Chapter Text
Madara didn’t know where he was. He’d sneaked out of the compound hours ago, and now it was around midnight. Or so he thought. The moon was high in the air. Full and bright, so at least he wasn’t completely blind.
Still, he was scared. He hadn’t meant to go far. He just wanted to search for some berries some of the clan’s women had spoken about, growing outside of the compound. He liked those berries, and he wanted to pick some up for his one-year-old brother Izuna.
Finding the bushes hadn’t been difficult, but then something had caught his attention. He wasn’t sure anymore what it was, but it was something small and fluffy. He wanted to pet it, but when he got near, it ran away. Madara ran after it, and before he knew it, he was lost.
He was tired, cold, and his feet hurt. Everything hurt, actually. He wanted his father. He wanted to be in the warmth of his home. But he didn’t know the way back.
Madara stopped when he heard something. Was it water? Oh, yes. Yes. It was the sound of running water, which meant he must be near a river.
He swallowed, suddenly aware of how dry his throat was. His feet started moving without conscious thought, and he followed the sound of water as it got louder and louder with each step.
It must’ve been maybe another fifteen minutes before Madara caught something shimmering through the trees. His steps became quicker.
He just wanted to jump out of the bushes when sudden movement on the other side of the river caught his attention. He ducked down. Luckily, they didn’t seem to have noticed him.
Curiously, Madara watched the person. They seemed to be holding something in their arms, but Madara was too far away to see what it was exactly. The person walked closer to the river. When they reached the edge, they kneeled.
Madara’s eyes grew wide when he realized the bundle in the person’s arms was moving. Curiosity turned into shock when the man, yeah, it was certainly a man, lowered the bundle into the water.
What are they doing? No, no, no. They can’t.
Madara moved.
Quick and as quietly as possible, he moved forward. He had no idea how he did it, but before he knew it, he jumped the man, stabbing him as hard as he could with the kunai he’d taken with him.
The man shrieked and jumped back. Much to Madara’s surprise, they didn’t even look to see who had attacked them. They just stumbled to their feet and then ran as fast as possible, disappearing into the forest from where they’d come.
Madara didn’t wait to check if the man was truly gone. As soon as the guy had run, Madara turned and searched the river for the small bundle.
He searched and searched, but the current must’ve taken it further down. So, he followed quickly, his eyes, now a bright red Sharingan with one tomoe, scanning the river.
It must’ve been around a minute later when he finally caught sight of the bundle. Without hesitation, Madara jumped into the river and grabbed for it.
When he broke the surface, he inhaled deeply and swam back to the shore. He was so glad his father had taught him when he was two years old. Luckily, the river wasn’t very deep either.
With uncertain steps, Madara stumbled out of the river. As soon as his feet were out of the water, he fell to his knees and frantically removed the straps that were tight around the blanket, preventing it from opening.
When the straps were loose enough, Madara carefully moved the hem of the blanket aside. What was revealed made him gasp loudly.
Moonlight fell on white skin and hair. Tiny red markings could be seen on pudgy cheeks and chin.
Madara’s small hands followed the fine lines, tracing them gently, but soon enough he realized something was very wrong. The baby made no sounds. Nothing at all, not even the soft breathing noises that should’ve been there.
“No, please, no.” Madara started to cry. He couldn’t… What should he do? He couldn’t let them die. They can’t die. They’re so young. Probably just a few days old by how tiny they are.
“Come on, please. Wake up. Breathe. You’re safe.” Madara rubbed his hand against the small chest, pleading and praying he’d been in time. He didn’t know how he could live on with the knowledge that he’d been too slow otherwise.
“Come on. Come on. Come on. Please, Amaterasu-kamisama. Save him. Please, I beg you.”
There was a sudden small choking noise, followed by a very loud cry. Madara froze, watching as the little one spat out a large amount of water before starting to cry in earnest.
“Oh. Oh my. Shh, shh. It’s alright. Everything’s alright now,” Madara whispered in a soothing voice.
Slowly, the cries turned into small sobs. After some more minutes of rocking and gentle soothing, they quieted down too, and Madara couldn’t be happier. With careful movements, he wiped his tears away.
“Hm. Have to remove the blanket. It’s all wet,” Madara mumbled, more to himself than to the small one.
Madara shifted into a more comfortable position with his legs crossed. He moved the tiny body into his lap, careful to support the neck the entire time. When he’d been allowed to hold Izuna for the first time, his father had explained that the neck was very fragile in the first few months after birth.
Madara opened the blanket and froze.
The little one wasn’t wearing any clothes. But that wasn’t what made him stare in amazement.
The small body was covered in red markings.
“Beautiful,” Madara whispered.
Madara’s gaze roamed over the little body, examining it carefully for any injuries, but there were none. When his eyes returned to the little one’s face, they grew impossibly wide.
When black met red, Madara felt a tug behind his eyes. It was sharp and strange, almost painful, though he was far too amazed by the red eyes staring back up at him to truly notice it.
He didn’t even realize the whispered, “Mine,” that left his mouth.
Then the little one closed his eyes again, and the magical moment ended. Especially when the cold air soon made the small body shiver.
But that wasn’t the worst.
Madara wanted to tuck the baby against his chest, to wrap it in his own clothes. Unfortunately, he himself was soaked from head to toe, and there was nothing he could use to keep the little one warm. Soon enough, it was Madara himself who began to shiver as well.
“Think, think,” Madara muttered, his teeth chattering.
“We need warmth. But I can’t make a fire yet. I…”
“Madara!!!”
Madara’s head snapped around to the other side of the river.
“Madara.”
“Otousan,” Madara cried, tears filling his eyes and spilling down his cheeks.
Tajima and five other Uchiha burst onto the river’s shores. At the sight of them, Madara cried even louder.
“Otousan, Otousan. Please. Help.”
The Uchiha crossed the river in no time. Tajima went straight to his son, while the others took defensive positions around them, eyes sharp as they watched the forest that marked Senju territory.
“Madara. We searched everywhere for you. How many times did I…” Tajima inhaled sharply.
His son was crying. Madara rarely cried. But that wasn’t all. Tajima’s breath caught when his gaze met a Sharingan his clan hadn’t seen for hundreds of years.
“Mada…”
“Otousan. Please save him.”
“Save him. Who.” Yet again Tajima’s breath hitched. There was a newborn baby lying in his son’s lap.
Tajima kneeled. “Madara?”
“Please. Help him. Someone tried to kill him. T-they threw him into the r-river, and I… I saved him. But it’s c-cold.”
“Ma-Madara?”
“O-Otousan, please. He… do something. He’s freezing. C-can’t l-let him d-die. He’s… m-mine.”
“Shh, shh,” Tajima soothed, though his heart was pounding. His eyes moved to the newborn. It was still alive, but barely. The lips were already blue from the cold, and the skin had taken on a dangerous tint.
Tajima didn’t hesitate. He carefully picked up the tiny boy and wrapped him in his own robe.
Then he turned to Madara.
His little boy looked uninjured, but he was shivering violently, soaked from head to toe. His lips were blue as well.
Tajima waved one of the others over. “Take him. We need to return as fast as possible.”
The Uchiha nodded, and soon they disappeared in the direction of the compound.
On the way back, Tajima kept a close eye on the baby in his arms. It made no sounds. The only indication that the baby was still alive was the faint feeling of breath against his skin.
Ten minutes before reaching the compound, they were joined by two healers. Tajima had sent the fastest among them ahead to alert the compound that they were coming and that immediate medical care was needed.
When Tajima saw them, he stopped.
“Mimiko-san.”
“Tajima-sama. Let me see.”
There was no hesitation. Tajima unwrapped his robe so the older woman could examine the baby. She gasped, which Tajima fully understood. He himself was still struggling to comprehend what his son had found.
Mimiko pursed her lips at the sight, and Tajima knew that expression far too well.
“What happened?” She asked, already pulling out a soft towel she’d warmed as soon as they’d heard what was coming.
“I don’t have a full report,” Tajima replied. “But Madara said he saw someone throw the baby into the river. He jumped in to save him.”
Mimiko made a sound of approval, despite the fact that it had been incredibly stupid and dangerous for a four-year-old to jump into freezing water.
“Here. Quickly now. There’s no time to lose,” she said. “It’s not just the baby we have to worry about, but your son as well.”
Tajima cast a quick look at Madara, who was still shivering even though he was tightly wrapped in a blanket after shedding his wet clothes. Uchiha usually ran hotter than other shinobi or civilians, but even they could freeze to death when exposed to extreme cold for too long.
And a four-year-old like Madara was certainly no exception.
They covered the rest of the distance in record time. They didn’t stop at the gates, nor did they slow when passing them. Only when they reached the healing building did their sprint turn into a fast walk.
“Quick. Remove your robes and sit on the bed over there. Press him against your bare chest and by Amaterasu, don’t let go of him. Take the towel off. I’ll give you a blanket to cover both of you. He needs skin-to-skin contact.”
“Can’t we put him in a hot bath?”
“No. A sudden change in temperature can rupture his blood vessels. We need to raise his temperature slowly. Your body heat is more than enough to warm him without killing him. We also have to pray he doesn’t get pneumonia. If he does, I fear he won’t survive.”
“No. He can’t die. Please don’t let him die,” Madara screamed from the other bed beside his father’s.
Mimiko turned to reassure the young clan heir, but instead she gasped. She rushed over and gently took Madara’s face between her hands, staring into his eyes.
“You… When?”
She looked back at Tajima, who was already watching his son with deep concern.
“I assume my son and the baby made eye contact,” Tajima said quietly. “Even though Madara is only four and hadn’t yet awakened his Sharingan. A center bond can still be created. I read about it once in the old archive files. I dismissed it at the time. A center bond is as rare as the Mangekyō Sharingan itself.”
“His eyes were red,” Madara murmured, unfocused, remembering that beautiful color.
“Red,” Mimiko whispered. “So, he truly is…” She swallowed hard.
“Mimiko. Is there anything we can do to make sure he survives?” Tajima pleaded.
He knew exactly what it would mean if they lost the newborn boy. Madara had formed a center bond. If the baby died, Madara would die too. And they were both so young. A newborn, probably not even a day old, and Madara, a four-year-old who had just begun to learn the truth of the world.
She shook her head. “Nothing more. We can only keep him warm. We should also try to give him some milk. Who knows if he’s been fed at all since he was born.”
“Tajima.”
He recognized his wife’s voice immediately. “Masumi. We’re here.”
Two seconds later, a young woman appeared, a one-year-old in her arms, half asleep. Her husband wasn’t the first thing she saw.
It was her oldest son, wrapped in thick blankets, looking utterly distressed.
“Madara. Oh, Amaterasu be blessed.” She said in relief and walked over to her oldest son.
Her eyes filled with tears. She’d feared she’d lost him forever. With every passing hour, the chances of finding him alive, or finding him at all, had grown slimmer. Bloodline thieves were all too eager to take a lost child before anyone else could.
“Okaasan,” Madara sobbed. His Mangekyō Sharingan was no longer active, having finally deactivated due to lack of chakra, or maybe it was general exhaustion and the instinctive feeling of being safe.
Either way, Tajima and Mimiko had noticed, and they were worried Madara might get sick. Not only because of the cold, but also because of chakra exhaustion. Tajima also wondered how much chakra his son actually possessed. His reserves must be incredible, considering how long the Sharingan had been active.
“My baby? What happened? Why is your hair wet? And where are your clothes?”
“Masumi,” Tajima called to get his wife’s attention.
She turned her head toward her husband while rubbing Madara’s back with her free hand.
“Tajima? Oh my, don’t tell me Madara fell into the river or the spring, and you had to save him.” It was a fair conclusion. Both father and son were wrapped in blankets. But there was one small detail she hadn’t noticed yet.
Tajima shook his head. As he began to explain, he slightly moved the blanket aside so she could see the tiny head pressed against his chest.
The baby was fast asleep. The lips were still slightly blue, but the skin had a faint flush that suggested the newborn was warming up. Still, they had to keep a close eye on him. The risk of fever or something worse was high.
“Oh my,” Masumi whispered.
Next to her, Madara wiggled out from under her touch and moved toward his father. He wanted to be close to the baby. Since Tajima had taken the little one, Madara’s anxiety had grown. Not being able to see the newborn had made it worse. And now that he finally caught a glimpse of soft white hair, Madara couldn’t take it any longer.
No words were needed for Tajima to understand. He simply let his son climb onto the bed and then onto his lap. He opened his blanket wider so Madara could lean against his bare chest, his head right next to the baby.
The newborn must have sensed Madara’s presence, because the next second he scrunched his tiny nose, yawned, and slowly blinked open his beautiful red eyes.
A wide smile spread across Madara’s face while Tajima, Mimiko, and Masumi watched in silent amazement.
The moment lasted only a few seconds before the baby began to cry. It wasn’t loud. It was more of a raspy, fragile sound.
“His throat must be sore. That’s not a good sign. And he needs food,” Mimiko stated.
“Let me try. I haven’t fully stopped lactating yet,” Masumi said, handing her one-year-old to the healer.
She moved quickly. Only half a minute later she sat across from Tajima, the newborn in her arms and pressed against her warm skin. Carefully, she guided him toward her breast and helped him latch onto her nipple.
It took a few attempts. The little one clearly didn’t know what to do. But as soon as the first drop of milk touched his tongue, he sucked and swallowed desperately, which was yet another sign that he was likely starving.
Masumi had to pull him back a few times, knowing that if he drank too much at once, he would lose it again soon after.
Mimiko helped soothe the baby’s stomach with a softly glowing green hand, barely touching his tiny belly.
At one point, the baby boy fell asleep. Masumi carefully removed her nipple from his mouth. With a few gentle pats on his back, she made sure no air remained trapped in his stomach, then handed him back to Tajima.
Not once had Madara taken his eyes off him. He almost growled when his mother patted the baby’s back. Tajima noticed Madara’s tension and tried to soothe him by gently massaging his son’s head and neck.
“I’ll bring some clothes. The next twenty-four hours will be crucial. If he doesn’t develop a fever or anything else concerning within that time, he’ll survive. If he does…”
The words lingered in the air, the healer not daring to finish them. It wasn’t necessary.
Tajima knew very well what the consequences would be.
He just wasn’t sure if he should tell his wife the full impact of what would happen if the baby died. After all, she was still unaware of the center bond their son had formed with the newborn.
----
They were lucky. Or maybe Amaterasu truly loved her blessed child. Despite all the chances of catching a cold or pneumonia, the little one recovered well from the shock of that night.
Masumi fed him every two hours, and Tajima helped keep him warm. After twenty-four hours passed without any signs of illness, Mimiko allowed them to take him home.
Of course, they had also kept a close eye on Madara, which wasn’t difficult at all, because he refused to leave the newborn’s side.
Now Tajima and Masumi stood in the doorway of Madara’s room, watching their oldest son and the newborn sleep on the small bed. Madara lay on his side, one arm draped protectively over the baby’s middle.
It was cute.
“Center bonded. I still can’t believe it,” Masumi whispered. Tajima had told her everything as soon as they returned home after the twenty-four hours had passed.
“Indeed.”
“What are we going to do now? We can’t let them grow up like brothers, can we? That could turn out very confusing for them once they’re older and start developing certain feelings.”
“It’s a complicated situation, that’s for sure. But giving him away to another family isn’t an option. Madara won’t allow it. He would lose his mind if we kept the little one away from him.”
“What do you suggest then?”
“Let them grow up together and see what happens. I think they will instinctively understand that they mean more to each other than brothers. Keeping them apart now and then forcing them together later might backfire terribly. I’d rather not risk it.”
“Mhm, you’re probably right. Now, what do we name him?”
“Madara has already given him a name.”
“Oh?”
“Tobirama.”
Masumi scrunched her nose. “It’s not a bad name, but isn’t Butsuma’s oldest son named Hashirama? It sounds a little too familiar, don’t you think?”
Tajima’s eyes returned to the sleeping infant. “You know, I think it’s rather fitting. Because I believe the little one is actually Butsuma’s second born.”
Masumi gasped. “You don’t think…”
Tajima nodded slowly.
“Yes. We know his wife was expecting. And if our information is correct, she should be, or already has been, in her ninth month. On top of that, the incident happened at the Naka River, right where our territory borders that of the Senju. I assume it was a Senju trying to get rid of the baby. Maybe even Butsuma himself.”
“But why? Why would he kill…”
“Look at him, Masumi. Isn’t it obvious?” Tajima said quietly. “They must have seen him as a bad omen. A curse. And you know the saying. If you want a curse undone, sacrifice it to the river kami. It will carry the curse away and your clan will prosper for the next hundred years.”
He paused, his gaze softening slightly.
“That the little one might actually be blessed by a kami probably didn’t even occur to them. Or maybe Butsuma knows very well that his son is blessed by Amaterasu but refuses to accept him. After all, we worship her as our goddess. He wouldn’t see his son as a sign meant to unite our clans. Quite the opposite.”
“You truly think Amaterasu wants us to make peace with the Senju?”
“Why else would she bless a Senju child, and make him the Center of our son, who will one day become clan head?”
“But why not the oldest son? Why not Hashirama?”
“I don’t know. Maybe his fate is to be bonded to someone else. Who am I to question the Kamis? It is what it is, my love. There’s nothing we can change. Let’s see what the future brings.”
Tajima stepped closer and wrapped his arms around his wife from behind. He pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek and rested his head against her shoulder, both of them watching the two children sleep.
Masumi sighed softly and nodded. With one hand she rubbed the back of the one-year-old in her arms, hoping that all her children would grow up to have a better, safer life than the one they themselves had known.
----
Three years later
A little white-haired toddler clapped his hands excitedly. Madara, his older brother, spat a huge fireball, the biggest he had ever managed so far. It was even larger than a house, which made Tajima, who had Tobirama sitting in his lap, somewhat worried.
“Madara. Please, be careful.”
“Yes, Otousan,” his seven-year-old replied.
They were on one of the training grounds, a place the Uchiha used to practice their fire jutsu. Normally, there wasn’t any reason to worry, but Madara’s talent surpassed even Tajima’s at that age. He feared his son might accidentally hurt himself.
“Don’t worry, ’tousan. I’ll extinguish any fire.” Tajima looked down at little Tobirama.
“I’m sure you will. But Madara needs to learn not to rely on you too much. You won’t always be able to stay at his side.”
“But I want to. Dara’s mine. Why wouldn’t I be there?” Tobirama pouted.
‘Adorable’ Tajima thought.
Perhaps his worries were unfounded, because as it turned out, Tobirama was a born suiton user. And not one to be underestimated. Not when he could summon water out of seemingly nowhere, without using any hand signs.
They had discovered it when he was just one year old. Madara had been practicing his fire jutsu and somehow managed to set his robe on fire, which shouldn’t have been possible considering Uchiha clothes were fire resistant. Luckily, it was only a small flame, and before it could spread, Madara was suddenly hit with a small water ball that extinguished it instantly.
They had all stood there in shock. It wasn’t until they saw Tobirama summon another small water ball between his hands and throw it at Madara again that they understood what had happened.
Tajima and Masumi had exchanged knowing looks. Tobirama was truly the perfect match for Madara.
Tobirama being a suiton user also explained why he ran colder than the average shinobi or civilian. At first, they had feared it was an aftereffect of his unwilling bath in the freezing river and hoped it would improve with time. However, suiton users were known to run slightly colder than others, and Tobirama was no exception.
Unfortunately, he ran even colder than most suiton users because of how strong his water nature was. The same applied to Madara, who ran hotter than any Uchiha Tajima knew, including himself.
They truly matched wonderfully. Though it also had some uncomfortable side effects, because Tobirama was almost constantly cold, while Madara sometimes felt like he was melting away. Especially when the temperatures turned very low or very high.
And that was another reason the boys liked to cuddle with each other. For Madara, Tobirama was like a living cooler. For Tobirama, Madara was like a heater.
“Look at me.”
Tajima was pulled from his thoughts by his second son’s confident little voice.
He looked up and saw Izuna throwing kunai at a target. Unfortunately, one slipped from his hand and flew straight in their direction.
Before Tajima could react, Madara appeared in front of them and caught the kunai midair.
“Izuna!”
“Sorry, Aniki.”
“You better be careful, or I’ll throw you into the koi pond.”
Izuna whined at the threat. It was one he knew his brother would absolutely carry out, because it wouldn’t be the first time.
----
Four years later
Tobirama ran, Madara hot on his heels, and a squad of adults not far behind.
Some minutes earlier, Tobirama had reached out with his sensor abilities to check on the progress of the twins. They had been sent on a small delivery mission to one of their neighboring clans, the Hagoromo.
He had tracked them the moment they left the compound and had kept an eye on them the entire time. But then he had fallen asleep, tired from the previous day’s training and from a slight fever that had developed overnight.
When he woke up, he was startled that he had fallen asleep and immediately searched for his younger twin brothers’ chakra signatures.
Strangely, he found them close to the Senju border. What was even more alarming was that five unfamiliar adult chakra signatures were nearby.
Tobirama was instantly on alert.
Without hesitation, he slipped out of bed and hurried toward the front entrance to put on his shoes. Behind him, he heard Madara calling his name, which also caught Tajima’s attention, who was inside his office.
Tobirama only said two words before he was out the door.
“Twins. Danger.”
For a seven-year-old, Tobirama was surprisingly fast, but it took Madara only three minutes to catch up. Tajima and a squad of seven Uchiha followed shortly after.
“What’s going on, Tobirama?” Tajima asked.
“The twins. I don’t know why, but they’re close to the Senju border, and I can feel five adults closing in on them. They’ll reach them soon. We have to hurry.”
Tajima tensed. Only three months ago, his youngest daughter had been hunted down by a squad of child hunters. It had been a close call, and she had been badly injured.
He had been reluctant to send the twins on a mission, but he couldn’t keep them inside the compound forever. He had made sure to choose something simple. Nothing near enemy borders.
So why were they near Senju territory?
“Faster,” Tobirama called.
“How far away are they?” Tajima asked through gritted teeth.
“Two miles. They’re straight ahead and moving this way.”
Tajima made a quick decision. “Madara. You and Tobirama stay behind.”
“Otousan?”
“No arguments, son.”
Madara nodded and stopped Tobirama by wrapping his arms around him and lifting him off the ground.
Tajima didn’t slow down. He urged his squad to run even faster.
Tobirama squirmed in Madara’s arms, but the older boy didn’t loosen his grip.
“Tobi. Please. Otousan will save them. We won’t help by getting in the way.”
“You don’t know that. Dara, you’re stronger than ‘tousan. We need to help.”
“You’ve already helped. Several times.”
“Please, ’dara. We can at least pull the twins out of the fight. The adults will be too busy to cover their retreat or make sure they’re safe.”
Madara hesitated. Tobirama had a point. Even if the Uchiha outnumbered the enemy, the Senju were never to be underestimated.
“Okay.”
“They are… okay?” Tobirama asked.
“Yes. Let’s go. They’re our siblings. Of course I want them out of harm’s way.”
Tobirama smiled, and they took off.
He kept a close eye on the twins’ chakra. The Senju hadn’t reached them yet, but it was only a matter of time.
Then Tobirama stiffened, because he felt five more chakra signatures approaching.
“Madara. Five more. There are five more signatures.”
“What? Where are they coming from?”
“From the right. They’re trying to cut the twins off from their current route.”
“And Otousan? How far away is he?”
“He’s close. But he won’t know that five more are coming.” Tobirama gasped. “Madara. I think it’s a trap.”
“What? But that would mean… we were betrayed.”
“We have to hurry.”
If possible, Tobirama ran even faster. Madara could only keep up because he was taller and more physically developed than his bonded. Madara was certain that Tobirama would one day be one of the fastest shinobi alive. Perhaps even before adulthood.
For a second, Tobirama’s breath hitched, and Madara feared the worst.
“Tobirama?”
“All fine. All fine. ’tousan and the others reached them.”
“What about the other five?”
“This way.”
----
Tajima tried hard not to be distracted from protecting the twins. It went well at first, but then he heard one of them yelp behind him, which nearly earned him a blade through his side.
Then he heard a very familiar voice, followed by an immense surge of heat.
What was Madara doing here?
More importantly, why were Hagoromo shinobi here? And why was Madara attacking them? They were allies. Or so he had believed.
Tajima grunted when a sword grazed his right arm. He narrowed his eyes to his opponent.
Butsuma Senju.
He should have known. The man had led the child hunters three months ago when they targeted his daughter.
His daughter hadn’t even been near Senju territory. But now, seeing the five Hagoromo shinobi, Tajima began to understand. It seemed Butsuma and the Hagoromo had formed a pact to hunt down Tajima’s children, or any children of the Uchiha clan.
Why, he did not know.
If Butsuma wanted revenge, it should have been against the Hagoromo. After all, it was them who had killed his seven year old son.
The more Tajima thought about it, the clearer it became. The Hagoromo must have shifted the blame onto the Uchiha, making the Senju believe it had been them.
Unfortunately for them, or more like fortunately the Uchiha didn’t maintain child hunter squads. One of his elders had once suggested it, but Tajima had shut the idea down immediately. Sending Uchiha to kill other clans’ children would only place an even larger target on his own.
“Working with the Hagoromo now, Senju? Don’t you know it was them who killed your son?”
“Tsk. Who would believe you, Uchiha scum? Everything that leaves your mouth is a lie.”
“You’re truly an idiot. I pity your clan for having such a blind leader.”
Tajima managed to slice into Butsuma’s right leg. The Senju grunted and jumped back, though he was far from defeated.
As Butsuma prepared to attack again, something white appeared several meters behind Tajima.
Butsuma’s eyes widened in recognition. All color drained from his face.
Tajima immediately understood what he had seen and leapt backward, landing where he knew Tobirama stood beside the twins.
“Tobirama. Take the twins. Run as fast as you can and don’t look back. Madara, Ryoko, go with them. The rest of us will cover your retreat.”
“But ’tou—”
“Now, Tobirama. This isn’t the time to argue. The twins and your own safety come first. Go.”
Tobirama bit his lower lip but nodded.
Seconds later, the four children and one adult disappeared into the forest.
Only then did Tajima realize that only five enemies remained.
Butsuma noticed it as well.
He ordered a retreat.
Tajima had no intention of pursuing them. More important was tending to the injured, collecting the fallen, and getting back to his children before anyone else decided to take advantage of the chaos. Even if he doubted it.
He thought of Tobirama. The little one truly was a blessed gift from Amaterasu. Not only was he a strong suiton user and one of the most intelligent children Tajima had ever known, he was also a natural sensor with a range others could only dream of.
Unfortunately, he could also be the most stubborn when he wanted to be. Especially when it came to his experiments with new jutsus or his newest interest, sealing. Tobirama tended to skip meals when he was engrossed in his work, forgetting the time and everything around him, and it was only Madara who could get him out of his little lab they built after one of his experiments almost blew off half of the main house.
Tajima still remembered that day far too clearly. The sound had been deafening. The walls had shaken and dust had rained down from the ceiling. For one terrifying second he had thought they were under attack. His wife and the children had been sitting at the low dinner table, bowls still in their hands, when the explosion echoed through the compound. Silence had followed, heavy and suffocating.
Then Tobirama had stumbled into the room.
His white hair had been a complete mess, sticking out in every possible direction. His face and clothes had been covered in dust and soot, and there had been a faint scorch mark along his sleeve. He had blinked at them as if he didn’t understand why they were staring.
Masumi had gone pale. Izuna had nearly dropped his bowl. One of the twins had started crying. Madara had been on his feet instantly.
Not that Tajima had looked any less stunned, probably.
Tajima sighed now and rubbed a hand over his face. “Not the time to think about anything but getting my children home,” he muttered under his breath.
His mind could wander later. Right now, all that mattered was making sure every single one of them made it back alive.
----
One year later
A twelve year old Madara decided he wanted some time alone and went down to the Naka River. Don’t misunderstand him. He loved being with Tobirama. Most days he wouldn’t go anywhere without him. Normally he would have taken him along without a second thought, but after the incident with the twins a year ago, Tajima had forbidden Tobirama from leaving the Uchiha compound.
It wasn’t like Madara was officially allowed to leave either when he wasn’t on a mission, but his father had been buried in clan matters lately and had his hands full keeping an eye on Madara’s younger siblings. So today Madara used the opportunity to slip away and get a break.
And it wasn’t like he was running from Tobirama. No. It was more like he was running from Izuna, who had been especially annoying the past few days. Izuna took every chance he got to corner Madara and challenge him to a spar.
Madara knew why. Izuna wanted to prove he was ready to join the battlefield. Madara rarely joined open battles anymore because of the fear of what might happen if he died. They knew what would happen if Tobirama died. They had felt it once before and had no desire to ever test that boundary again. But it wasn’t known what the consequences would be if it happened the other way around. And no one was eager to find out.
Still, Madara refused to be locked away. He was the heir of the Uchiha clan and their future clan head. Tajima knew that keeping his eldest son hidden behind walls wasn’t an option. So they had come to a compromise. Madara was allowed to go on missions and to hunt down any bloodline thieves who found their way into Uchiha territory. What he wasn’t allowed to do was join large scale battles, especially those that involved the Senju, unless it was absolutely necessary.
Butsuma had grown more reckless and more vicious in their clashes. He had started shouting across the battlefield that he would find and kill that little demon Tajima was hiding. Another reason why Tobirama wasn’t allowed to step a single foot outside the compound.
His little Center hadn’t even argued about it. He had just looked at Tajima with his head tilted slightly to the side and shrugged. “Gives me more time for my experiments,” he had said calmly.
Madara had to smile at the memory. That had probably been the first time he had truly wanted to kiss Tobirama. He had kissed him before, of course. Soft kisses against his cheek, sometimes against his temple, nothing improper and always private. But that time he had wanted to kiss him properly, right on the lips. He hadn’t. He had simply squeezed his shoulder instead. But he had wanted to.
Distracted by his thoughts, Madara startled when a stone flew past him and skipped over the river, hopping lightly across the surface before landing on the other side. He blinked.
It was something he had been trying to achieve for the past couple of hours, but he just couldn’t get the angle right.
Madara turned slightly, a scowl forming on his face.
“Just aim a little higher than you think you should. That’s the trick.”
The boy who spoke was probably the same age as Madara. He stood a few steps away with an easy smile on his face, hands tucked behind his head as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
Madara turned fully now, not impressed in the slightest. “Yeah, I know. I’ll get there if I put my all into it,” he said determinedly, even though he knew how ridiculous that sounded. If he truly put his all into it, the stone would probably evaporate before it even touched the water.
He scoffed softly at himself before asking, “Who are you?”
“Uh, well, right now I’m your stone skipping rival,” the boy replied with a grin. Then he puffed out his chest slightly and added in an annoyingly arrogant tone, “But my stone is already on the other side.”
Madara gritted his teeth. He asked again, louder this time and clearly irritated, “Answer me. I asked you who you are.”
“First name’s Hashirama,” the boy finally said. “But I can’t tell you my last name.”
Madara relaxed just a fraction, though he stayed on guard. The boy couldn’t tell him his last name. That wasn’t necessary anyway. Madara was well aware of who this had to be.
What a coincidence.
“Hashirama, huh,” Madara muttered. “Just watch me. I’m gonna make it.”
He turned his back to the boy and bent down to pick up another stone, taking his stance carefully. It wasn’t something Madara would normally do. Turning your back on a potential enemy was careless at best and suicidal at worst. But he wanted to see what kind of person Hashirama was. Whether he was anything like his father.
Madara weighed the stone in his hand and then threw it the same way he would throw a shuriken, precise and controlled, chakra kept carefully in check.
Let’s see if Hashirama notices. And if he does, what he’ll do about it.
Madara tilted his head only slightly, just enough to catch the shift in Hashirama’s expression from the corner of his eye.
‘So, you noticed then.’, he thought with quiet satisfaction.
Then the stone sank.
It didn’t even come close to the other side. It skipped once, twice, and then disappeared beneath the surface with a small, humiliating plop.
Madara stared at the ripples.
This hadn’t been planned. Not at all. He had fully intended to make it across.
Dammit.
Exaggeratedly, he turned around and pointed an accusing finger at Hashirama. “Why you. You stood behind me on purpose to distract me, didn’t you? I’m so sensitive I can’t even pee when someone stands behind me like you were doing.”
Hashirama looked genuinely startled. The next second he dropped to the ground, hugging his knees to his chest, shoulders slumping as if the weight of the world had just settled on him.
“I… I’m sorry.”
Madara blinked. Once. Twice.
He hadn’t expected that.
His irritation faltered, replaced by confusion and a faint hint of guilt. “Eh. There’s no need to get depressed about it,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was making excuses. I’m sorry.”
“Well, I had no idea you…” Hashirama looked up at him with wide, mournful eyes. “…had such an obnoxious self-diagnosed neurosis.”
Madara stared at him in disbelief. “You know, I can’t tell if you’re a nice guy or just some kind of jerk.”
Suddenly Hashirama sprang to his feet, bright and cheerful again, as if nothing had happened. It was so abrupt that Madara took a small step back.
“Well, one thing’s for sure. I’m better at stone skipping than you,” Hashirama said with a grin.
Madara’s eye twitched. “Do you want me to skip you instead, you punk?”
Immediately Hashirama’s expression collapsed again. He sank back to the ground, face full of despair.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you mad. To make amends, I’ll let you throw me into the river. Go ahead. Do it,” he whispered the last words.
Madara’s brow twitched harder. There was no way this guy was related by blood to Tobirama. Absolutely no way. Even Izuna was more mature than this. And Izuna could be an unbearable brat.
“Good grief,” Madara muttered. “Are you even aware of your own obnoxious neurosis?”
“It’s just…”, Hashirama’s expression shifted slightly. “I hope that I reach the opposite shore.”
Madara felt his irritation flare again. This guy was mocking him.
“You’re so annoying.”, Madara shouted, “Just get lost.”
He couldn’t deal with this. Amaterasu might forgive him, but he wouldn’t survive another minute of this madness.
Hashirama stood and turned with a “Well” leaving his lips, ready to leave.
Madara moved without thinking and grabbed his shoulder. “No, wait a second.”
‘What am I doing?’
Hashirama glanced over his shoulder, looking mildly annoyed now. “Which is it? Could you try to be a little clearer?”
Madara let go as if slapped. “It’s just…”
Before he could find an excuse, both of them noticed something drifting in the river.
Hashirama reacted first. He rushed toward the water and stepped onto the surface without hesitation, chakra holding him steady. He didn’t even seem to realize he had just exposed himself as a shinobi.
Madara stayed where he was, watching carefully.
Hashirama reached the floating corpse and kneeled.
After a few seconds, Hashirama, more serious now, said, “This place will become a battlefield. Go home now.”
He said something else under his breath. Madara couldn’t hear it clearly, but he was almost certain he caught the word Hagoromo.
A little louder, Hashirama added, “Sorry, I have to go now.”
He jumped to the opposite shore and paused, glancing back at Madara. “Later. Oh, uh…”
Madara understood immediately what he wanted to ask.
“First name’s Madara.”
“Madara,” Hashirama repeated.
“Not offering one’s family name to a stranger. It’s shinobi law, right?” Madara smirked faintly.
“I thought so. You’re a shinobi too.”
Madara couldn’t tell if Hashirama recognized his name or if he was hiding it well. In the end, they both turned their backs and left without another word.
Back at home, Madara was greeted by Tobirama, who looked at him with a questioning gaze and his head tilted slightly to the side.
Madara knew better than to try lying to his Center.
He glanced around to make sure no one was close. The hallway was empty, but he still leaned down and whispered into Tobirama’s ear, “I met someone very interesting today. His name is Hashirama.”
Tobirama didn’t react outwardly. He simply cast a sideways glance at Madara. Madara met his eyes and gave a small nod.
Understanding passed between them.
Since Tobirama had been three years old, he had known Tajima and Masumi weren’t his biological parents. He also knew about their suspicion that he was the second son of Butsuma Senju.
At first, he had been upset. He had heard enough stories about Butsuma to know the man wasn’t kind. But Tajima and Masumi had reassured him that it didn’t matter whose blood ran in his veins. He was their son. Nothing would ever change that.
Later, Tobirama had asked more questions. Whether he had siblings, well besides those he already considered siblings. Tajima had told him everything he knew.
So, the name Hashirama wasn’t unfamiliar to him.
Madara and Tobirama decided to keep the encounter a secret. At least for now.
Madara met Hashirama several more times after that. His first impression didn’t change much. Hashirama was unpredictable. One moment he was laughing loudly, the next he looked ready to cry over nothing. It was exhausting.
Still, Madara had to admit it was also kind of funny. Even if it annoyed him to the core sometimes.
Then one day Hashirama began talking about peace.
He spoke about a world where children wouldn’t grow up with weapons in their hands. Where they wouldn’t have to learn how to kill before they learned how to read. He said he was tired of watching small coffins being lowered into the ground.
It was the first time Madara felt something dangerous and fragile bloom inside his chest.
Hope.
Hope that the war would end. Hope that he would never have to bury one of his siblings. Hope that Tobirama would one day walk beyond the compound walls without being hunted.
Tobirama wasn’t a prisoner. But sometimes it felt like he was. And Madara hated that feeling more than anything.
He hoped Izuna would never have to stand on a battlefield and watch clan members fall around him, forced to endure sights no child should ever see.
That day he returned home with a slight, almost giddy waggle in his steps. He couldn’t wait to tell Tobirama.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t only Tobirama who was waiting for his return.
His father stood in the courtyard with his arms crossed and a faintly displeased expression on his face.
“Otousan.”
“Madara. Come. We need to speak.”
Madara cast a quick glance at his Center. Tobirama met his eyes, and there was something apologetic in his gaze.
‘So, he told him then.’ Madara thought.
Instead of getting upset, Madara reached out and ruffled Tobirama’s hair as he passed. The albino immediately pouted and tried to fix the mess Madara had created, smoothing down the strands with quick, annoyed movements before following them.
Once both boys were inside Tajima’s office, the door slid shut with a quiet sound. Tajima didn’t waste time.
“To be clear, I’m not upset with you, Madara. Not truly. I might have been before Tobirama told me about your little secret, but after hearing it, I couldn’t be. Though I am somewhat disappointed that you left the compound without informing anyone.”
Madara stood frozen, genuinely shocked. He had expected raised voices. A lecture. Maybe even confinement.
“Otousan?”
Tajima looked at him and rolled his eyes faintly. “Oh, come on. Don’t look so surprised. Ever since you found Tobirama that night at the river, I knew something was bound to change in the future. We never truly spoke about it openly, but your mother and I always assumed it must be Amaterasu’s will that the war between Senju and Uchiha eventually finds its end. Why else would she bless a Senju child and bind him to my heir?”
Madara swallowed. “Why… why haven’t you done anything then?”
“Because it isn’t the right time,” Tajima replied calmly. “As long as Butsuma Senju lives, this war won’t end. I tried once. I asked for a cease fire. He refused without hesitation.”
There was no bitterness in Tajima’s voice, only cold certainty.
“I did everything I could not to escalate matters further,” he continued. “What I didn’t anticipate was the Hagoromo betraying us. I never imagined they would frame us for killing Senju children by disguising themselves as Uchiha shinobi.”
Tobirama’s expression darkened slightly at that.
Tajima exhaled slowly. “Peace can’t be built on pride and blind hatred. And Butsuma has both in excess.”
His gaze shifted back to Madara.
“But you meeting Hashirama isn’t a mistake. Not if he poses no threat to you and if it allows you to get to know the future clan head of the Senju. That might even be something we have Amaterasu-sama to thank for.”
Tajima’s gaze sharpened slightly, the warmth fading just enough to remind Madara who stood before him.
“The only thing I ask of you is that you don’t become reckless. Don’t let your guard down. I don’t care how friendly he seems or how often you meet. He is still Butsuma’s first born son. And you are still my heir.”
There was no anger in his voice. Only quiet warning.
Madara nodded slowly, still trying to process the fact that he hadn’t been forbidden from seeing Hashirama again.
“And next time, you inform me before leaving the compound.” Tajima added.
Madara straightened instinctively. “Yes, Otousan.”
Unfortunately, a month later Tobirama informed Tajima that Hashirama had been followed to the river.
Tajima didn’t hesitate. There was no time to call for reinforcements, and he had no choice but to take Tobirama with him if he wanted to know Madara’s exact position. Tobirama’s sensory range was the only reason they even had a chance of reaching him in time.
Madara hadn’t been gone long. Because of that, they were lucky. They reached the river only a few minutes after he did. Tajima and Tobirama concealed themselves behind thick bushes, observing the clearing carefully.
Madara knew something was wrong the moment he saw Hashirama.
He looked different. More serious than Madara had ever seen him. The easy grin was gone. His posture was tense, shoulders tight, eyes scanning the treeline.
Madara went on guard instantly.
“Hey, Hashirama.”
“Madara. I… let’s skip stones.”
Madara tilted his head slightly, studying him, then nodded once. “Alright.”
They took their positions and threw their stones at the exact same time.
Madara caught his stone smoothly when it bounced back toward him. He looked down.
There, roughly engraved into the surface, was a single word.
‘Run.’
Madara bit his lower lip.
He lifted his head and saw Hashirama staring at his own stone, which was completely blank. Of course it was. There had been no need for a warning on his side. Tajima knew about the meetings. He had allowed Madara to come alone, trusting his son’s strength.
A mistake, it seemed.
Still, Hashirama had warned him.
So, this wasn’t what his friend wanted, right?
Butsuma must have discovered their meetings and decided to use the opportunity to eliminate Tajima’s heir. The only question was how many enemies were hidden in the forest behind Hashirama.
Madara forced himself to stay calm.
“Ah, I’m sorry, Hashirama,” he said lightly. “I just remembered something I need to do. Until next time?”
“Eh, sure.”
They turned and ran in opposite directions.
Madara had barely taken a few steps when his eyes widened. Tajima and Tobirama burst from the forest and rushed past him.
Madara stopped abruptly and spun around.
Relief flooded him for a brief second when he saw only Butsuma and a boy, who had to be his youngest son, facing Tajima and Tobirama.
But that relief vanished just as quickly when he saw the fury twisting Butsuma’s face.
“Tajima.”
“Butsuma.”
The two men locked onto each other immediately, killing intent heavy in the air. They were so focused on one another that they didn’t notice the children observing each other with equal intensity.
Madara saw Tobirama tilt his head slightly. Then he heard him speak, voice calm and almost curious.
“You must be Itama.”
The other child, who appeared partially albino, flinched. “Eh, uhm, yeah. Who are you?”
“Me?” Tobirama hummed softly. “I’m just a curse your clan head decided to get rid of by sacrificing his second born to the river kami when he wasn’t even a day old.”
The boy froze. Second born?
“Enough. Attack Itama and kill him.”
Butsuma’s roar cut through the air as he lunged at Tajima.
Itama startled at the sudden command, but then he lifted a sword that looked nearly twice his size and charged at Tobirama.
Madara’s heart slammed against his ribs.
He didn’t want Tobirama hurt. But he also didn’t want to fight a child who clearly wouldn’t stand a chance against him.
He glanced at Hashirama.
The Senju heir stood frozen, mouth slightly open, staring at Tobirama with something that looked painfully like recognition.
Then Hashirama whispered, barely audible, “Otouto?”
Madara’s gaze snapped back to Tobirama.
His Center hadn’t moved an inch. He simply watched Itama approach with an unimpressed expression.
Itama faltered mid step, confusion overtaking him. He looked helplessly toward his father, who was locked in combat with Tajima, then toward his older brother.
That was the moment Butsuma decided to interfere.
A kunai flew toward Tobirama.
Madara reacted without thinking.
So did Hashirama.
Hashirama hurled a stone with precise force, knocking the kunai off its path. At the same time Madara used body flicker and appeared directly in front of Tobirama. He wrapped his arms around him and pulled him back, turning his own body to shield him completely.
If anything was going to strike, it would hit Madara first.
Silence.
Then there was a light tap on his shoulder that made Madara open his eyes.
He had not even realized he had closed them.
Slowly, he loosened his grip and stepped back just enough to look Tobirama over from head to toe. He checked for blood, for tears in his clothes, for even the smallest sign of injury. Tobirama simply let him, patient and still.
When Madara finally lifted his gaze to his Center’s face, he noticed Tobirama wasn’t looking at him at all.
He was staring past Madara with an unreadable expression.
Madara turned carefully, keeping his body positioned so Tobirama remained shielded behind him.
On the opposite shore stood Hashirama. One arm was wrapped around Itama, holding him close in something that looked almost like a protective death grip. Itama seemed too stunned to protest.
But Hashirama wasn’t looking at his younger brother. He wasn’t looking at Madara either. And not at Tajima.
He was staring at his father.
Madara felt a shiver run down his spine.
The expression in Hashirama’s eyes wasn’t confusion. It wasn’t fear.
It was pure hate.
Butsuma didn’t notice. His own eyes were still locked onto Tajima, burning with hostility.
“Someday,” Butsuma snarled.
“Certainly,” Tajima replied just as sharply.
The air between them felt charged, like lightning waiting to strike.
Then Tajima stepped back and moved to Madara’s side. He nudged him lightly. It was a subtle signal, one Madara understood immediately.
Time to leave.
They didn’t turn their backs. Not once. They retreated carefully, step by step, until there was enough distance between them.
That allowed Madara to keep his gaze locked with Hashirama’s.
Slowly, deliberately, Madara activated his Sharingan.
The world shifted into sharp clarity.
Hashirama didn’t look away.
Madara took the chance.
Through the briefest genjutsu link, he sent images. Not an attack. Not a trap. Just memories.
The dark river under the moonlight.
A tiny newborn with white hair and red markings.
The cold water.
Madara’s small hands lifting the infant from the current.
The desperate plea to Amaterasu.
The first choking breath. The first cry.
He showed him everything.
When Madara finally deactivated his Sharingan, the connection broke. Hashirama stood frozen with tears streaming down his cheeks.
But behind the displayed sorrow, something else was shining. Something that held some kind of promise. And Madara was certain, he knew what it was.
----
Five years later
Madara threw the door open to Tobirama’s lab. Normally he knew better than to do that, but today he couldn’t stop himself.
“Madara. What are…”
“Butsuma is dead,” Madara announced with a wide smile.
“Wh… what?”
“Butsuma. He’s dead. I just received word from Hashirama himself.”
“Wha… how?”
“Seems he got severely wounded during one of the last battles with the Inuzuka. One of the wounds got infected and he died later because of it.”
“Infected? Really? But aren’t the Senju among the best healers in the Land of Fire?” Tobirama said, frowning.
Madara shrugged. “Does it matter?”
“Hm, I suppose not.”
“You don’t sound very happy. Is something wrong?”
Madara stepped closer, then knelt in front of Tobirama and gently took his hands, meeting his eyes.
“Huh? Eh, no. I’m happy.” Tobirama tried to smile, but it faded almost immediately.
“Tobirama.”
“No, Madara. I… I am happy he’s gone. It’s just… I don’t know. Maybe I hoped… hoped he would change his view or something.”
“You mean that he might have changed his view about you, right?”
Tobirama nodded.
“It’s not like I ever considered him my father and I never will. Still…”
“You hoped he would stop seeing you as a curse and acknowledge you as a person. Not as his son, but simply as someone like everyone else.”
“Mhm. Yes.” After a few seconds, Tobirama sighed. “I think it doesn’t matter anymore. He’s gone. Now… now I’d like the chance to get to know my biological siblings.”
A small smile appeared on the albino’s face, and Madara soon mirrored it.
“Hashirama would love to meet you. And Itama too. He already sent a request for a ceasefire, which Father accepted. I’m sure we can arrange a meeting between you and your Senju siblings soon.”
“That would be nice.”
----
Two years later
“Otouto!” Hashirama shouted, already rushing forward with open arms, ready to engulf his brother in a crushing hug.
Unfortunately for him, Tobirama sidestepped at the very last second. Hashirama flew right past him and landed face first on the ground.
Itama, who wasn’t far behind his older brother, rolled his eyes. “He will never change.”
“How do you keep up with him? I’m not sure if I should be impressed or pity you,” Tobirama muttered after pulling Itama into a brief embrace.
It had been two years since their reunion. At first, none of them had known what to expect or even what to say, but as time passed, and with some help from the others, Tobirama, Itama, and Hashirama had grown close.
Eventually, Tobirama heard Hashirama’s version of that night so long ago.
His older brother had been excited for the birth of his baby brother. He had been overjoyed when their mother allowed him to hold Tobirama for the first time. Yes, he had been confused about why the child looked so different, but it hadn’t lessened his affection in the slightest.
Their mother had explained that his little brother was born albino and that he was also something very special. Hashirama had simply nodded and promised to protect him.
Then his world collapsed.
The following night there had been shouting. Hashirama remembered hearing his mother scream. He had stood frozen in the hallway when the words reached him.
Someone said his little brother had died.
He couldn’t remember much after that. Only that his father later returned with a wounded shoulder. When Hashirama asked where his baby brother was, the only answer he received was that a kami had taken him.
From that day on, Hashirama prayed to every kami he knew to give him his brother back. And when his mother became pregnant again, he prayed they wouldn’t take another sibling away from him.
Tobirama also learned about Kawarama and felt a quiet sadness that he had never met him. The boy had died at the age of seven at the hands of the Hagoromo.
He heard about the day Itama was born as well. There had been another commotion because Butsuma had not been pleased to have another son who might be cursed. This time, however, Hashirama never left his mother or his brother’s side. Not even for a moment.
He was determined to protect him.
And when Butsuma came to take the child away, Hashirama awakened Mokuton for the first time.
He hadn’t known what his father truly intended, but he had seen the expression on his face and felt that something was terribly wrong.
So he reacted.
Madara and Tobirama, in turn, shared their own story. How Tobirama was Madara’s Center and how the albino was considered blessed by Amaterasu sama, the goddess worshipped by the Uchiha.
Hashirama and Itama had been confused about what their relationship actually was. Were they brothers? Lovers? Something purely platonic? What did it mean to be a Center?
Madara explained that as long as Tobirama was a minor, their relationship was entirely platonic. They were brothers and best friends.
However, Madara made it very clear that he fully intended to marry Tobirama as soon as he turned seventeen, the age a shinobi was considered an adult.
Tobirama had blushed deeply while Itama snickered openly.
Hashirama simply stared, looking like he was trying to decide whether he should hug Madara or kill him.
Anyway, half a year after the ceasefire had been declared, peace talks began.
And now, after two more years, Konohagakure, their new and united village, stood proudly beneath the cliff where Hashirama and Madara had once met and shared their dream of peace.
“Ou, Tobirama, you’re so mean,” Hashirama pouted.
“Show some dignity, Anija. You are presenting yourself as the first leader of Konohagakure in just a minute. Don’t embarrass me.”
As always when he heard Tobirama call him Anija, tears flooded Hashirama’s eyes. They also sparkled with so much pride that Madara had to swallow hard to keep himself from gagging.
Meanwhile, Tobirama rolled his eyes and grabbed his brother’s arm to pull him onto his feet. Of course, Hashirama took it as an invitation to throw his arms around him. Tobirama winced but allowed it for a moment before pushing him away.
Clicking his tongue, Tobirama adjusted Hashirama’s Hokage robe. He would not allow his brother to look like he had just rolled out of bed.
After a final inspection, he shoved Hashirama toward the door and out onto the roof of the Hokage building.
“Remember, if you embarrass me, I’ll kick your ass before drowning all your plants in your garden.”
“No, not my plants,” Hashirama whined and immediately received a smack to the back of his head.
“Behave and you won’t have to worry about them,” Tobirama said, giving him one last firm push.
Another pout appeared on Hashirama’s face, but then he straightened and put on his best smile before stepping to the balustrade where everyone could see him.
The crowd cheered, clapped, and whistled.
----
Two years later
Madara smiled brightly, tears gathering in his eyes. Today was the day he and Tobirama would finally marry.
Only a few minutes now.
Tobirama looked beautiful. He wore a specially made outfit in white, red, and blue, crafted from soft layered silk chosen not only for elegance but also for warmth. The inner robe was pure white and long sleeved, the fabric slightly heavier and brushed on the inside so it held gentle heat against his skin. It draped around him like calm water yet kept its structure, protecting him from the chill he always carried.
Along the collar and the sleeve edges ran delicate red embroidery, forming intertwining patterns of currents and flames, a quiet union of water and fire.
Over it he wore a sleeveless outer coat in deep blue, lined with a fine inner weave that trapped warmth without adding visible weight. It was tied at the waist with a broad crimson sash, secured by a small ornamental clasp shaped like a fan embraced by a leaf. Thin golden threads shimmered faintly across the fabric, like sunlight resting on winter water.
Across his shoulders lay a ceremonial mantle of pale ivory silk, layered more densely than it appeared, meant to shield him from cold air. Along its border were embroidered sun motifs, subtle and respectful, acknowledging him as one blessed by Amaterasu. When he moved, the gold stitching caught the light in a soft glow.
His white hair, now grown to his shoulders, had been carefully gathered into a refined updo at the back of his head. Soft sections were folded and pinned so the style held firmly without appearing rigid, while a few thinner strands framed his face. A delicate ornament shaped like a rising sun rested within the arrangement, set with a warm amber stone that glimmered whenever he turned.
He wore no weapons. No armor. Nothing of war. Wrapped in warmth and light, Tobirama seemed almost luminous.
Madara himself was dressed very differently.
His inner kimono was a deep charcoal grey, woven from a light breathable silk that allowed air to pass easily through the layers. The fabric barely clung to his skin, preventing the uncomfortable heat he naturally carried. Along the hem and cuffs ran subtle embroidery in dark crimson thread forming repeating fan shapes.
Over it he wore a formal outer robe in rich midnight blue, thinner than Tobirama’s layers and cut to allow movement and airflow. The back bore the Uchiha fan crest in muted red, woven into the cloth rather than painted. The sleeves were wide but light, shifting easily whenever he moved.
Around his waist rested a wide obi of deep red, firm but not heavy, secured with a polished black lacquer clasp. From it hung a braided cord of red and black, the colors of his clan.
His shoulders were covered by a dark ceremonial haori lined with faint silver stitching resembling flickering embers. The cloth was airy rather than insulating, chosen so the heat of his body would not become suffocating.
He too carried no weapons.
Where Tobirama appeared warm despite the chill he carried, Madara stood cool despite the heat within him. Side by side, they balanced each other perfectly, like winter sunlight resting on a steady flame.
As the village leader, as well as Madara’s friend and Tobirama’s older brother, Hashirama had the honor of officiating their vows.
Tobirama would have preferred a private ceremony. Something quiet. Something small. But that had never truly been an option.
Madara wasn’t only clan head of the Uchiha, he was also one of the founders of Konohagakure. Many counted Tobirama among the founders as well, given his involvement in the village’s construction plans and the creation of several key institutions. His influence was everywhere, whether he wanted the recognition or not.
Inviting only a handful of people would have caused offense. And so, the entire village had been invited to stand as a witness.
His status as Amaterasu’s blessed hadn’t helped either.
The Uchiha had made it clear, politely but firmly, that it would be disrespectful to hold the ceremony anywhere but the Uchiha temple that had been carefully relocated to Konoha stone by stone. To them, Tobirama was not merely marrying their clan head. He was a living blessing from their goddess. The ceremony had to take place beneath her gaze.
The temple courtyard had been adorned with both Uchiha and Konoha symbols, fans and leaves woven together in banners and floral arrangements. Sun motifs were worked into the stone lanterns, and water basins lined the pathway leading to the altar.
Tobirama had sighed when he first saw the preparations.
Madara had smiled and squeezed his hand.
There would be nothing small about today.
They took turns speaking their vows, both promising to stand beside each other in good times and in hardship, to care for and protect the Uchiha clan, and also the people of Konoha. The words were simple, but the meaning behind them carried weight. By the time they finished, Hashirama looked close to collapsing in happiness.
Then, to everyone’s astonishment, Tobirama added another promise. He vowed to give Madara an heir.
The courtyard had fallen into stunned silence. It wasn’t a promise anyone expected him to be able to keep.
They were proven wrong two months later, when Tobirama calmly announced that he was carrying Madara’s child. Which ended with both Madara and Hashirama fainting.
The unexpected pregnancy became the top topic of gossip, and more than a few couples even approached Tobirama to ask if he might help them conceive a child of their own.
Tobirama promised he would assist them once his own pregnancy proved to be safe, or at least as safe as any pregnancy could be. He made no promises about carrying the child to term, however. Every pregnancy carried its own risks, and it would be naive to believe otherwise. And a male pregnancy was certainly far from anything natural.
Which was proven again when Tobirama went into early labor a month before the actual due date. And with no natural birth channel to deliver the child, the healers were forced to cut the baby out. It was Itama who was given the honor of opening his brother.
Madara stayed at his husband’s side the entire time, rubbing slow soothing circles across Tobirama’s pale hand. He didn’t look. His eyes remained fixed on Tobirama’s face, which held a faint strained expression.
The healers had used something to numb the area around Tobirama’s abdomen, but he could still feel the pressure, the movement, the strange awareness of hands inside him and then the absence when the child was lifted free.
All of it faded the moment a cry filled the room.
Tobirama’s breath hitched.
Madara couldn’t resist. His gaze snapped to the newborn now in Hashirama’s arms. He squeezed Tobirama’s hand once before letting go.
Hashirama smiled brightly, tears streaming down his cheeks. With a softly glowing green hand he carefully examined the infant, moving it gently along the tiny body to check for injuries or irregularities.
Once finished, he straightened proudly. “Congratulations. You have a healthy little princess.”
Madara froze and stared at his friend for a moment before looking down at his daughter.
A wide smile slowly spread across his face as he took the baby into his arms.
The first thing he noticed was her hair.
It was a mixture of black and white, not separated like Itama’s. Where Itama’s hair was divided clearly into one white side and one dark brown side, his daughter’s hair was a wild blend of both colors interwoven together, soft and uneven like threads of night and snow tangled into one.
The next thing he noticed was that his daughter’s face was the perfect image of Tobirama. He could tell because he still carried the memory of Tobirama as a baby. The only thing missing were the red markings, though she bore a single one along her right hip.
Madara was so absorbed in looking at her that he didn’t hear Tobirama calling his name at first. Only when Hashirama nudged his side did his attention finally break.
He lifted his head. When his gaze met Hashirama’s, his friend nodded toward the place where Tobirama still lay on the cot.
Madara’s eyes widened and he immediately turned so his husband could see their daughter.
Tobirama wasn’t upset that Madara hadn’t reacted to him right away. He understood the amazement. Still, relief softened his features when he finally saw her for himself.
“Yume. Uchiha Yume,” Tobirama rasped, gently stroking his daughter’s tiny cheek.
Madara smiled. It was a name they both had agreed on after debating about it for all while.
His smile softened when he noticed Tobirama drifting off to sleep, exhausted from the operation and the blood loss. Nothing serious though, thanks to Itama’s and Hashirama’s excellent healing skills. By the time Tobirama finally fell asleep, Itama had just finished closing the incision he had made to bring Yume into the world.
There would be a small scar left, but Madara was certain he would cherish it for what it was. Proof that Tobirama had kept his promise and carried their child.
A couple of hours later, Tobirama woke up.
There was a strange feeling coming from his chest. It felt heavier than before and warmer. There was also something else he couldn’t quite categorize. It was faintly familiar, reminiscent of the sensation when Madara brushed his nipples with his tongue, yet at the same time entirely different.
Deciding he wouldn’t figure it out by lying there, he slowly blinked his eyes open. He gave them a few seconds to adjust to the soft light filling the room before looking down at the source of the sensation.
The sight made him blink several more times.
The image didn’t change, and Tobirama’s eyes widened in astonishment. He hadn’t thought it might be possible. But he here was. Or rather, Yume was there, latched onto his right nipple and drinking greedily.
It took him several seconds, almost the entirety of two minutes, to notice the arms wrapped around him to support his daughter, or the unnatural warmth at his back. Well, not truly unnatural, not to him.
He lifted his head and looked over his shoulder, nearly bumping foreheads with Madara, who was leaning over his shoulder to watch their daughter feed.
“Madara?”
Madara’s gaze snapped to him instantly.
“Tobirama? Oh, eh… I didn’t notice you waking up. How are you feeling, my love?”
“Still exhausted, but fine.”
“Any pain?”
Tobirama shook his head. Then he looked down at his daughter again. “I hadn’t thought I’d be able to breastfeed. There had been no signs of anything changing while I was pregnant.”
“Well, only a few minutes after you fell asleep we noticed you were leaking milk. Itama took some samples and ran a few quick tests. He said he didn’t find anything unusual and determined it was safe for her to drink.”
“I see.”
They watched their daughter quietly for a moment.
Then Madara asked softly, “Are you happy?”
“More than you can imagine,” Tobirama replied with a gentle smile.
Madara pressed a kiss to Tobirama’s cheek before resting his head against his shoulder again.
Then he whispered, “Me too.”