#char: tobirama of the senju | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

renaerys · 4 years

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All right Anon. Since my blog was hacked and I had to delete and remake it, I know I lost some Tumblr-exclusive posts from back in ye olde Naruto heydays. Here’s a TobiIzu prompt I did for my friend Nicole called “Eclipse” that I managed to dig up in my Google Drive. It is 2013 quality (i.e., without the benefit of 7 years’ additional experience, so I’m sorry about that), but this is how it appeared as originally posted. Hopefully this is what you were looking for! :)

Eclipse (TobiIzu)

Generations later they would talk about Senju Hashirama and Uchiha Madara, the eternal rivals and fiercest of friends who created a kingdom and nearly destroyed it with their own hands. They would talk about Uzumaki Mito and how she saved them from themselves for as long as a person can be saved, going so far as to seal Hashirama’s love and Madara’s hatred within herself. But the sun and the moon have shadows even if no one can see them beyond the blinding light.

Senju Tobirama did not always hate the Uchiha. Some he even grew to depend upon. Every yin needs a yang.

“Suiton: Suishouha!”

At seven years old, Tobirama was well on his way to achieving notoriety as an heir to the illustrious Senju clan. His prowess with water techniques was unheard of at his age, and his father was more than happy to reap that advantage in any way possible. In a world where a mother’s protests fall upon deaf ears, Tobirama became more comfortable with the wails of his dying enemies than the sweet songs his mother used to sing at night as he fell asleep.

“Hhhnnngg!”

Strangled cries of those unlucky enough to be swept away with the deluge gurgled, unintelligible, as water filled lungs and doused fires. Tobirama drew his short sword and followed the path of his technique, searching for any Uchiha that had survived the flood. What he did not expect to find was one unharmed and charging straight for him.

“Damn you!”

The clang of steel made his ears ring as a young Uchiha soldier slammed into him with all the might in his small body. Twin daggers sparked against Tobirama’s own weapon, and he stumbled backwards under the shock force. Overpowered, he had to roll with his attacker’s momentum to avoid slitting his own throat. On their feet and panting for air, Tobirama got a look at his opponent and the fury boiling in his red eyes.

Red eyes.

“Sharingan...”

The unnamed Uchiha shook with rage. “You killed him. You killed my little brother with that, and now I’m gonna kill you!”

A flurry of hand seals had Tobirama taking a step back, unsure of what was coming until the Uchiha boy inhaled a deep breath and released a great mass of roiling fire. It careened straight for him at impossible speed, and Tobirama had to turn tail and run. His boots sloshed in the mud created from his earlier technique and an idea struck. Channeling his chakra, he called upon the muddy water beneath his feet to rise up behind him in like a shield. The collision with the great fireball was stunning. Steam hissed and mud melted, the water mixed in with it barely enough to keep the fire at bay.

“Tobirama!”

Butsuma’s familiar voice was a welcome sound. He and a young Itama joined his second son just as fire and water fizzled into a mess of charred mud and the smell of bog. Tobirama brandished his short sword at his attacker, ready to deliver the killing blow now that his father was watching.

“Izuna, that’s enough.”

Everyone knew Uchiha Tajima, the leader of the Uchiha clan, by face and name. He placed a hand on the boy’s—Izuna’s—shoulder in silent warning.

“He killed Kemuri!” Izuna said, taking a step forward with every intention of burning Tobirama alive.

Tajima did nothing to betray whatever he felt about the loss of one of his sons. It didn’t surprise Tobirama much. Lives were expendable. If the leader of a great clan were to break down every time he lost men, he would have no time to fight between the mourning. Tobirama shifted, thoughts wandering to his younger brother standing next to him. What if it had been him?

“I suppose I should thank you,” Tajima said, dark eyes fixed on Tobirama and a cruel smirk threatening to bloom. “Your actions have awakened Izuna’s Sharingan.”

Tears fell from Izuna’s transformed eyes and Tobirama had to wonder. Had he done this? Had he given his enemy a better weapon?

“Let’s end this, Butsuma,” Tajima said. “You’ve lost enough men for one day.”

“I should say the same for you,” Butsuma said, one hand on the hilt of his katana.

Tajima’s smirk widened. “Until next time, old friend.”

Izuna held Tobirama’s gaze, red on red as a promise of vengeance sealed in brother’s blood passed between them. Tobirama found himself leaning closer to his own brother, a silent warning.

“Tobirama,” Butsuma said once the Uchiha had withdrawn. “The next time we clash with the Uchiha, kill that boy. Forget about the others. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Father.”

“We can’t afford to let that one grow stronger now that he has the Sharingan.”

The battlefield was a wasteland of mud, soot, and maimed corpses. Uchiha and Senju alike lay in piles, their armor warped with heat and some bloated from drowning. It was always the same story when they crossed paths, and no one ever seemed to get the upper hand in the long run. Destined to fight forever, Tobirama sometimes wondered about the point of it all. But Butsuma was right. If the stories were true, the Sharingan could mean the difference between a win and a loss for the Senju.

And so Senju Tobirama resolved to ensure Uchiha Izuna’s death the next time they crossed paths.

xxx

The day Kawarama died Tobirama was fourteen and still struggling to make good on the promise he’d made his father. Madara had set the field aflame, and Hashirama’s animate wood had only made it worse. Ever the faithful right hand, Tobirama shielded the newly christened Senju leader with his body, hands poised in the fortieth and final seal of the water dragon technique.

“Tobi!” Hashirama said, worry and relief melted together as his little brother bought him precious time to regroup.

But light never strays far from its faithful shadow. Tobirama barely had to time to block the knife to his throat, hissing as it nicked the unprotected skin below his chin. Izuna had a tendency to sneak up on him like this. It made double-teaming Madara impossible.

“Now we’re even,” Izuna said as he pushed harder, screeching metal hurting Tobirama’s ears as they vied for dominance.

In a dirty move, Tobirama kicked hard, forcing Izuna to leap backwards to avoid a blow to the stomach that could have cost him. Fire and water, brother for brother. To say water could douse fire was to underestimate the heat of Izuna’s hatred.

“We’ll never be even!” Tobirama said, redirecting his water dragon technique.

Sharingan spiraled red and black, red and black, and a piercing scream filled the area. Tobirama yelped, hands burning as though the skin were flayed off his palms. Sparks jumped across the body of his water dragon, the electricity having cut deep welts in his hands that blistered and smoked. Izuna, drenched from head to toe and panting, crackled with lightning.

“Lightning trumps water,” he said, water dripping from his long ponytail.

The fighting never stopped. Senju and Uchiha were doomed to repeat history, of this Tobirama was certain. Every time they clashed, more and more of their ranks fell under enemy fire and water, lightning and earth. There was no end to the slaughter and the power, each side becoming stronger only to discover the other catching up.

It wasn’t until Hashirama called a temporary ceasefire that Tobirama realized he’d never actually had a conversation with Izuna that didn’t involve them trying to kill each other. Negotiations were a farce when the Uchiha were involved as far as he was concerned. And yet, while Hashirama and Madara exchanged terms that everyone knew would never be enough to satisfy both sides, Tobirama and Izuna waited outside the chambers, silent and itching to hurt each other out of ingrained habit.

“This will never work, you know,” Tobirama said after nearly a half hour of silent brooding. “It never has before.”

He didn’t know why he’d decided to comment on something so futile. It was obvious to both of them without him pointing it out. Uchiha and Senju would never see eye to eye. There was too much bad blood between them now to reconcile. Hashirama was delusional and Madara was perhaps even more insane to hear out this ludicrous negotiation. Izuna did not respond right away, and Tobirama scowled. He should have known better.

“...And yet, they never stop trying.”

Izuna kept his dark gaze to the ground ahead, torches lending a soft glow to his angular features as they waited on either side of the door to the chambers. All around them, crack patterns danced upon carved stone with each flicker of firelight. There was no one around—Tobirama and Izuna had made sure their brothers would not be disturbed—and yet they spoke in hushed tones.

“It’s useless,” Tobirama said. “After all the Uchiha have done, there will be no forgiving.”

“Ah, and you’re an innocent bystander in all this. Hypocrite.”

The hilt of Tobirama’s sword called to him with an almost audible hum. A part of him wanted nothing more than to drive it through Izuna’s precious eyes right there and now. And yet, he paused.

“You’ve become more vicious over the years,” he said, finally voicing what he’d long suspected. “The older we get, the more hateful you are. Not that I’d expect anything less from an Uchiha.”

Izuna chuckled. “And you’ve become cantankerous. You’re just getting older.”

Murmuring filtered through the heavy wooden doors despite the soundproofing. It did not bode well for their brothers’ talk. Still, they would not move until summoned. They had set aside their mutual animosity and bad blood for this, and neither would betray his brother and leader. If nothing else, they shared that fierce loyalty.

“This will never work,” Tobirama said at last.

“Tell them that. They’re living in a dream world in there. But they’ll wake up. They always do. Hard to sleep when people are screaming all around you.”

“Is that all it is then? A dream.”

“What else would it be? You killed my brother and I killed yours, just like our fathers before us and their fathers before them. The sooner you accept that the better.”

Tobirama frowned. He didn’t like agreeing with Izuna, his brother’s murderer and the bane of his existence for as long as he could remember. He couldn’t help but think that with Izuna out of the way, Madara would stand no chance against Hashirama and himself.

“Funny, isn’t it,” Tobirama said. “We hate each other, and yet we understand each other perfectly. There is no one who knows my sentiments the way you do.”

“You don’t know this hatred,” Izuna said, averting his eyes once more to stare into the gloom. “...This hatred is a curse.”

“Curses can be broken.”

Izuna bared his teeth in a smile, and when he met Tobirama’s gaze once more it burned like the fire illuminating the room. This Sharingan was different, and Tobirama half drew his sword upon instinct.

“There’s no cure for this curse,” Izuna said, making no move to attack. “It will kill me, and it will kill you, too. That’s the only certainty in this world.”

Tobirama was about to ask him what he meant by that when the doors burst open.

“—can’t ever reach a compromise this way!” Hashirama shouted from within.

Madara stormed out. “Who would take those terms? You’re as stupid as you look. Nothing’s changed.”

Izuna and Tobirama exchanged a look before the former tailed after his irritable brother. Hashirama emerged soon after, youthful features twisted in frustration and a little despair. It didn’t suit him at all, but Tobirama kept that thought to himself.

“At least he didn’t attempt to attack you this time,” he said instead.

“I just don’t understand, Tobi. I know he agrees with me, I just know it. But he’s so stubborn! He just won’t give into anything.”

“He’s an Uchiha.” He’s not your brother.

“You make it sound like they’re another species.”

“They are.”

Hashirama sighed and rubbed his eyes. “They’re not. They’re just... Madara’s just looking out for them, that’s all. We’re not so different from them in the end.”

Tobirama said nothing to that. For the first time in his life, he found he could not refute it with complete certainty.

xxx

“What did you mean?”

Blood fell to the ground as Tobirama’s short sword made contact with Izuna’s cheek, so light and delicate. The Uchiha sneered and pulled back, wiping it with a free hand.

“About what?” He fired off a rapid round of hand seals even as he questioned his eternal opponent.

“About the curse that can’t be broken.”

A searing jet of fire careened toward Tobirama at high speed, and if not for the grueling training he’d forced upon himself he would not have survived it. With only a single hand seal he created a water dragon from out of thin air to defend him, catching the fire before it could incinerate him where he stood. The collision birthed a wall of steam, hissing like a brood of angry snakes as fire and water clashed in an age old battle, neither able to overwhelm the other without taking equal damage. At seventeen, they were still stuck in a stalemate.

Forced to shout over the roar of their attacks Izuna said, “Love and hate aren’t so different. The more I hate, the stronger I become. And you make it so easy!”

Tobirama grit his teeth and pushed more chakra into his technique. The water dragon became engorged, slowly but surely pushing back the fire. He would have to be careful lest Izuna resort to lightning. That trick would only work once. All of a sudden, the air around Tobirama became heavy with heat, drawing sweat and turning his cheeks red. A low rumble resounded from the other side of the clash until black tongues peeked out from amidst the orange flames. They grew into thick shadows and slithered into the maw of his dragon, evaporating the water on contact. Alarmed, Tobirama swore and attempted to up the power.

It was no use. Stygian flames reared up and consumed his dragon until they forced him to release his technique and leap to safety. He’d never seen anything like it. Far hotter than any normal fire, there was something spectral about those flames.

“Izuna!”

He stood rooted to the spot, gaze slowly shifting. Tobirama felt a cold chill creep up his spine at the sight of his longtime rival with blood falling from his eyes like tears.

“There’s no cure for this curse.”

“This is what we are, Tobirama,” he said, drawing his twin daggers and advancing. “You and I...we’ll never escape it. Now fight me!”

No one would talk about their battles in the histories. Hashirama and Madara would change the landscape with their power, and Tobirama and Izuna would be there to pick up the pieces. Shadows follow their celestial masters, hiding behind the light.

xxx

“There’s something about the Uchiha that I think you need to know.”

Hashirama looked up from the paperwork he was reading by the light of a thick tallow candle outlining the terms of an alliance with the wealthy Uzumaki clan. He’d insisted on doing it himself even though Tobirama was better with this sort of thing. In any case, it mattered little. Uzumaki Mito, their closest contact and the clan representative, would smooth out any kinks Hashirama overlooked.

“Must we talk about this now? I know your opinion of them already, and I’m tired—”

“I think there’s a reason they are the way they are.”

Hashirama put down his pen and gave his brother his full attention. “Of course there is. We’ve wronged them for generations, as they’ve wronged us. It’s not like they’re doing this for fun.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Tobirama said, thinking on how best to phrase it. “They... It’s like they grow stronger the more they hate.”

“...I would assume so. Hatred is a powerful motivator.”

“No, I mean, they become physically stronger. That new Sharingan isn’t normal. You know it.”

Hashirama smiled a little. “Well, it’s certainly nothing to sneeze at.”

“Izuna said they were cursed. That I don’t understand his hatred.”

“You were speaking with Izuna? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say anything to him that didn’t involve a death threat.”

Tobirama stared at the wall of the small tent set up on the outskirts of Uzushiogakure, the Senju’s current outpost. His shadow flickered under the light of the candles, erratic.

“You don’t know this hatred.”

Why do you always have to be so stubborn?

“This won’t last forever,” he said. “One day, it will catch up to us. That’s what curses do. They fester.”

Hashirama was silent for a long while, and he wondered if his brother understood. “Then we’ll break the curse. That’s what I’ve been trying to do for so long. We’ll do it, Madara and I together. We will.”

“There’s no cure for this curse.”

The sun and the moon would always be the stuff of fancy, leaving the ugly truths of the world to the darkness of shadows. Tobirama left his brother to his dreaming without another word.

xxx

Years later they would talk about how Madara finally came around and made peace with Hashirama. They would talk about how Mito smoothed relations between the two leaders as a voice of reason and gentle influence. They would never speak of this day, the total eclipse of shadow over light, the first step into the abyss. Not until it was too late to turn back.

“Izuna!” Madara screamed in the distance.

His blood was surprisingly warm for someone so coldhearted. It caressed Tobirama’s hand, loosening the grip about the hilt of his sword. Even as he plunged it deeper through Izuna’s chest, his free hand came up to push too-long bangs out of his eyes. Gone was the angry red of the Sharingan. A cough drew bloody spittle.

“T-Tobirama...”

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. They were equals, Senju and Uchiha, yin and yang. One could not exist without the other. One had no meaning without the other. A tight feeling in his throat made it hard to talk without his voice cracking.

“You were supposed to avoid that,” Tobirama said, kneeling them on the ground and supporting Izuna’s weight. “Any idiot could have avoided that.”

“I’m n-not an idiot.”

He was angry. So angry. “Damn you. Damn you to hell.”

Izuna smirked, blood dribbling down his chin. “Then I’ll wait for you there.”

Tears burned as Tobirama felt Izuna grip the hilt of his sword, only blood separating them. That was always how it had been. They were connected in every way but by blood, and in death he was sure of it.

“I suppose...you do know me...best.”

“Izuna, I—” I’m sorry.

“I know. I kn-know.”

Madara and Hashirama were running toward them, coming to their aid for the first time. The world was upside down. It should have been Madara, not Izuna. Shadows are incorporeal. They cannot die.

I am not my brother.

Izuna pushed the sword deeper and twisted it, dark eyes glazing over with the shock of pain. And still he smiled. Tobirama had never seen him smile. Hot tears dripped onto his hand, mixing with Izuna’s blood.

“Maybe...curses can be b-broken...after all.”

Not like this.

He was gone before their brothers could reach them.

xxx

It was a beautiful day in the Hidden Leaf Village. The sun was warm and a light breeze carried the scent of wildflowers to Tobirama’s porch where he sat enjoying the lazy afternoon. It was too hot for his Hokage regalia, so he’d discarded it over the back of his chair. He sensed her long before she turned the corner onto the street leading to his small abode.

“Mito.”

The redhead smiled and took a seat next to him. “Contemplating again, Hokage-sama?”

He stiffened. “Please don’t call me that.”

“It’s your title.”

“It’s my brother’s title.”

Mito’s smile faltered. “It’s yours now. He would be proud.”

Tobirama sighed. After all was said and done, he and Mito were the only ones left. It made no sense. How could shadows linger without light to guide them? He supposed he would lose his mind if not for her.

“How do you do it?” he asked. “Every day...how do you do it?”

Mito put a hand over her navel, perhaps without thinking, and Tobirama could almost see her eyes run red with the Kyuubi’s hatred as it tried to consume her. How did one overcome something so potent?

“I remember what it was like to love,” she said. “But it’s impossible without knowing hatred. Otherwise, you can’t tell the difference.” Knowing eyes as verdant as the forests her husband raised for them seemed to look right through him. “Izuna understood that, and I know you do, as well.”

Tobirama clenched a fist at the memory of his late rival. His enemy. The only one who had ever understood him. Darkness may give light a place to shine, but it can never receive the same courtesy in return. They’d never needed it, anyway.

“I can’t be Hashirama. I’ll never be like him.”

“You don’t have to be. Just don’t forget him. Any of them.”

How could I?

Mito smiled and rose to leave him in peace, but his voice stopped her.

“He was wrong, you know. The Uchiha’s curse couldn’t be broken in the end. That’s why I have to do what I’m doing.”

She watched him with an unreadable look in her eyes. After all that she’d been through with Madara and Hashirama, he supposed she could understand better than most what it meant to live with a curse.

“You’re wrong. You succeeded where Hashirama failed. Stop blaming yourself for saving him.”

He let her go, too stunned to refute her statement. He could not, just as he could not bring himself to disdain Uchiha Kagami when he saw so much of his uncle in him. And he wondered if Izuna had seen Konoha, would he have smiled the way he’d smiled in death?

The sun began its descent toward the horizon. Soon, the fireflies would be out and children would run through the streets to chase them, their laughter filling the air. Tobirama would watch from the shadows as he always did.

“You and I have the best view of the light from where we stand in the shadows.”

He sighed, a smile fighting to spread. It was easy to imagine Izuna next to him here, his silent companion in the darkness even now. He never really was alone in the end.

“Yes, we do.”

#naruto fic #tobiizu #hella old fic i did 7 years ago wow the time where doth it go?#read more got messed up so reposting

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louiserandom · 4 years

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Choose Your Own Adventure - MadaTobi Soulmate AU Arc I

Heart’s Desire (Ice and Fire)

Rated: E

Summary: A touch is all it takes, to find one’s soulmate, to initiate an exchange of chakra natures and powers that would later intermingle and make both of them stronger. Madara craves this—or at least thinks he does, until he awakens one morning sans Sharingan, his chakra alien and freezing, and watches an angry Senju Tobirama crash into his room, glaring murder at Madara with what used to be his exclusive Mangekyō pattern.

Or, Soulmate Idiots in Love and you get to choose how these fools get to the love part

Read it on AO3 or under the cut :3

(just in case, all the survey comment replies will be on AO3)

Chapter 1

Madara went to bed in a begrudgingly pleasant mood following the ostentatious celebrations Hashirama had organized to mark the first anniversary of Konoha’s founding.

He wakes up feeling parched, freezing, muscles aching all over, like he’s been hit fist-first by a Susanoo or several.

And perfect eyesight.

Madara blinks.

No. No, that can’t be right.

There’s no familiar prickling pressure of the Sharingan’s chakra behind his eyes, so it should be impossible for him to see the world in such perfect clarity.

Except, he does. Madara looks at his hands, now trembling from the unrelenting cold. Fever, some kind of psychedelic poison, perhaps. He shuts his eyes for a few moments and reopens them, slowly. Every irksome scar on his palm, every little wrinkle on his blanket, almost every strand of wild bedhead hair is visible to Madara in a way nothing has been since his Mangekyo had awakened at sixteen.

He tries to activate it and fails. And that’s when it finally hits him.

Soulmate. He sighs with no small measure of relief. Right. No need to panic.

Just a harmless exchange of powers which would easily lead to Madara’s Chosen since they’d end up, presumably, with his dōjutsu and a very distinctive fire nature chakra. Another shiver runs through him. Oh, how he misses his chakra now.

Regardless, once he’s next to his soulmate, he should feel better. Presumably, they’re still in the confines of the village, the longer delay in the bond’s manifestation is an inconvenience of adult soulmate bonding that Madara will have to deal with.

The icepick jolts of pain in his muscles aren’t easy to ignore, but Madara stands all the same, rushing to the bathroom to make himself presentable, mentally running through the list of people he’d touched last evening. Unfortunately, a lot. Mostly handshakes, because he’ll never be quite as comfortable with casual touches as Izuna and Hashirama are, and it already takes a lot of his willpower to drop the gloves and expose the mess that is his fire-charred skin.

But this is what he’s been waiting for, dreaming about since the times he was a starry-eyed child first hearing about the concept of partners made perfect for each other, chosen by fate. There was no harm in a platonic soulmate, of course, but Madara has secretly been craving his bond to be a romantic one. If only to feel, to taste, to have the chance to cherish the intimate closeness everyone around him seems to enjoy, with or without a soulmate, while Madara struggles, miserably at that, to connect with anyone on a deeper level than a shallow fling. He’d never admit that this is the reason he’s suddenly become less averse to handshakes and touchy-feely attitudes, but there’s no point lying to himself, at least.

“Fuck.” The ache trickling through his veins gets so strong he has to pause mid-dressing and close his eyes to come down the force of it. What is…

“Godsdammit, Uchiha,” an unfortunately familiar voice bellows from within his house, for some inexplicable reason, “where are you?”

The world is spinning somewhat uncomfortably as Madara’s eyes fly open and he stumbles out of the bathroom to face the intruder—none other Senju Tobirama crashing into his room, glaring murder at Madara with what used to be his exclusive Mangekyō pattern.

“Senju?”

1) Maybe, Madara supposes, there is a tiny, infinitesimal advantage to self-deception.

“No,” he whispers, a shudder running through him from what he knows isn’t the nagging cold this time, “you can’t be my soulmate.”

2) Madara stares. Perhaps rudely, but he allows himself the indulgence as his brain scrambles to find a half-coherent answer to what the fuck is going on. “You’re my soulmate?”

Click here to vote

p.s. a sketch for this chapter based on a comment that cracked me up XD

Chapter 2

Madara stares. Perhaps rudely, but he allows himself the indulgence as his brain scrambles to find a half-coherent answer to what the fuck is going on. “You’re my soulmate?”

“Evidently, Uchiha, the gods have a strange sense of humor.” Tobirama narrows his eyes. “Now, care to explain why I’m suddenly near-blind?”

Ah, Madara’s brain supplies eloquently, right.

“It’s the,” Madara stutters, because how does one explain that one of the most powerful and useful dōjutsu in existence also leads to blindness? “It’s the effect of the Sharingan. It affects eyesight.”

“And you didn’t tell anyone?” Tobirama takes a step forward. Madara realizes, acutely, that he can feel the waves of anger radiating from the man. “Are you a complete idiot?”

Madara crosses his arms. “It’s none of your business, Senju, what I do and don’t do,” he says, barely managing to refrain from shouting.

“It is, apparently, because we’re bonded now,” Tobirama says, voice dangerously low, “I can barely see anything without this accursed thing,” he points to easily the most revered dōjutsu in existence, “your pathetic excuse for a sensing ability doesn’t compensate for it in the slightest and this migraine won't go away.”

“Well, deactivate it, genius,” Madara says, remembering his own suffering through the ache this morning that’s still wracking through his body. “And my sensing abilities—”

“Are bullshit,” Tobirama cuts him off, “and how would I know how to turn this thing off?”

“Oh.” Again, a show of eloquence. The fact honestly throws Madara off, because he can’t imagine having the Sharingan and not being able to intrinsically control it. “Just—just relax!”

“I can’t, Uchiha,” Tobirama growls, “because any time I focus on these godsdamned eyes, the pain only grows worse. I’m haunted by visions I can’t seem to stop—or unsee—and you want me to fucking relax?”

That is a fair point. He looks beyond distraught, just as agitated and disheveled as Madara—only that’s a look Madara’s never seen on him. Tobirama’s eyes gleam with a more potent red now and the deadly pattern engrained on them makes him look more threatening than usual, his hair is sticking at odd angles and so are his hastily thrown on clothes, his shirt barely tied, sandals askew, his attire showing so much skin when it’s usually barely visible.

Also, Hashirama had warned Madara that being near Tobirama is ‘unsafe’ when he starts to swear. Regardless, Madara only crosses his arms tighter and huffs; he will not be intimidated.

“Yes,” he says, “I want you to calm down and act rationally like you claim you always do. Every second you use the Mangekyo, you’re only making it worse.”

“Worse?” Another thing Madara has never seen the Senju express: panic. He takes a step back just as Madara takes one forward, raising his arms in a pacifying gesture. Panic and a Mangekyo with an unpredictable special ability never mixed well. “What do you mean—why wasn’t it a problem for Tōka when she and Izuna exchanged powers?”

“Because his is different,” Madara says. “He uses it less.”

“Why would you abuse it to this level then?” Tobirama’s new eyes were starting to bleed around the edges. Oh, perfect. "Do you have no sense of self-preservation?

“Senju, you need to calm down." Madara takes another tentative step towards him. "And if you have trouble remembering, just a year ago we were at war. I needed to.”

“You’re almost blind,” Tobirama says, as if Madara didn’t hear him the first time.

“Why would you care? Those are my eyes and I will ultimately deal with the consequences,” Madara growls.

“Because the consequence is you going blind, you idiot!” Tobirama explodes, even as he gasps and takes a few staggering steps back. He must have noticed the blood clouding his vision. And to top that, Madara feels familiar erratic energy gathering in the room. “What is…"

How does Izuna always calm him down from his rages?

“Listen, Senju,” Madara tries, approaching him slowly, “I get it, you’re upset, blindness, that’s—that’s bad. But we’ll talk about it,” he promises, “I’ll explain everything, and I’ll help, but you have to calm the fuck down.”

“How?” Tobirama is breathing heavily, Sharingan flitting wildly, unfocused.

“Choose any object in the room and focus on it, or, or on me.” Madara winces. He really doesn’t have Izuna’s talent for this. “And just—Senju, you’re not listening.”

“I can’t, Madara.” More shocking than Tobirama’s use of his first name is the intense surge of Tobirama’s chakra rippling through the room. Surprisingly, that suddenly makes Madara’s pain die down to a low buzz. “Everything’s—”

“Red and blurry and painful, I know,” Madara tries to ground him. “Kneading chakra into it isn’t how you deal with it.”

“The visions—”

“Aren’t real,” Madara lies, knowing that Tobirama is probably seeing figments of his memories, most likely not the pleasant kind.

“Madara, I can’t do this!” Tobirama shouts, all but huddled against the corner now. He’s hyperventilating, desperately trying to wipe away the blood only flowing harder from his sockets, and it’s all Madara can do to hope he doesn’t attempt to claw them out. “It’s getting—it’s—I…”

Madara watches him in a bit of a stupor. This isn’t like their usual shouting matches or heated arguments during yet another meeting where their interests clash. Tobirama is never vulnerable. He shouldn’t be.

This isn’t right.

Part of Madara wants to touch him, knead their bonded chakra together and comfort him, while the other urges him to run away, to use the Hiraishin Tobirama so favors and escape this strange, unfamiliar mess.

Madara finds he has no idea what to do, and the intimate knowledge of just how dangerous his Mangekyō can be keeps him frozen in place.

Madara swears under his breath and, throwing caution and his own mounting panic to the wind, closes the distance between himself Tobirama, all but wrestling his trembling frame into a hug.

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Chapter 3

Tobirama tenses up at once, his breath hitching, but doesn’t do much else to break the hold. Madara doesn’t die instantly, which is good, all things considered. The world doesn’t distort and disappear and there’s no hint of his Sharingan’s ability spontaneously acting up.

“What—” Tobirama finds his voice.

“You’re okay, Senju. Just breathe.”

Tobirama shifts against him, muscles twitching in a half-hearted attempt to break free, but Madara doesn’t allow him, only drawing him closer and wrapping him tighter in his arms.

“You’re okay,” Madara says with as much conviction as he can muster. “Don’t mind those visions and try to ignore the pain. You’re going to be okay.” And that’s more of a truthful statement, because the way Tobirama keeps shaking as he tries and fails to catch his breath is more than a little unnerving.

He’s not supposed to be like this.

“You’re going to be okay,” he repeats, trying to calm the both of them, really, and to his surprise, it seems to be working, if just a little.

Tobirama doesn’t quite relax, but stays silent and doesn’t move, forcefully leveling out his breath as he squeezes his eyes shut and buries his head in the mess that is Madara’s unkempt hair. It’s a bit awkward, and Madara has no idea what to do with his hands, placing them stiffly on Tobirama’s shoulders. That makes their position more awkward and Madara settles for his lower back, trying for soothing motions that just end up being stilted pats of sorts. That has him giving up entirely and ending up completely still, staring at a single point in the wall and willing his mind stop repeating its incessant, panicked mantra of fuck.

A few still moments pass before Tobirama says, “Chakra.”

Madara blinks. “Chakra? What about it?”

To Madara’s steadily increasing surprise, Tobirama leans more into his embrace, willingly, and finally manages to take a deeper breath.

“Feels good,” he says simply, and it finally hits Madara that… something has changed.

Tobirama’s—well, Madara’s chakra now embedded in his coils—has spread out significantly, filling up the space around them like thick, almost tangible steam, feeling hot, familiar and comforting. So much so that, apparently, the last remnants of the ache bothering Madara since he’d woken up are gone.

Which is strange, considering how the pain spiked up after he had presumably sensed Tobirama approaching. Soulbonds do have the ability to calm and even heal soulmates in certain cases, but Madara had always assumed that soulmates had to have an accepted bond for that particular part of it to work.

Or at least be fond of one another. Not hate each other’s guts like he and Tobirama do.

Fuck.

It’s all a gigantic, confusing mess.

Madara closes his eyes, mimicking the pattern of Tobirama’s breathing. Just for the hell of it, he pushes out the alien chakra from his coils in a tentative attempt to further comfort Tobirama, and the effect is immediate. Both of them feel the intermingling of the energies—ice cold and molten hot. Usually clashing when they lose control during their fights, now merging instead into a force that makes Madara’s skin prickle in a surprisingly pleasant way. And judging by the feel of Tobirama finally relaxing into his hold, it seems to affect him similarly as well.

“Senju, do your sensing abilities cause you chronic pain unless you’re overwhelmed by a particularly strong chakra signature?”

Madara doesn’t know what compelled him to ruin an otherwise blessedly peaceful moment, but he does want to find out if Tobirama is being hypocritical when chastising him for keeping self-destructive secrets.

Tobirama draws away, staring at Madara in confusion, Sharingan still blazing, almost blending in with the inflamed blood vessels as thin trails of blood keep trickling from them.

“No?” he says. “Why, are you in pain?”

“Fuck. No. Shut up,” Madara says, mentally kicking himself, “never mind.”

He doesn’t break eye contact and moves his hands to grip Tobirama’s shoulders, still kneading chakra into the space around him to ground them both.

“Now, Senju, like I said. You need to focus on something—anything in the room. Can you do that for me?”

Tobirama nods, keeping his gaze where it is, dead set on Madara’s eyes.

“Me. Okay. Right.” Madara’s face grows a little hot, probably due to the rising temperature of the room from Tobirama slamming his stolen chakra around like an untrained amateur. “Focus on the little things you can see. It can be anything, any details. You can say them out loud if you want.”

Tobirama gives another nod. Takes a deep breath. Runs his eyes slowly over Madara’s face. He looks so strange like this, his expression lacking the usual frown, lips trembling slightly, hair in disarray, eyes bloodshot and full of fear. Madara would pity him, were he a better man.

(Maybe he is a better man.)

“I can see every little strand of your hair,” Tobirama says suddenly, with a hint of awe, “and every tangle. It’s half over your face, like it always, but… there’s more of it sticking everywhere.” He tilts his head to the side. “You look a little stupid.”

Madara bites his lip to hold back his retort and motions for Tobirama to continue.

“Eyelashes,” Tobirama says next. “They’re wet. Waterdrops and…” He frowns, gaze growing a little distant. “There’s so much—so many particles on them?”

“No, no, no, no.” Madara shakes him slightly by the shoulders. “Don’t go that deep, ignore the particles. Keep your attention on the droplets, on the bigger picture,” he stumbles through the words quickly, hoping he isn’t too late and won’t have to deal with the impending chakra depletion his eyes’ ability entails.

Tobirama seems to refocus, but still asks, “Why not? Does every Sharingan allow you to focus on the atomic level?”

Madara shakes his head.

“Only mine as far as I’m aware, and that’s a power you do not want to test out, believe me,” he says in lieu of a proper explanation. That mess can come later. “Go on.”

Tobirama scowls, clearly unsatisfied, but complies.

“Right. Droplets. Your whole face is wet, actually.” He frames Madara’s face with his hand, hovering, barely touching. “Your cheeks, your lips. I didn’t notice before that your cheeks were so… not chubby. Fuller, I guess?”

Madara wonders if drowning in Hashirama’s tears is a price he’s willing to pay to commit a very satisfying murder. It’s tempting.

“And there’s,” Tobirama lifts his fingers to brush against the side of Madara’s face, suddenly grinning, “toothpaste.”

Madara swats his hand away and hastily brushes it off.

“Calm enough now?” he snaps, rubbing at his other cheek for good measure.

“I think so,” Tobirama answers, blinking. “It’s still not gone, though.”

“You have to refocus on your eyes now,” Madara says, “but don’t channel chakra. Just feel how the Sharingan influences your eyesight, your perception, simply be aware of it. And then—let go.”

A few heartbeats later, the black dissipates from Tobirama’s eyes, leaving him with his usual dim red irises. They both heave sighs of relief.

“Finally!” Tobirama shoves past Madara and starts pacing around the room, wiping away the dried blood clinging to his eyelids.

“Yeah, finally,” Madara grumbles. “And what do you mean my cheeks are chubby?”

“That’s what you want to focus on?” Tobirama says, turning to glare at him. “Not the fact that you’re steadily going blind and haven’t told anyone about it? Does Hashirama know? Does Izuna?”

“Yes, no, no and yes,” Madara says, rolling his eyes.

“Not funny, Uchiha.”

“Not trying to be, Senju.” Madara pinches the bridge of his nose. Unfortunately, now that they’re apart again, the low buzz of the ache in his joints has returned and is getting worse by the second. “It’s how the Mangekyō works. I didn’t make the rules.”

“Walk me through it,” Tobirama demands. “What exactly does this form of the Sharingan do and why is there no way to fix it?”

“There is,” Madara says. “The Mangekyō gradually destroys all the living cells in your eyes unless you get an eye transplant of another pair of Mangekyō, preferably a sibling’s.” He shifts his gaze from Tobirama’s horror-stricken face to an empty wall which suddenly looks so very mesmerizing. “Which is obviously something I refuse to do, and Izuna doesn’t want to, either.”

A few more beats of silence pass.

“And Izuna’s is better, you said.”

“Yes.” Madara chances a glance at him. Tobirama is frowning, eyes narrowed in his usual ‘thinking and analyzing’ expression Madara is used to seeing on their joint meetings. “I forbade him to use it unless absolutely necessary.”

“Hm. So that’s why he never used it when we fought.”

“Correct.”

“Pity.”

Madara almost chokes. “W-what?”

Tobirama shrugs. “I’ve always wanted to try going up against it. Anija always had so much fun with you, I felt like I was missing out a little.” It’s such a ridiculous admission, and Madara can’t seem to do anything but splutter harder. “I didn’t know it was causing you so much pain, though. That changes things.”

“Well—well, that doesn’t matter!” Madara throws up his hands. “Gods, Senju—people are terrified of this dōjutsu, you know!”

Tobirama hums, noncommittal, and Madara comes to the conclusion that Hashirama isn’t the only reckless idiot among the Senju after all. Before he can say anything else, though, Tobirama’s face lights up with the slightly manic expression he gets when he comes up with a new idea.

“You’ve tried transplanting both pairs of the Sharingan, of course?” he asks. “Just exchanging the eyes, I mean. What happened then?” He looks at Madara expectantly, only managing half a minute of silence. “Well? Madara?”

He still receives no answer.

“Please tell me,” Tobirama says slowly, voice pained, “that look means that my question is redundant, and you’ve obviously tried that before. Right?”

Madara doesn’t, in fact, know for sure if the Uchiha have attempted anything of the like.

But never let it be said he isn’t ready to defend his clan’s honor.

“Of course!” he says, flailing a little before forcing his arms to cross over his chest, a bit defensively. “Or, well, I think so. I’m sure,” he corrects himself, “I’m sure someone has done that and it evidently didn’t work, because then…” Madara thinks about the blind Uchiha he knows and had helped take care of, when he could. The hollow eyes of too many of his clanmates, haunted by tragedy and death. “Then decades of problems wouldn’t exist,” he finishes lamely.

Centuries, more like. Gods does Madara hope he’s right.

“Let’s hope so, Uchiha,” Tobirama growls, “or I’m going to have to assume everyone in your clan lacks basic logical thinking skills, not just you.”

“Keep your mouth shut about my clan, Senju!”

“How can I, when I’ve got this damnable keepsake from you?” Tobirama says, gesturing to his eyes, which, thankfully, don’t switch over to the Sharingan despite his very apparent ire.

Madara takes a deep, calming breath.

“I get that it isn’t exactly pleasant, Senju,” he says in the most level tone he can muster. “Your abilities seem to cause me pain too, if to a lesser degree,” he can’t help but complain. “But the fact is—we’re soulmates. You’ll have to deal with my eyesight for… a while, until both of us learn to control and give our powers back to each other. Then the Sharingan will be solely my concern once again. All right?”

Tobirama stares at him like he’s said something stupid. Again.

“No, Madara. The fact is that we’re soulmates, and from what I’ve gathered about a concept I care little about, we’re going to have to support one another.”

It’s so strange for Madara to hear someone say they care little about the concept of soulmates, one that’s so sacred to his clan. It’s baffling. Though fate has chosen one who seems to be the complete opposite of what Madara wants and needs, the fact itself has him wondering about the possibility of—something.

“Which means,” Tobirama goes on, “I will not leave this alone, whether you like it or not.”

Tobirama tone is both a promise and a threat, and Madara finds he has no idea what to think about it, how to feel. He wants to tell Tobirama off for butting into his personal affairs, but knows, of course, that Tobirama is right. There’s no ‘his’ affairs anymore—just ‘theirs,’ per the gods fickle, incomprehensible whims.

And of course, there’s one thing he has to know.

“Just because we’re bound by fate, Tobirama?” he asks, abandoning his carefully conscious use of Tobirama’s last name when they converse. “You won’t leave this alone just because you have to?”

That stops Tobirama short. His eyes never quite left Madara as they talked, but now he focuses on him fully, just like he had when his Sharingan had been activated.

“I need to think,” Tobirama says quietly, something shifting in his face, rending it cold and emotionless—Madara’s least favorite expression on him. He takes a few steps back towards the window. “I’ll find you later. Or you find me. Later,” he repeats firmly.

Madara feels rage starting to boil inside him.

“Now wait just one minute!”

Tobirama doesn’t pause and promptly leaps out of the window, flickering away, leaving Madara alone in an empty room with a brain buzzing with questions and a body prickling with renewed bouts of pain.

“What a fucking bastard,” he swears, “fucking impossible. Why couldn’t you be bonded to an asshole just like you are?!”

He knows screaming at empty space is a little weird and most likely very useless. No matter. There’s no one around but him to witness it anyway.

Only he turns out to be wrong about that, because apparently, their argument was loud enough to wake Izuna in his house across the street.

“Technically, nii-san, you’re kind of an asshole, too,” Izuna says with a yawn, shuffling into Madara’s room wrapped up in a blanket, eyes still sleep-heavy. “Hashirama and I are obviously the better brothers in our respective duos.” He grins, dodging the bedside table Madara throws at his head. “I think fate has chosen well.”

He doesn’t dodge the barrage of pillows, letting them land smack center onto his grinning face.

“Get the fuck out,” Madara growls, and Izuna moves to do just that. Madara scowls. “Wait.”

Izuna stops in his tracks, turning back to Madara with, shit-eating grin still in place. Madara sighs and comes over to him to wrap him into a particularly bone-crushing hug, ignoring the wheezing protests that follow.

“Channel your chakra, would you?” Madara asks. “Please?”

Izuna is a bit confused by the request but does as he’s told, thankfully silent this time, pushing Madara away for something more akin to a hug and not a suffocation attempt. The gentle crackle of his hearth-like signature soothes Madara’s nerves once more, numbing the pain to an extent, though not even close to the way Tobirama’s closeness had helped.

He will have to make do with this for now.

“You’re now my temporary personal painkiller,” Madara announces, “and I will not be accepting any complaints about this arrangement.”

“No idea what that’s supposed to mean, but I can’t wait to hear the whole account of your lovers spat, nii-san,” Izuna deadpans.

“Shut up, Izuna.”

“You’ll want me to give you advice, though,” Izuna says, tone teasing. “After all, I’m the one with the experience of being soulbound to a Senju.”

“Whatever. Shut up. Let me think.”

Izuna doesn’t in fact, let Madara think, because he is an incorrigible little shit and an utter menace.

“You know,” he says, “make-up sex is just the best way to—”

He gets cut off when Madara breaks away to grab one of the scattered pillows and starts attacking Izuna with it, unmindful of the feathers flying everywhere.

Izuna only laughs, arms himself in kind and gives as good as he gets.

The Uchiha are confusing, Tobirama decides as he finishes perusing what seems to be the thousandth text out of the documents he’s borrowed from the atrocious Uchiha Libraries. Plural because the clan has thousands upon tens of thousands of archived records. Atrocious because most of them are either redundant, incomplete (as if the record-keepers only wrote their accounts when inspiration struck and were prone to abandoning them half-way) or completely nonfactual, useless opinion pieces that Tobirama can’t base any of his theories on.

And gods, does he have a lot of theories in need of testing.

He takes a pain reliever as the Sharingan-induced migraine acts up again; he’d been careful not to activate it throughout the day, but the headache still lingered, making it a challenge to stay focused. Tobirama manages to, though, just barely, and there’s at least a little progress to show for it.

He’d left Madara early morning, obtained his free ticket into the Libraries almost immediately and has spent the whole day researching a dōjutsu that proved to be all the more incomprehensible with every piece of ‘research’ Tobirama got through. After hours of historical accounts (and thrice damned opinion pieces), Tobirama did stumble upon one instance of the Mangekyō having been exchanged between two Uchiha. The experiment failed, with both subjects ending up dead, was declared unholy and was never attempted again.

The sheer audacity of that made Tobirama’s eye twitch. Honestly, where would he have been if he had stopped at his first unsuccessful Edo Tensei attempt?

(Probably lacking in his brother’s occasional tearful, very annoying admonishments about desecrating the dead, but that isn’t the point.)

The attempt was done centuries ago, back when most of the shinobi clans were nothing more than nomad tribes wandering the then empty, nationless continents, trying to figure out how to use the Sage of Six Paths’ gift of chakra properly. With no established iryō jutsu practice at that time, of course the switch had a high chance of failing. For some reason, the Uchiha didn’t seem to take into account that an overwhelming majority of the simple eye transplants from the younger Uchiha brothers to their elders were unsuccessful, too. It really was an inexcusable abuse of the scientific principle to assume the worst after one godsdamned test.

It’s downright confusing, bordering on stupid, really. And even then, Tobirama can think of a dozen other ways to solve the Mangekyō problem without resorting to transplants and possible mutilation, most of them simple schemes of directed chakra manipulation and perhaps a little tinkering with DNA. But to do that—

Ah. He’s forgotten.

“Hikaku?” Tobirama says to the depths of his enormous lab. The size is suddenly an inconvenience, because he can’t really see anything that’s further than two feet away clearly—and sensing through Madara’s chakra is nothing but an exercise in futility.

“Right here.” Hikaku appears before him with a shunshin, holding a book on the latest discoveries in relativity—something Tobirama could be researching right now if he weren’t stuck with Madara’s problem.

Tobirama takes a deep breath, taking another pill for good measure to help him deal with the persistent headache. Not Madara’s. Theirs. He promised—they’re soulmates and that obliges him to have his partner’s back, no matter their evidently mutual dislike.

(Tobirama refuses to think about Madara’s question now, isn’t ready to contemplate impossible possibilities and delve through his complicated net of feelings for the person who annoys—and intrigues—him most. That can come later, because he’s otherwise preoccupied and definitely not running away.)

“You there, Tobirama?” Hikaku asks with an understanding smile, waving a hand in front of Tobirama’s face.

“Yes. Sorry. And—sorry I made you wait this long. I shouldn’t have invited and ignored you like that.” Tobirama sighs. “I got distracted again.”

“Don’t worry,” Hikaku says, inching a glass of water to Tobirama, always the one making sure Tobirama hydrates, his mother hen tendencies second only to Hashirama. “We only got here an hour ago. You know I adore your lab and I think Kagami’s busy with some of the chemicals you’ve labeled kid-friendly over there.”

As if in answer, the hiss of a chemical reaction and a triumphant whoop sounded from somewhere in the distance, making both of them smile.

“Right,” Tobirama says, “well, I’m ready now for the inspection. May I?” He stands, raising his hands. Hikaku gives an affirmative, and Tobirama pushes chakra into his palms, now glowing a faint green. “Activate your Sharingan, please.”

Hikaku does, without question, and Tobirama nears his hands towards his eyes, registering the feel, structure and movement of the distinct chakra, cataloguing the way cells behave more actively, how every one of them feels amplified by the Sharingan’s power.

“Now your Mangekyō.”

A swirly pattern replaces the tomoe, and the very essence of the chakra generated by the Sharingan seems to change. Tobirama frowns, making note of every little shifts, how the momentum of the chakra seems to increase exponentially, carrying with it potential for an enormous burst of power. The cells seem to be otherwise fine, expectantly.

“You have the Eternal Mangekyō, right?” Tobirama asks, tentative, remembering what Hikaku told him this morning.

“Yeah,” Hikaku says, averting his gaze. “Not a pretty story, but one I can tell if you’d like.”

Tobirama shakes his head. “No need. I have an idea of what must have happened and it’s not too relevant to my search for another solution.”

He pushes more chakra through one of his palms, gaining greater clarity, and reaches for ink and paper with the other to scribble down his findings.

“It’d be easier if you used your new Sharingan, you know,” Hikaku says, making Tobirama splutter, of all things, much like a certain Uchiha when caught by surprise. “You’d remember all you need in perfect detail.”

Tobirama stares.

“Hikaku,” he chokes out, “how did you—”

“We’re friends, Tobirama,” Hikaku says, rolling his eyes, “and I’m afraid I’m the more emotionally perceptive of the both of us.”

“Am I really that obvious?” Tobirama asks, frowning.

“Yep.” Hikaku grins. “It also helps that you radiate Madara’s very potent chakra like crazy. Seriously, I’m not even a sensor.” Tobirama scowls, shoving him away. “It’s good you’re not out and about or you’d be giving every sensory ninja in the village a massive migraine.”

“Ugh.” Tobirama groans, sinking back down into his chair. “Don’t remind me that I have his chakra to deal with now. I feel hot all the time. Are all the Uchiha this hot?”

“Depends on what definition of hot you’re using.”

“Hikaku!”

“Relax, Tobirama,” Hikaku says through laughter, hopping onto the table. “It’s a normal soulbond experience, it’s never painless. You’ll get a hang of it, eventually. And I’m sure our esteemed and very composed Clan Head isn’t faring much better.”

“No,” Tobirama says, crossing his arms. “He isn’t.”

Hikaku gives him an appraising look.

“Listen,” Hikaku starts, “I know you both… find it difficult… to communicate normally,” he awkwardly circumvents the word hate, “but it really isn’t healthy to be apart from your soulmate like this.”

“I know, Hikaku.” Tobirama buries his face in his hands. “I’ll talk to him, I promise.”

“And you’ll tell me about it.”

“I’d rather not.” Tobirama opens one eye to look at Hikaku through the space between his fingers. “It’ll probably end in disaster.”

“Tell me all the juicy details then,” Hikaku demands cheerfully. “Come on. You can’t bribe the Chief Record Keeper for an illegal pass into my clan’s secret archives and not provide something in return.”

“A month babysitting your son isn’t enough for you?” Tobirama says, tone sour even though they both know he’ll enjoy every minute of spare time spent with his first ever student.

“It is,” Hikaku agrees, “or, would be under any normal circumstances. As it stands, you owe me a bigger reward for making me break Clan Law.”

“Your Clan Law and its stupid restrictions are the reason you have this stupid problem with your Mangekyō Sharingan in the first place,” Tobirama mutters. “And I’m going to fix it.”

“For your soulmate,” Hikaku says with a pretensiously dreamy sigh.

“Not for him.” Tobirama sinks into his chair further. “Not just for him. So Kagami doesn’t have to deal with similar pain in the future, nor any other Uchiha child.”

And it’s true of course; Tobirama would be just as deep in research if he’d found out about this issue without the added hassle of being Madara's soulmate. Hikaku knows this, of course, because he’s just as much of a dear friend as Izuna is to Tobirama, if not more.

Inevitably, that train of thought leads him to question why he and Madara seem to be so completely at odds when the Uchiha’s general wariness of Tobirama (and vice versa) have all but disappeared. Perhaps they can become friends, if nothing else, if and when they figure out how to talk without losing their cool every single time. He’d wondered about that before, what it would feel like for Madara to smile at him with genuine care instead of the usual derision. It’s honestly a pity they aren’t platonic soulmates. Although—

Tobirama imagines the prospect of being trapped in Madara’s body for an indefinite amount of time and thinks, No. No, it’s good that we aren’t.

“By the way,” Hikaku says, thankfully distracting Tobirama from his thoughts again, “Kagami, come here for a bit?”

“Yes, Dad!” Kagami leaps towards them, light on his feet but still almost knocking down a vial with a moderately pesky virus that Tobirama makes a note to properly seal later. “Tobirama-sensei!” Kagami instantly focuses on him, eyes gleaming as he surveys all the notes Tobirama has piled up. “What were you working on all this time? Did you make any progress? Is it a new awesome jutsu? Will you teach it to me?”

“No, Kagami, it isn’t anything flashy this time,” Tobirama says, ruffling his student’s hair with a smile. “You’d probably find it boring. But we’ll work on your Grand Fireball Jutsu tomorrow, I promise.” Tobirama suddenly realizes he’ll have to spend tomorrow’s training session without his—well, Madara’s—chakra. What a pain.

“Awesome!” Kagami jumps up and down with his usual bouncy excitement. “I’m getting so great at fire jutsu—you’ll see tomorrow. I’ve got so many new tricks I can show you!”

“I hope you’re making as much progress in chakra theory, Kagami,” Tobirama chuckles as Kagami’s expression switches to one of horror. “Don’t forget your little test tomorrow.”

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes. And so as not to keep you from studying,” Tobirama says, “before you leave, may I take a look at your Sharingan, Kagami? With a diagnostic iryō jutsu?”

Kagami gives him a curious look, glancing at Hikaku, then back at Tobirama again.

“Sure thing, sensei.”

As expected, Kagami’s Sharingan isn’t much different than Hikaku’s basic version, but much weaker in energy compared to it, despite all three of his tomoe being fully developed.

That’s an interesting detail compared to all the other data Tobirama has gathered. Hikaku had explained to him earlier that day that Kagami’s Sharingan awakened after a particularly traumatizing experience—his mother’s death—and was one of the strongest in the clan among children. If anything, that motivated Tobirama to work more, faster, better to find an adequate cure for the Mangekyō’s degenerative effect. Hopefully, Kagami won’t have to suffer enough to acquire it, but none of them know what the future holds, and Tobirama wants to squander the potential for tragedy before it manifests.

It's not long after that before Hikaku makes Tobirama swear on the periodic table of elements (“Because you lack any whatsoever respect for the gods, you heathen") to get proper sleep after they leave and continue his work tomorrow. And really, with the amount of chaos he's had to suffer through today, Tobirama is yearning to do just that.

If only…

Tobirama gets back to his empty, sterile home, barely lived in because he spends most of his time in the office, at Hashirama’s place, with his students or in his lab. He tries, unsuccessfully, to get himself to fall asleep. Sedatives have long since lost their effect on him and his body seems to have stopped registering painkillers, because despite all the pills in his system, the migraine and the dizziness that comes with it return full force just as he’s trying to will himself to sleep.

He can’t.

His thoughts unerringly stray to Madara again.

It’s annoying.

And now that Tobirama has no research or people around to distract him, he feels treacherous feelings of guilt encroaching as his mind supplies him with memories of their whole conversation.

There was something different in Madara’s tone, in his expression as he asked Tobirama the question that caught him completely unawares.

Just because we’re bound by fate, Tobirama?

No, Tobirama thinks, I would have helped anyway.

You won’t leave this alone just because you have to?

It wasn’t the hidden implications of the question that bothered him most. Not even the complete change in Madara’s demeanor as he asked it—a change to a softer, almost vulnerable side Tobirama had never seen before. It was the epiphany Tobirama had in that very moment, realizing that he was, for some reason, genuinely concerned about Madara’s wellbeing. This despite their long-standing status quo of mutual hostility and Tobirama’s self-proclaimed lack of care about the inherently irrational (and therefore irritating) idea of soulmates.

It’s unnerving.

He turns to bury himself in the pillows on his couch, closing his eyes, desperately begging for his mind to just stop. Stop analyzing, stop wondering and making dozens of possible predictions for the future, stop dissecting every one of his actions and feelings and impulses and just—rest.

Well.

Another impossibility, it seems.

And since rest is out of the question, he reasons he can safely break one promise he’d made to Hikaku and make good on the other. Stopping himself just before he reaches for the Hiraishin marker in the Uchiha district, Tobirama leaps through the window and sets out towards Madara’s house for a much-needed conversation.

Preparing himself for a long, sleepless night, Tobirama shifts onto his back and turns to stare out the wide window at the stars glimmering around the full moon. It’s much too soon to deal with this enormous mess, Tobirama decides, making up his mind to let Madara seek him out himself.

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Chapter 4

It's grating, being unable to properly sense his surroundings with his chakra all over the place, but Tobirama deals with it as best as he can, for the first time in his life relying solely on his sense of sight as he leaps from rooftop to rooftop. At least this simple chakra manipulation is manageable, though he does almost slip a few times—another novel experience—which leaves him all the more yearning for his former impeccable chakra control.

And eyesight.

He finds Madara in a similar state of sleeplessness, pacing next to the koi pond in the little garden adjacent to his house. Madara stops in his tracks and turns to look in the direction of Tobirama’s approach just before Tobirama jumps down to face him.

Madara looks downright exhausted, disheveled and cold, what with his slight trembling. He’s probably still in pain, Tobirama realizes with a tinge of irrational guilt—which immediately disappears when Madara flicks his hand and the water from the koi pond rises to form a giant wave that descends upon Tobirama, knocking him onto the ground and soaking him to the bone.

“What,” Tobirama growls, body and voice shaking as he blinks the wetness away, “the fuck do you think you’re doing, Uchiha?”

Even with his blurry vision, Tobirama can make out the bastard’s smirk—a crooked, self-satisfied thing. Madara clumsily redirects half of the water back into the pond and crosses his arms.

“Giving my soulmate a proper greeting, of course,” he drawls as Tobirama stands, trying his best to shake off the water that feels wrong, wet and annoying, not soothing and playfully mingling with his chakra like it usually would. “Most fitting for your dashing farewell, I’d say.”

To his credit, Tobirama doesn’t move to burn Madara to a crisp in answer for his glaring stupidity. Yet.

It’s tempting, though.

But there are safer ways to retaliate, he decides.

“Is this a bad time to mention,” Tobirama says, “that my chakra is exceptionally attuned to water?”

Madara rolls his eyes.

“I know you think others inferior to you in intelligence, Senju, and me most of all,” Tobirama nods as Madara says this, just to rile him up further, “but I am not going to fall for your idiotic taunts.”

“Oh, I’m not trying to taunt you, Madara, just to warn you,” Tobirama says, mock-concerned, “that if you go on using my chakra this carelessly, you might just accidentally end up manipulating the water inside a human body.”

It’s viscerally pleasing, seeing Madara’s smirk dissipate, replaced by a horrified scowl.

“WHAT?”

The way Madara shrieks will never stop being amusing, and it seems the absence of his explosive fiery chakra does little to quell his usual temper. He recoils from the pond, looks at his hands like he's considering cutting them off, looks at Tobirama with a look of such disgust that—well, isn’t exactly pleasant but still entertaining.

“Like blood?” Madara asks, voice strained.

“Blood is known to be partially made of water, Uchiha—”

“You idiot!” Madara shouts, starting to pace again, burrowing his hands in his sleeves. “That is not fucking funny!”

“It isn’t,” Tobirama agrees, “I’ve caused enough of people’s insides to accidentally rupture as a child that I find it far from a laughing matter.” He doesn’t mention that those accidents only ever amounted to two events and both victims were enemies; the rest were deliberate targets of Tobirama’s honed, precise chakra control.

“You mean—” Madara’s eyes grow wide with ever-growing terror. “You mean I could have—I spent the whole day with Izuna, you prick! Couldn’t you have warned me that I’m now a godsdamned spontaneous murder weapon?”

To be fair, you always have been, Tobirama wants to say, but that nagging spike of guilt raises its ugly head again, and he begrudgingly decides to go the pacifistic way. That’s what he came here for, after all—a conversation, not a fight.

“Kind of. But it would only happen if you’re truly angry, far more than you are now, or if you’re on the verge of death, as a defense mechanism,” Tobirama explains. “I’m just messing with you, Uchiha. Calm down.”

“Calm down when you’re around, you infuriating asshole?” The remaining water in the pond ripples in reaction to his anger and he takes another step back, eyeing it warily. “What the hell did you come here for anyway?”

“To talk.”

“Go to hell.” With the way Madara is glaring at him, Tobirama prepares himself for another splash of water, but the assault never comes. “I won’t speak with you on your terms.”

“What if I offer an apology?”

Madara raises an eyebrow. “Really? You? An apology. If I weren’t in such a foul mood that would warrant a laugh, Senju, good one.”

Tobirama counts from five to one before answering, finding it suddenly a convenience how his skin runs hot, how chakra crackles and burns around him, enough so that he’s almost dry and comforted, rather than annoyed by its warmth. Anija would approve, he thinks bitterly

“I’m sorry. My leaving you like that was neither polite nor called for. But I truly needed to think about…” He gestures vaguely in Madara’s direction. “All this.”

Madara is staring at him like he’s grown another head, and it’s somehow even more unnerving than his death glare.

“You—actually—” Madara shakes his head, blinking rapidly. “Huh.”

He crosses his arms again, and as often as Tobirama has seen that gesture on him, he finds himself suddenly curious why Madara likes it so much. Arms tightly locked and shoulders raised defensively, he looks somewhat like a petulant child. His posture is stiffer than usual, though, and Tobirama makes an effort to quell his chakra lashing out as much as possible to avoid causing unnecessary pain.

“Did a lot of thinking then, Senju?” Madara asks with a much more level tone, which is, Tobirama supposes, the only acknowledgement of his apology he’s going to get.

“No, actually.” Tobirama averts his gaze, biting his lip. “I got side-tracked. I spent the whole day researching your godsdamned dōjutsu.”

Madara frowns, confused.

“Why in the world would you be doing that?”

“I told you,” Tobirama says, “I’m not leaving this alone. There has to be another way to stop the Mangekyō from deteriorating your eyesight, and I’m going to find it.”

“Oh, so you think it’s going to be easy,” Madara asks, voice leaking skepticism, “fixing a centuries-old curse?”

“It’s not going to be that hard, considering that over all those centuries your good-for-nothing clan only had the idea to transplant two pairs of Mangekyō once, then gave up on that idea and didn’t even try any alternatives just blinding people left and right.” Tobirama is still avoiding Madara’s gaze, focusing on one the sakura trees in the garden. “I mean, good clan,” he amends, “you’re okay, I guess.”

“Drop the insolence, Senju,” Madara growls, narrowing his eyes. “And how would you even know that? That isn’t in any of the public libraries, did you—did you break into our archives?”

Ah, Tobirama belatedly realizes his mistake.

“I did,” he tries, although Hashirama’s been telling him since his earliest childhood that he’s a hopelessly terrible liar. He chances a glance at Madara, who’s fuming, making wavelets surge through the pond again.

“Hikaku,” Madara says, and Tobirama curses Hashirama for being right, as always. “That bastard. Should have known.” He sighs. “He was a good Uchiha. I’ll miss him.”

“The killing intent isn’t appreciated, Madara, and for the love of the gods, stop your theatrics.”

“When you stop your meddling.”

“I’m not going to stand by when innocent people are suffering because someone refuses to act and fix this!” Tobirama snaps, turning back to Madara and realizing his world is suddenly in perfect clarity again. “Dammit.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and blanks his mind, easing himself back into a calmer mindset. It doesn’t feel as painful as the Mangekyō did, so he deduces he only activated the base version of the Sharingan this time. Thankfully.

“I won’t let innocent people suffer,” Tobirama repeats, “let innocent children suffer, when I’m in a position to do something about it. I’m not doing this because you’re my soulmate. I’m going to help, whether you like it or not, just because I can. Because I want to.”

Tobirama reopens his eyes only to see Madara standing close—far too close—and reaching out with his hands as if to hug him, but Tobirama flinches and takes a nervous step back, strangely comforted by the world becoming blurred once more.

“Don’t,” he says, “I’m fine.”

Madara is staring at him again, shock painted on his face, eyes searching Tobirama’s expression for—something, and Tobirama struggles not to squirm at the scrutiny.

“Uchiha?” The man in question only blinks in reply. “Hello?”

“You’re insane,” Madara finally says with a slightly dazed smile, “you’re actually insane.”

“The insane one is you,” Tobirama snarls, “because if I had the idiotic notion of keeping my progressing blindness a secret, I would at least be actively doing something to fix it.” It’s Madara’s turn to avoid his eyes, it seems. “Is this how you feel every day? The migraines even without the Mangekyō activated? The pain, the random flashes in your eyes?”

“Yeah,” Madara mutters, “what of it?”

“You don’t just keep these things from people, Madara,” Tobirama raises his voice, losing the last of his tenuous grip on his patience, “especially from my brother who may well be able to reverse the damage, at least temporarily!”

“Why do you care so fucking much about that, Tobirama?”

The sound of his name slipping from Madara’s lips is a bit of a shock.

“I just told you, Madara.”

“No. I get wanting to help my clan, I’d get it even if you wanted to fix the Mangekyō just for the hell of it, like your raising the dead thing or whatever other fuckery you’re up to.” Madara scowls, probably remembering what Hashirama has dubbed the Graveyard Fiasco. “But keeping this a secret is—was my problem. I may have acted… unwisely, but why do you care?”

Tobirama shrugs. “We’re soulmates.”

“And you told me you don’t give a shit about the concept.”

“Care little about,” Tobirama corrects him, “which doesn’t erase the fact that soulmates exist, and I feel a responsibility to…” he trails off. It’s physically painful, being unable to express himself when he usually has no problem with eloquence.

“To help someone you hate?” Madara finishes for him. “You don’t exactly seem happy you’re stuck with me now.”

“Neither do you, judging by all your screaming,” Tobirama parries. “And that’s not the point.”

“What is, then?”

“I’m worried, and not just because of the bond,” Tobirama says, recalling the question they’d left off before, “but because even if we don’t get along, you’re still—” He gestures helplessly.

My brother’s best friend. My close friend’s brother. An admirable shinobi. The cornerstone of our village.

What comes out instead is, “I’m not as emotionless as you paint me out to be, Madara. That’s all.”

A strange look passes through Madara’s eyes.

“No,” he says, “you’re not.”

Annoyingly, he falls into silence once more, tilting his head to the side and watching Tobirama with an appraising look that makes shivers run down his spine for no particular reason. It’s a far cry from what he thought this conversation would turn out to be—a barely salvageable screaming match, an extremely tenuous quasi-truce, perhaps. A physical fight.

(What Tobirama wouldn’t give right now to be able to let out his frustration through kicks and punches. And preferably a Water Dragon Jutsu or several, but he supposes he’ll have to get used to working with fireballs from now on. A tragedy, really.)

“Well?” Tobirama asks after the few seconds of his shortened patience reserves run out. “Are you going to say anything else?”

Madara blinks, then smiles.

Tobirama feels like his heart skips a beat from the shock of it—seeing an actual smile on Madara’s face. Not a smirk or the murderous grins he so favors. A smile. It’s almost unsettling.

“Fine, Senju. Tobirama,” Madara draws out the syllables of his name, as if slowly tasting how it feels to say it. “That’s a satisfactory answer. But don’t think for one second I’m letting you attempt this on your own.”

A finger jabs Tobirama’s chest, making him go almost cross-eyed as he stares at it. Madara’s chakra spikes immediately, sending a wave of soothing pleasure throughout Tobirama’s body; Madara seems to feel the same, quickly drawing his hand away as he continues.

“You’re researching something that directly concerns me—and my clan. Again, despite whatever you may think, I have studied chakra theory and iryō jutsu. I may simply need a little brushing up,” Madara adds, quieter.

“Fair enough. I’m not averse to working together, and I’ll make an effort to put our differences aside if you are." Tobirama offers a tentative smile of his own. "And I’m told I’m a good teacher.”

Does Madara blush at that? Tobirama blinks. No, must be a trick of the light—or lack thereof in the dim moonlight.

“Yeah, yeah. Just make an effort to curb your insult for once," Madara grumbles.

Tobirama chuckles. The hypocrite.

“If you curb it with the drama," he says, "perhaps I'll make an effort."

“You of all people should know that Izuna is the more dramatic one out of us two. And you grew up with Hashirama, for gods’ sakes.”

“True, but Anija isn’t as loud,” Tobirama says, grinning wider. It’s a nice change, this light-hearted feel of their exchange. Comforting. “And Izuna swears he learned everything from you.”

“He’s lying."

“He does seem more persuading, Madara."

“You believe your precious friend more than you do your new soulmate, Tobirama?” Madara scoffs. “Fate disapproves.”

“Fate can go fuck itself.” That makes Madara chuckle. Tobirama doesn’t understand why that feels like some sort of victory, but it does. “And Izuna doesn’t greet me with a scowl every morning I show up at the Tower, at least.”

Madara sobers up, suddenly serious, and there’s that odd, contemplative look again, boring through Tobirama’s own eyes as if trying to find an answer to a question Madara has yet to voice.

“Tell me this, Tobirama,” he says, “you haven’t rejected our bond. We've reached some… semblance of an agreement. I wonder—what exactly would you like to get out of this bond, at this stage, at least?”

The question catches Tobirama by surprise, so much so that he feels the urge to run away once more. It’s stupid, he knows, and another irritating tendency of the day, since he’s prided himself in seldom—if ever—fleeing from uncomfortable situations.

“If you even think about leaving again, I will master that Water Dragon tehcnique of yours and drown you,” Madara threatens.

Tobirama rolls his eyes and promises nothing.

It’s frustrating, because he is somewhat sure of what he would like from this—whatever he and Madara have or will have. Something like his closeness with Izuna or Hikaku, perhaps. No outright aggression and no need to insult each other at every opportunity. Someone he can confide in and ask for advice. Someone who will listen to him and not mock Tobirama for his many oddities and obsessive ideas, like so many others have before.

He knows, though, that the sheer nature of the bond will never let it end there. The hint of something more hangs over his head even now like a sword waiting to strike. That’s what makes Tobirama yearn for escape, because he’s so painfully unsure of what to even think about the implication.

“Just friendship. For now,” Tobirama says, ignoring how his heart starts drumming faster against his ribcage.

“I don’t know, Madara. So I can’t give you an honest answer—yet,” Tobirama says, knowing, though, that it’ll be the cause of many restless nights to come. “What about you? What do you want to gain from this?”

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Chapter 5

“Such crude wording,” Madara chastises, a playful glint in his eyes. “I want to gain nothing, Tobirama, except what you’re willing to give me. Don’t mistake my annoyance at this constant fucking pain as displeasure at meeting my soulmate. Soulbonds are revered in my clan. Sacred. And I would gladly forge one with you—a bond that would make us both stronger together than when we are apart.”

Madara pauses, looking as if he’s about to say something else possibly even more outlandish, but instead there’s that soft, genuine smile again, which looks so alien on Madara’s face Tobirama feels like he’s been caught in a particularly unrealistic genjutsu.

“But only if you would wish to gift me such a bond, Tobirama.” Just like the smile, Madara’s tone has turned soft, unthreatening, almost tentative, and Tobirama feels—

Confused.

He knows the stories, of course, has read and heard enough about the Uchiha’s dedication to the ideal of soulbonds and love in general. Even today he’s seen more of the clan scholars’ philosophical treatises about how emotional attachment affects the Sharingan’s development instead of actual observation of the process itself.

Madara hasn’t exactly hinted at love or anything romantic per se, but the insinuation of it is evident. And, quite frankly, terrifying. It’s annoying that by evading Madara’s initial question, Tobirama still ends up feeling unsettled by Madara’s answer. It feels as if he’s exposing himself to something terrible, making himself vulnerable by merely thinking about the notion of opening himself up to the man he’s never even been on good terms with.

The reasons stem far back to his childhood, of course, when his only friends had been Anija and Tōka, while the rest of the clan had seen Tobirama as nothing but an asset, a dangerous and unpredictable one at that.

Then came Mito, almost unnoticeably turning from formidable sister-in-law Tobirama cautiously respected to a trusted partner in seal-developing sprees (or crime, Hashirama would argue) and random journeys together into the wild to study near-mythical creatures and underresearched phenomena. And that closeness had taken a good decade to cement—nearly half of Tobirama’s life.

It was smoother with Izuna, who’d shifted gears so quickly after peace was established that it felt as if Tobirama suddenly had another overly loud, clingy Anija stuck to him almost almost every hour of the day. More or less effortless with Hikaku, who’d approached Tobirama with nothing but kindness despite the years of war behind them. It seems safer, in the village they’ve built from childhood dreams, to extend his trust to others.

But Madara is different.

The problem with him is nothing like the fear he had of Mito monopolizing his brother’s love and attention when she and Hashirama had discovered their bond. Not his rivalry with Izuna, which resembled Madara and Hashirama’s almost playful standstill battles with each passing year of the war. It’s an inexplicable, irrational dislike he and Madara have for each other that makes them fight almost at every turn. Their poor excuses for conversations are never boring, Tobirama supposes, but amusement at Madara’s angry shrieking is far from a basis for friendship, much less something more.

Even so, steadfast determination burns in Madara’s eyes, the fire that hasn’t quite left him even though Tobirama’s chakra now runs through his coils. Seeing him open up like this, offering a truce, the possibility of something better—Tobirama can’t help but feel at least slightly curious.

“I’m willing to try,” Tobirama says, not bothering to apologize for his lengthy silence, “and see where this leads us.”

“Good.” Madara’s grin widens. “And, of course, another perk I’ve always wanted from a soulbond is a stable sex life, but we’ll see how that goes, yes?”

Tobirama clenches his fists. Runs through a few mental scenarios of strangling Madara with his mess of black hair and only then reminds himself of the ubiquitous taboo against the murder of one’s soulmate.

“Out of the two of you, Uchiha, your brother also clearly has the better sense of humor,” he manages a more or less polite reply.

Madara scoffs. “Bullshit. You’re talking about the idiot who still hasn’t outgrown potty humor.”

“Yes.” Tobirama glares. “I am.”

Annoyingly, it only makes Madara laugh more. Even more maddening is how pleasing it feels to see Madara enjoying himself, how it makes Tobirama want to smile, in turn. He keeps his face neutral, though, even as it becomes harder to curtail his amusement.

“Tell me this then, Tobirama,” Madara says as he calms down, “since you haven’t answered my previous question. You said you care little about soulmates. Why?”

Tobirama contemplates weaseling how way out of that one as well, but for fairness’ sake, he opts to tell the truth.

“I’ve always struggled to build connections with people,” he admits. “I only have a handful of friends and most of them are my family, anyway. People don’t usually connect to what I say or what I do.” Echoes of freak, ghost, demon, probably bondless surface somewhere in the back of his mind. Tobirama ignores them. “And the idea of soulmates always seemed strange to me. Two people chosen by the gods to be together for life? Perfect lovers, perfect friends—it all seems like badly written fairy tale. One that I never thought I’d be a part of.”

“You’ve befriended at least two people from my clan easily enough,” Madara points out.

“I know. Things change. It’s…” Tobirama sighs. “Not as hard as it used to be. But I will need some space. And lots of time.”

“You can have those if your promise not to break spacetime again,” Madara says wryly, “like with the Monster Portal Debacle last month.”

“I closed it and all of the yōkai that came out of it were killed,” Tobirama says, sick of the unceasing complaints—and of people invoking his brother’s tasteless monikers for his lab incidents.

“Ridiculous man," Madara says, the sheer hypocrisy of his statement going right over his head, as always. “But to quell your worries, as I’ve said, I won’t push you into anything you’re uncomfortable with. No need to be intimidated.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Uchiha,” Tobirama snaps to hide the relief flooding through him at the words. “I’m not intimidated by you.”

“Oh?” Madara raises an eyebrow, giving Tobirama a skeptical onceover. “I’d say you are.”

“Am not.”

“Don’t lie to me. Soulmates are supposed to be honest with each other,” Madara says in a sickly-sweet tone.

“Well, if we are being honest, you weren’t all that intimidating when you had this thing,” Tobirama points to his eyes, “either. Now you’re just a puff of smoke compared to that Majestic Destroyer Flame you’re so partial to.”

Tobirama can’t help the grin as Madara, predictably, growls a heartfelt curse and tries to soak Tobirama again. Following the motion of his hand, the koi water ripples, rises slightly, then sinks back to the ground as Madara gives up, staring at the pond like it’s offended him on a personal level.

“Not angry enough, Uchiha,” Tobirama teases, squinting to check on the poor koi fish, thankfully still living.

“Oh, it’s funny when I’m angry is it,” Madara hisses.

“Extremely.”

“Fuck you, Senju,” Madara glowers. Tobirama could swear his spiky hair actually bristles in irritation, just like a cat's. “And we should really start getting a hang of our powers.”

“Are you only saying this so you can learn my Water Dragon Jutsu and attempt to terrorize me with it?” Tobirama asks, feigning suspicion.

“There’ll be no attempting about it. I will have my revenge for every single insult.”

Tobirama huffs out a laugh. “We’ll see who has the upper hand, Uchiha. I suggest we meet tomorrow then. After my training session with my students.”

Madara nods. “Fine.” He’s picked up Kagami from his lessons often enough, whenever Hikaku was too busy with village and clan bureaucracy, to have memorized Tobirama’s training schedule.

At that thought, Tobirama realizes there’s one thing he unambiguously likes about his new soulmate—Madara’s begrudging love for children.

That’s one thing in common, at least.

Madara shivers and crosses his arms—again—and Tobirama suddenly realizes, now that he’s looking at Madara more closely, what’s been throwing him off about the gesture today. Madara doesn’t just seem uncomfortable; there are miniscule twitches in his muscles, the near-constant grimace marring his face, as well as rigidity and tension that speak of pain rather than cold or embarrassment.

“Tell me,” Tobirama says, finally approaching Madara of his own accord. “How much does it hurt?”

Madara flinches as Tobirama touches his shoulder, then immediately relaxes under the touch, letting out a deep breath.

“It’s fine. It’s manageable. I’ve had the whole day to meditate on it and it’s crazy. Like every fucking living thing flinging its chakra at my senses tenfold, and it hurts,” Madara complains, slightly leaning into Tobirama’s touch.

“It’s only ever been overwhelming for me, maybe a bit dizzying,” Tobirama says, frowning. “It’s probably the added burden of a chakra affinity completely opposite yours.”

Tobirama reminds himself, forcefully, of the inherent irrationality of fear and, before he can think better of it, wraps his arms around Madara’s shoulders, returning his favor from this morning. Madara sags against him after a moment of shocked stillness, letting out a drawn-out sigh of relief as he uncrosses his arms and returns the hug, tentative, gentle, as if expecting Tobirama to withdraw at any moment.

And there’s the guilt again. Tobirama can barely remember the last time he’d felt it nag him so many times in the span of a single day.

“What’s changed?” he prompts, breathing in the soft, slightly sweet scent of Madara's hair.

Madara lifts his head and stares at him for the few moments it takes for him to figure it out.

“Oh. I don’t know,” Madara says, dropping his forehead on Tobirama’s shoulder once more. “All I feel is your chakra when we touch. Well, mine. It’s familiar. Helps me focus and ignore all the others, to an extent. But I can’t focus on one signature at a distance.”

“Hm. Neither can I.” Tobirama remembers something. “Did you spend all day hugging Izuna then?”

“Carried him piggyback style.”

“Can’t imagine he was happy about that.”

“I didn’t give him much of a choice,” Madara says, smirk evident in his tone. “He escaped my clutches just an hour ago to go whining to Tōka.”

Tobirama snorts. What a world it would be if he could embed such moments for blackmail in an image without resorting to drawing from memory. Perhaps using a lens that could gather light and concentrate it… but that’s an experiment for later.

His current experiment is to determine which one of them gives in first and ends the embrace, which is steadily getting more awkward with each moment they stay like this. There’s not much Tobirama can do, and he’s not about to throw Madara back into the pit of chronic pain just because he feels uncomfortable—and even that is questionable, at best. He, too, finds himself focusing on the raging ocean where there was a sizzling fire before, and Tobirama would be lying if he said it didn’t feel good.

(A little too good, if he were being completely honest, but it’s probably the stupid bond affecting his perception.)

Madara pulls away first after a few long minutes, taking a step back but not quite letting go of Tobirama’s shoulders, touch light and lingering. He mutters his thanks but otherwise stays silent, contemplating Tobirama with an almost imploring gaze.

Tobirama reaches to gently pry Madara’s hands off his shoulders.

“I’d better get going.” Before this gets any stranger, Tobirama finishes in his mind. “I’ll figure out a way to fix this for you. I promise. It’s just a matter of refining chakra control, but I have an idea for a seal as a short-term solution,” he says with what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

He is, of course, compelled to offer to help but he hates how vulnerable it makes him feel. Madara still hasn’t uttered a word, though, and seems intent on continuing to suffer in solitude. That’s something Tobirama will not—cannot—allow. “Should I… May I stay?” Tobirama flinches at his crooked phrasing. “To help with the pain?”

“Sleep with me,” Madara blurts out and immediately slaps his palms over his mouth, shaking his head and mumbling what Tobirama supposes is a much-needed clarification. He realizes the inherent stupidity of that action soon enough, drops his hands and shouts, “That’s not what I meant, godsdammit!”

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Chapter 6

“May I—” Tobirama starts.

It takes every ounce of Tobirama’s self-restraint to keep himself from smiling and instead give Madara his most unimpressed stare.

“Don’t look at me like that!” Madara shrieks, all but vibrating with fury. “Shut up!”

“I have yet to say anything,” Tobirama says, “while you’re the one waking up your neighbors.” And Izuna, probably, Tobirama supposes, dreading the moment he’ll have to endure his friend’s reaction to this mess.

“You’re talking now,” Madara growls, then manages to take one full breath and hopefully gather his thoughts before speaking, for once.

“What I meant—” Madara tries to clarify, at the same moment Tobirama decides he might as well get another laugh out of this, and says, “You want a stable sex life, yes, and we’ve established that it’s a little too soon for that, have we not?”

“Godsdamn you, Senju!”

This time, Madara is definitely pissed off enough to disturb the koi again and launch hurl another stream of water Tobirama’s way. This time, though, Tobirama shifts to dodge it easily enough.

The water trickles back into the pond as Madara glares murder at him, and Tobirama doesn’t bother to hide his grin.

“I couldn’t resist.” Really, it’s immensely satisfying to watch Madara make a fool of himself, soulmate or not. But because Tobirama doesn’t consider himself a complete lost cause when it comes to politeness, he says, “I’m sorry. What did you mean to say?”

“See if I tell you now, dumbass.”

Tobirama doesn’t avoid the unnecessarily hard punch to his arm, chuckling as Madara huffs and stalks off towards his house, shoulders stiff and head held high.

Tobirama waits.

He’s seen enough of such petulance from Hashirama to know what’s going to happen next. He’s fairly sure he can even time it.

Predictably, Madara stops in his tracks before he barrages through the front door. He slowly turns back to Tobirama, frown and pout in place, looking much like a disappointed child.

“You’re not leaving?”

“Not without giving my soulmate a proper goodbye, of course,” Tobirama teases, echoing Madara’s words from before, and—well. Madara definitely blushes this time. That’s an intriguing point to keep in mind.

“You are so fucking infuriating, Senju,” Madara snarls. “Idiot.” He runs a hand through his hair, releasing another put-upon sigh before gritting out his poor excuse for a response. “I meant that you could…” Madara runs a hand through the hair shrouding his face, managing to only make it messier. “If you want—like, fuck… you know.”

He makes a quick, incomprehensible gesture with his hands and falls silent.

What a disaster.

“I don’t, in fact, know,” Tobirama prods.

He takes the few steps towards where Madara is shuffling on his porch and still blushing furiously, staring intently at the ground. Tobirama does actually have an idea of what Madara is getting at, but he’d like to hear it from the man himself.

After all, if Madara is supposed to be his soulmate, he’d better get a grip of his eloquence at some point, because Tobirama is not willing to spend the rest of his life stuck with a literal child.

“If you,” Madara continues, fidgeting with his hands now, “wanted to—stay and help with—because the pain and I—and you feel okay when we—touch—hugging. Ugh. Whatever.”

“What you mean to ask,” Tobirama finally takes pity on him, “is whether I’ll stay for… a sleepover? So I can help with the pain you’re feeling?”

Madara’s whole body droops in a perfect imitation of Hashirama’s ‘depressive’ episodes. “Yes.”

He’s bent his head so far down all Tobirama sees in front of him is the spiky black mess that is his hair. It looks coarse and tangled, but Tobirama remembers how soft it felt, a part of him wishing he could touch it again.

Tobirama shakes his head at the strange thought. Another side effect of the bond, probably.

“I’d like that,” Tobirama says, softening his smile as Madara’s eyes snap to his.

“You would?” he asks in a high-pitched voice. “I mean. Okay. Oh. Right. I mean of course you would.” Madara flinches. “I didn’t mean to say that last part either. Shut up.”

“Do you have no filter whatsoever,” Tobirama asks, incredulous, “between what you think and what comes out of your mouth?”

“Shut. Up.”

Tobirama huffs out a laugh and raises his hands in surrender.

Without another word (but with enough jumbled grumbling under his breath about ‘stupid Senjus’ to make himself resemble a cranky elder) Madara grabs Tobirama by the collar and hauls him into his house, waving his hand at the space in lieu of a welcome.

It’s a much more lived in home compared to Tobirama’s, hints of a clumsy presence all over the place. What Tobirama can see of the kitchen from here is an ungodly mess, and he glimpses a grand fireplace in the living room he’d have loved to curl up to, normally, if not for the sweltering heat of his current chakra. The walls are covered with paintings of Izuna and people who are probably the rest of Madara’s family, of landscapes familiar to Tobirama only from his brief and rare forays onto the Uchiha’s former territory. He wonders if the paintings are Madara’s own, and a love for art is another thing they share in common.

Tobirama would ask now, if the silence they’d found themselves in wasn’t beyond awkward.

“So.” Madara fidgets again, staring at Tobirama expectantly. “Get ready for bed?”

Tobirama shrugs. “That is what you invited me for.”

Madara gives him an annoyed look for some reason; Tobirama supposes he’ll have to get used to those. He has a fleeting urge to mention that he’d wanted to propose the same arrangement for the night, to make Madara more at ease—but the admission feels too vulnerable, frightening even, and so he stays silent, watching Madara flit about bringing him extra clothes and a toothbrush.

Another amusing tendency of Madara’s is his pushy attitude when he’s nervous; he practically shoves Tobirama into the bathroom, ordering him to get ready. Tobirama reins in his teasing this time but can’t help but groan as he unfolds the sleeping yukata Madara’s offered him, the all too familiar uchiwa sown onto its back.

“Don’t you have any clothes without this accursed thing?” he asks, wondering if it’s really worth changing from his rumpled attire.

“Nope,” Madara answers cheerfully. “Deal with it, Senju.”

Tobirama makes a note to ask Mito, when she comes back from her travels, how to deal with a soulmate who’s a constant pain in the ass.

Large amounts of ice-cold water do nothing to quell the scorching fire in his coils, so Tobirama gives up soon enough. Stalling is another thing he isn’t used to but catches himself doing quite a lot of it in hopes of derailing the moment he has to get into bed next to—Madara.

Madara Uchiha.

His soulmate.

It still seems like something out of a lurid dream, if not a nightmare.

They find themselves lying down shoulder to shoulder, staring silently at the ceiling, neither of them willing to break the awkward silence or fall asleep.

Tobirama sighs.

“I have an idea for a seal that can help you deal with the pain while you’re learning to control my chakra.” He intended to say something completely different, like comment on the fact that they’ve ended up lying on top of the covers even though Madara obviously feels cold, but his own nervousness gets the better of him. “A matrix that’s a bit challenging, but if I use the same principles used for chakra masking, only to tune it down to a more comfortable—”

“Senju.”

“Hm?”

Tobirama glances to the side to see Madara frowning at him, seeming genuinely concerned.

“I’ve been in pain all day, but you, too, look like death warmed over,” he says, moving to lie on his side and curling his hand over Tobirama’s forearm. “Think about it tomorrow.”

“But—”

“Tomorrow.”

Tobirama rolls his eyes but relents, allowing himself to relax as much as he can, still lying on his back as Madara curls next to him. He casts his usual jutsu to adjust his dreams for the night, then carefully, slowly channels some of his chakra outward, hopefully enough to keep Madara warm, and judging by his contented sigh, it does the job.

It’s a testament to how exhausted Tobirama feels that sleep overtakes him almost instantly after he closes his eyes, the soft, pleasant thrum of their intertwining chakra a comforting, grounding force.

He doesn’t know if he imagines the soft ‘Thank you’ whispered so quietly he can barely hear it, but regardless, he falls asleep with a smile on his face.

End of Arc I: Truce

Arc II on tumblr

#madatobi #choose your own adventure #madara uchiha #tobirama senju #soulmate au #lou writes

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robininthelabyrinth · 5 years

Text

Fic: Lonely, Dark and Deep - ao3 link - Chapter 2

Fandom: Naruto Pairing: Madara/Tobirama, background others Summary:

Hashirama was always going to have to leave Konoha behind one day, but no one was expecting for it to happen so soon.

Tobirama falls apart without his brother.

Madara, mad and bitter and preparing to leave himself, finds that he's now without his best friend and responsible for a village he'd just about given up on.

And now it seems like there's something not quite right with the forest...

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Madara knows exactly how he missed it.

He wasn't looking.

He was consumed by his anger, by his grief, seeing the Izuna-that-could-have-been in every corner of the village. Shopping at the brand new market in the center of town, trying out all the new restaurants that were opening up, flirting outrageously with all the women and some of the men, sitting on the field with a lover and watching the fireworks that marked the anniversary of the founding of the village -

This village is everything he dreamed of as a child, but his brother's death makes it all taste of ash.

Pointless. Pointless! He’s betraying Izuna's final wishes every minute he stays, they all are, every Uchiha every minute their clan submits itself to Senju rule.

But his clan doesn't listen to him anymore.

(Warmonger, they whisper, thinking he wants to go back to the way it was before, children dying out on frontlines where they don’t belong. Eye-stealer, like he would ever.)

The stone tablet showed him another way, though, a better way, a way to make the world peaceful for good. If it causes some death along the way – he doesn't want to think about that. He doesn’t want to think of how much destruction this path will cause, how much betrayal and devastation.

Maybe if the village had chosen him over Hashirama and his empty dreams of peace through love, there could have been another way – but no.

The tablet offers the only real way forward.

It’s what Izuna would have wanted, he tells himself, and he believes it, too.

Every time before, when his rage threatened to overcome him, Hashirama always seemed to know to come by: some new task that needed to be done, some distraction, something wonderful to show him in their growing village. But this time, Hashirama didn’t come.

Even Hashirama’s given up on me, Madara remembers thinking, wild and bitter. Let him stay in his village with its fake peace, then – but I won’t be here. I won’t be deceived.

He’d settled on leaving at the end of the week and set about putting his affairs in order – he’d expected that to cause Hashirama to come running, but he hadn’t. Madara could have just left then, probably should have, but some little part of him that is still a child skipping stones by the riverbank can’t imagine leaving without giving Hashirama one last chance to convince him to stay.

When Hashirama still does not come, Madara goes to find him.

What he finds –

Tobirama is crying.

That’s the first thing he remembers – the first really clear image in weeks, to be honest, even months, in all the time that has passed ever since Izuna died – a shock like a kunai plunged directly his heart, shock so strong that it penetrates even the fog of grief and rage that always surrounds him now.

Tobirama never cries.

Previously, if asked, Madara would have said he wasn’t even sure the man could. As far as Madara knew, the man hadn’t even cried as a child, not even at the deaths of his own brothers: soulless and heartless, existing but not living, an automaton that mocked Madara by continuing to breathe when vibrant, exuberant Izuna did not.

But doubts aside, Madara cannot deny what his eyes are seeing: Tobirama is crying.

And he isn’t crying the way Madara would have imagined Tobirama might cry, to the extent he’d thought of it: something all stoic and dignified and maybe a single tear glistening on his cheek for half a second before he wiped it away and buried his pain.

No, this is ugly – Tobirama is on his knees, curled over on himself, his shoulders heaving and tears streaming down his face, mouth agape with silent screams of agony.

“Have you been poisoned?” Madara demands, alarmed, horrified; it’s one thing to demand the man’s death, knowing that Hashirama would never agree – another thing entirely to watch him die right there in front of him by some hand other than his own, robbing Hashirama of his last brother the way Madara was robbed. Whatever their differences, whatever betrayal Madara has planned for the future, Hashirama is still too dear to Madara for him to wish such a fate on him. “You need a healer –”

Tobirama shakes his head.

“A jutsu, then?” Madara asks, immediately thinking about what jutsu-breakers he knows, and about the strategic vulnerability such an attack presents to the village – if someone had a jutsu that could take out Tobirama in the middle of Konoha, they were all at risk, every one of them. “Some sort of long-distance torture –”

“No,” Tobirama says, his voice raspy and wet. “Nothing like that.”

Madara stares at him. “Then what…?”

“Hashirama is gone.”

That’s when Madara sees the hat Tobirama is bent over, wrapping his body around it as if he’s trying futilely to protect it even as the pressure of his fingers cause furrows to run through it.

The ridiculous, stupid hat that somehow everyone had decided signified the position of Hokage.

Hashirama’s hat.

Hashirama –

“Gone?” he says faintly, and he finds suddenly that he’s sitting on the floor when a second ago he’d been standing.

It cannot be true. It cannot be.

Hashirama – he’d seen him just the day before, walking through the village with that strange new distant look in his eyes. He’d been fine. How could he be gone?

(Losing Izuna had destroyed the foundation of Madara’s life – but somehow Madara’d never even considered the possibility of losing Hashirama, not to anything but his own hand. They were best friends, they were mortal enemies, they were the possibility of something more, some deep and fundamental binding together of their very souls, but they were above all else each other’s.)

Tobirama nods mutely, as if in saying that much he’d used up whatever store of words he had, and goes back to crying. Here are the tears Madara couldn’t shed for Izuna, frozen in grief as he has been, and all the ones Tobirama hadn’t shed for his younger brothers, too.

All of them are here, now, the sobs ripping their way through Tobirama’s body and it must be true, then, what he says, but Madara still can’t believe it.

“How?” he asks, even though he doesn’t really want to know. The thought of Hashirama, brilliant powerful Hashirama, dead – a thousand images pulled from a thousand battlefields spring into Madara’s mind at once, Hashirama’s lips bloody from the last rasp of breath, face bloated from drowning, body charred to ashes from fire or lightning, fingers ripped apart from trying to dig his way to the surface for air…so many ways to die.

All of it meaningless. In the end the result is the same: Hashirama, dead.

Hashirama, dead.

That’s when the anger steals in underneath the grief.

“No,” Madara says, because the how is unimportant. What matters is – “Who?”

Tell me who to blame, he means, tell me I can get revenge, tell me I can make this better by hurting whoever hurt him – but Tobirama is already shaking his head.

“Peace,” he says, trying to use his sleeve to wipe at his eyes, a fairly futile endeavor. “His peace. Your peace. That’s all.”

Madara frowns, confusing mixing with the anger, staying his always far-too-ready hand. “What? What are you talking about?”

He can’t have heard that right.

Tobirama laughs, sharp and jagged and sounding like it hurt him to do. “You Uchiha,” he says. “You and your curse of hatred, your Sharingan born of pain…did it never occur to you that the Senju have a flaw, too?”

It hadn’t. Not once.

“Everyone knows the Uchiha love too much, too selfishly,” Tobirama says, his lips pulled back into a snarl that’s more of a grimace of pain than anything else. “Well, we Senju have the opposite problem.”

“What, you love the whole world, and it’s a problem?” Madara sneers.

“Yes, it’s a problem!” Tobirama spits back at him. “Hashirama forgets he has children because his village, his peace, is more important to him. My father put defeating the Uchiha above everything – he went to battle the day after my mother died, just because it would give our side the slightest additional advantage in positioning.”

Madara knows this to be true, and it’s always puzzled him. Putting Butsuma aside, how could Hashirama, who loves so strongly, be so neglectful?

Tobirama shakes his head at Madara’s confusion. “You really don’t know, do you?” he asks, his shoulders sagging. “You Uchiha have love. We Senju have principles – one principle for each person, a thousand or more to choose from, but from that principle we do not bend lest we break, and our minds doom us as surely as your hearts do you.”

Madara opens his mouth, then closes it. He’s never thought – that makes no sense – but it does.

It actually does make sense, in a sick sort of way.

No wonder Butsuma barely batted an eye when Hashirama declared himself willing to oppose his own clan over the question of peace, for all his rage that his son was consorting with Madara in the first place. It had been as if Hashirama’s blasphemous choice hadn’t really surprised him, and as far as Madara knew Hashirama had never suffered any serious consequences for making it – not the way Madara would have, if he’d chosen the same.

So many stories, over the years, all now explained –

Senju inexplicably making last stands when no sacrifice really seemed to be called for.

Senju fighting like demons possessed, unwilling to ever yield, for no apparent reason.

Senju who terrified even the Uchiha with the extent to which they would seek revenge not for a beloved person, which was something that every Uchiha could understand, but simply for a cause…

Madara opens his mouth to ask what Tobirama’s principle is, but – he knows.

Tobirama, ever the odd duckling of his family, devoted his life to that most un-Senju of principles, a goal more properly fit for an Uchiha: the happiness of his brothers.

No wonder he couldn’t forgive the Uchiha for his younger brother’s death, even if that too-logical mind of his agreed to give up revenge in favor of working with them for the greater good that was Hashirama’s dream of a peaceful and unified village.

No wonder he didn’t trust them – he’s too much like them. He knows how they feel, how they grieve, how they rage. In his position, Madara wouldn’t trust his clan either – there’s a reason they usually kill people who end up like Madara is now.

This is the first time it’s occurred to Madara to wonder why they haven’t.

Tobirama has no brothers left, now. Just like Madara.

“What happened?” Madara asks, suddenly desperate to know. “What happened to Hashirama?”

Tobirama’s shoulders move, a pale imitation of his usual caustic shrug. “He has the Mokuton,” he says. “It’s – it’s like your Sharingan, like your Mangekyo, only much, much less common. It’s not necessary, we all suffer from our principles regardless, but having it makes the effects of it far worse. Hashirama had it worst of all.”

“But Hashirama’s principle is the village,” Madara says, still stubborn. “Even if Hashirama was willing to devote everything to it –”

And he was, Madara knew he was: he would kill Madara for it, if it came to that –

No. Not just that.

That isn’t the truest measure of Hashirama’s devotion, killing Madara, not the way he thought it’d be – now that he can think clearly, though, he knows what is.

Hashirama – he would even have killed Tobirama for the village, wouldn’t he?

When Madara, maddened by Izuna’s death, had demanded Hashirama kill Tobirama or himself as the price of peace between them, Hashirama had only thanked him for offering him the option.

Madara had thought that was because Hashirama trusted Madara not to make him pay the price, that he wanted to demonstrate that he, too, loved his brother – and even if he thought Madara did mean it, it was an easy choice, really; the same choice Madara would have made, the same choice any Uchiha would make. Now for the first time it occurs to him that perhaps Hashirama had thanked him not because of that, but rather because if Madara hadn’t given him the choice, if Madara had set the price of peace as Tobirama’s blood or nothing, Hashirama would have –

He would have –

(Tobirama had been afraid, when Madara had named his price. The knuckles of the fingers wrapped around his sword had been white, Madara’s Sharingan reminds him, and he’d been so afraid – afraid, yes, but strangely resigned, too. He’d asked if Hashirama would kill him for the sake of his village, for Madara’s sake. And if Hashirama hadn’t loved his brother just a little bit more than he loved himself, he might have done it.)

Madara shakes his head to try to banish the trembling of his heart and continues. “Even if Hashirama was willing to give up everything for the village, why would that kill him? How?”

“Because Hashirama’s principle isn’t a village,” Tobirama says. “It’s peace. The Mokuton…the old legends of the Senju say that for all that we’re a clan without a single limit, the thousand talents, the very first one we ever had was the Mokuton, a gift from the forest. They say that every few generations, we’re gifted again: the forest will lend someone its strength to fight for what they believe in, but it’s a loan. If that person dies in battle, their body is returned to the forest as tribute. If they don’t die, if they live long enough to see their dream fulfilled…it takes them back.”

Madara doesn’t like the sound of that.

“What happened to Hashirama?” he demands again, seized by a sudden fear. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

#senju hashirama #senju tobirama #uchiha madara #my fic #lonely dark and deep

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