  

Immediately, Madara felt his chakra being siphoned off in a flood like a dam that opened its gates. Chakra flooded the air, so thick and heavy that he was practically choking, in a purple glow that whipped up the air and sent loose rubble flying. 

Hashirama shouted something, harried and panicked in the background but he was drowned out by the foreboding presence of the Shinigami emerging from a crack in reality. It came from behind Madara but he didn’t turn - his eyes stayed fixed on his beloved’s face as he watched until his soul - bright and beautiful - slipped back into Tobirama and kept watching as a few moments later, his chest shuddered to life. He laid a hand on him, reassuring himself that his beloved was truly alive, until the trembling breaths turned steady.

Madara pulled his hand back and then sat there for what felt like an eternity in a moment and committed Tobirama’s face to memory. 

Perhaps it was selfish of Madara. He couldn’t live in a world without his beloved and he had the power to make it happen. Some may curse the Uchiha doujutsu but for Madara it had always been a blessing. 

Then in Madara’s arms, Tobirama’s breathing hitched and changed from the slow deep breaths of unconsciousness to the short and more rapid patterns of someone that was just awakening. It was the most beautiful sight that Madara had seen. Tobirama furrowed his brows, eyes still closed as he mumbled unintelligible words in his hazy state. Finally, he groaned and blinked those beautiful red eyes open, staring straight up at Madara. 

Tobirama...

Oh, the sound of his voice filled Madara with a joy like taking a walk under sakura in full bloom during quiet spring nights. 

Madara wanted his last memory to be of Tobirama.

“Ugh,” Tobirama put a hand to his head as he sat up slowly, Madara steadying him. “What happened? Where are we, Madara? Wait, I think I remember…” Tobirama held up a hand, looking around at the scenes of destruction - most of which Madara had caused. Then, the colour dropped from his face so fast that he looked almost like he did before the Shinigami was summoned, and his expression changed to one of horror.

Madara looked at his lovely husband with a sad smile. Never let it be said that Tobirama was anything less than the most intelligent person that Madara had ever met.

“You didn’t…” Tobirama sprung out from Madara’s arms and shook him roughly by the shoulders. “Madara!” He demanded, “tell me you didn’t!” 

Madara could only shake his head wordlessly. He couldn’t care less about his dropping energy levels - too busy being drunk off the sight of his husband alive and well. 

“No,” Tobirama sunk back boneless into Madara’s embrace and tucked his head under Madara’s chin as Madara’s head came to rest on dusty white hair. “No…” 

“I love you, Tobirama.” Madara looked down helplessly. 

“You don’t get to say that, you bastard!” Tobirama choked, teary-eyed. It broke Madara’s heart to see his beloved so upset. “You’re going to just die and then...”

“I know and I’m sorry.” 

“How could you do this to me?”

“Because I can’t live in a world without you.” 

The sound of crunching footsteps drew the pair’s focus and they looked up to see Hashirama somberly carrying the other Madara in his arms. Just as Madara was about to scramble to his feet and push Tobirama behind him (he’d be damned if he let his current state get in the way of making sure that this other Madara didn’t hurt Tobirama again, and have it all be for naught - he was sure he still had one good punch in him left), Hashirama lowered the other Madara to the ground. Hashirama sent Madara and Tobirama a quelling look and then bent down to tenderly brush the other Madara’s hair out of his face. 

“I’m so proud of you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the other Madara wheezed dismissively at Hashirama. “Whatever.” 

Then the other Madara turned his head to look intensely at Madara. 

“Hey, you!” The other Madara called out and when Madara just blinked, unsure of which person he was addressing, the other Madara sneered. It didn’t look half as dignified as it could have been, with the other Madara lying on the ground. “Yeah, I’m talking to you. Imposter. ” He snarled and Madara could practically see the air itself cringing away from the sheer venom contained in the proclamation. 

If Madara had enough strength left, he would have replied with a solid punch using a fist full of solidified chakra the same way that Tobirama had taught him.

“What kind of idiot are you? Must be some special breed of idiot to just throw your life away like that, huh? A particularly stupid one, perhaps.” He chuckled darkly. “I don’t know what you see in that Senju monster but whatever. Hashirama said that he made you happy and I honestly thought it was bullshit until you pulled that self-sacrificing stunt. Hah…,” Madara scoffed, “but what Uchiha wouldn’t do that for the one they loved and who loved them back?” He broke off into a bitter laugh. 

“And now look at the two of us, dying.” The other Madara weakly waved away Hashirama’s ‘hey!’ of a reprimand. “Pathetic,” he spat before breaking off in a cough around the blood in his throat and this time pushing away Hashirama who had reached out with hands glowing green in concern (as if it would help an Edo Tensei). 

“You’d better take this chance to do what I couldn’t. Don’t make me regret this.” 

The other Madara took a deep breath and his tone turned deadly serious as he uttered somberly. 

“Don’t let Izuna die.”

By this point, Madara only had the energy to muster up a brief flicker of annoyance at the other Madara and dearly wished he had just a tad more life in him to tell him where he could stick wherever he was going with this preaching. He honestly just wished he would shut up already. Just as he spotted Tobirama’s eyes glinting dangerously, the other Madara uttered those words.

“Rinne Tensei.”

Madara inhaled sharply as the focus of the Shinigami shifted from him to the other Madara, and strength began flooding in, filling every crevice of his body and pumping renewed life back into muscle and bone. 

He looked at Tobirama, and Tobirama back at him with matching wide-eyed expression of shellshock. 

The other Madara gasped and seized, his back arching as much as it could while tattered and bloodied robes shifted with the movement. Hashirama took in a shuddering breath and squeezed his eyes shut, looking away for a brief moment to stifle the sob that threatened to slip free. 

“C’mon, Hashirama,” said the other Madara with laboured breath and it was just barely understandable with how much his words were slurring. “Won’t you give me one last smile? I’ll see you there...anyways...” He trailed off and his unfocused gaze landed somewhere in the distance. “Up there...in the Pure Lands…” 

A pale hand rose shakily a few inches up but then just as it was starting to fall, another hand gripped it tight and brought the pale hand to its owner’s cheek. Hashirama leaned into the hand, pressing it tight against his face and sent the gentlest smile. 

“That’s it,” the other Madara smiled, and the smile was one of nostalgia, “that’s...the smile...that I fell...in love with.” His eyes slowly slid shut and with his final breath he gasped, “Maybe...there...we’ll...get...another...chance…”

Madara and Tobirama looked away as Hashirama hunched over, head buried into the other Madara’s chest - little papers tearing off and floating upwards and away in the cool breeze - as Hashirama sobbed loudly and wailed his heart-wrenching grief into the air. 

(And so, the Fourth Shinobi World War ended.)

Madara gripped Tobirama’s hand tighter and Tobirama tore his eyes away from the sea of shinobi in front of them. Those sparkling red eyes, alight with life met his gaze as Tobirama sent him a smile which Madara returned gladly.

A hush swept over the ruined battlefield as a red-eyed Hashirama strode ahead of the two towards his brother amongst the crowd that had gathered unnoticed around them. Madara and Tobirama stood there, hand in hand as they watched Hashirama approach his brother. The other Tobirama exchanged a few words with his brother before Hashirama pitched forward into arms that came up to lovingly embrace his older brother. 

Madara sighed.

The moments after had felt stagnant - as if time itself had stopped in respect. The other Madara...there was no denying he was a monster, yet Madara felt pity for him. 

Tobirama had told him all he had learned from the Hatake. He spoke about Izuna and other Tobirama. He spoke about how the other Madara had been treated - shunned and disgraced by the very clan he had been born to protect and serve. He spoke about how the village that he had won the right to exist with spilt blood, exiled him in all but name.

He spoke about how the other Madara had gone mad and no-one had noticed. 

Madara truly couldn’t help but think that it was like looking into a mirror and seeing an eerily twisted version of himself staring back. As much as he had wanted to deny it, after hearing the other Madara’s story, he could see the echoes of himself clearer than he had before. 

The other Hashirama...he did all he could, but Madara knew that nothing could have stopped him. Madara was grateful that at least the other him had been loved so deeply by someone (even if it wasn’t a Tobirama), despite squandering the chance. 

“What is it, love?” Tobirama squinted down at Madara with a face softened in concern.

He shook his head and dark strands fell in his face, yet he could not be bothered removing them. Madara simply hummed noncommittally as studied the crowd before them.

Some of the shinobi were awestruck and others still hostile, but whatever happened next, it would be alright. 

Because Madara and Tobirama would face it together.

And now, they could finally work on getting home.