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The history between the Senju and Uchiha boils down to three major components.
Heirs who have died by the others hands.
Clients who have died by the others hand.
And a sword, that was apparently stolen out of the Uchiha’s treasure room and into the hands of the Senju, who-knows-how-many hundreds of years ago.
Its power supposedly rivaled those of the Sage’s tools. It’s appearance, a bright silver blade, was said to reflect the soul of anybody who looked into it. A sword so powerfully forged that it could bring salvation to battlefields even without an experienced swordsman wielding it.
If the sword exists Tobirama has never seen it. In fact, nobody’s ever seen it, and after a thorough cleaning of the Senju treasury room, Tobirama can confidently say if it does exist, the Senju don’t have it. Instead, it’s story and its convenient nonexistence has instead served as one more piece of ammunition he handed over to Hashirama over dinner when the older man complained about the Uchiha elders and their demands for peace.
The swords new purpose was reforged into disproving there wasn’t an actual sword at all, and that the Uchiha’s transgressions against the Senju were false— in that regard anyways.
And though Tobirama would have loved to see the real sword the myth was based on, it is more than likely only a piece of metal a skilled swordsman took to his or her grave.
The sword is as real as the stories of the founders of their two clans actually being brothers and sons of the sage.
That is— not at all.
Though he’ll admit the latter makes a good story to tell to children now, post foundation of Konoha to weave union and teamwork and build a strong foundation of roots that will one day sprout into a big healthy tree.
Or whatever Hashirama likes to preach when he’s drunk.
“The elders have mentioned the sword again,” Madara mumbles, idly pushing his last dumpling around his soup bowl.
Tobirama smacks him without looking up from his book, ignoring the mention of the stupid nonexistent scrap metal.
“Don’t play with your food.”
Madara kicks his shin in retaliation and Tobirama rolls his eyes as Hashirama bats at them both for the violence— the damn hypocrite— before cheerfully stating that if the elders are bringing it up again, then they have nothing better to complain about.
Izuna snorts from his seat on the kitchen counter, “sadly tree man, you are correct.”
“It’s one of the signs that Konoha’s running smoothly”, Izuna says, mock sagely.
Tobirama scoffs but doesn’t comment, his rival turned friend isn’t wrong, not that he’ll admit it.
Madara hums neutrally finally plopping the dumpling into his mouth. He seems lost in thought before standing abruptly from his seat and--
And shoving Tobirama off the couch, practically floating over the kick Tobirama sends his way.
When Tobirama throws his book at him, Madara catches it and smirks before dumping his dishes on Izuna and bounding out the house.
Tobirama ignores Izuna’s squawking and Hashirama’s mumblings of why-are-you-two-like-this as he gives chase.
It’s not a thing for him and Madara to be violent with each other it’s just a game. A slightly violent past time that usually concurs property damage. The fact that Madara is taking it outside means Hashirama should be instead glad he’s not going to have rebuild any more of his house.
To his later dismay, he forgets all about the sword.
He chases Madara into the forest, the shadows deepening as the sun sets, making the older nin blend into the darkening forest.
Tobirama has never needed his eyes to see, but there’s something about Madara that makes him track him with his eyes and not his chakra. The way his hair moves like a war banner, the way he looks over his shoulder to make sure Tobirama is still there, the way when he smiles, his cheeks dimpling and his teeth— sharp and inhuman in the dark— appear under his lips.
He can feel his own brand of happiness building under his ribs, growing as the chase goes on. It’s for fun, he tells Hashirama, their own brand of insanity that has toned down from the true need to hurt to something playful. Whatever it is, it’s for them. Theirs.
He’s startled out of a laugh when Madara takes a turn too fast and slips on moss. He slides, nearly taking out several branches and his own nose before falling— well, diving but Madara would never admit to even slipping— to the forest floor. Tobirama goes to gloat over him but instead finds himself joining when he gets too close and Madara grabs his ankle.
There’s a breathtaking second where Tobirama’s suspended midair, nothing underneath his feet, any branch to grab out of reach, and only Madara’s hand to guide his downfall. It’s trust in its truest form, and when Madara catches him and roles him to the ground, Tobirama never once doubted he would.
They laugh together as the sun sets completely, and in the dark, there’s no one there to see them kiss.
When they make it back, the moons high in the air, full and making everything shine with an opalescent glow.
Madara almost walks off to his own home, under the guise of apologizing to Izuna.
Tobirama snorts,
“You think Izuna actually left?” he snarks, “After you dumped dishes on him? He’s bitching to Hashirama and you know it.”
Madara concedes with a role of the eyes, “Whatever Senju. Lead the way.” He says like he’s not pulling Tobirama behind him.
Tobirama doesn’t respond, instead mentally plans out a thousand ways to sneak him into his bedroom later. If they don’t see Madara go in it’ll make all the more fus in the morning when he leaves from it. Hashirama will go red from embarrassment— or rage— and Izuna will likely gag.
Tobirama can feel the grin creep up on his face. It’ll be glorious, and Madara agrees if the way he stops to pull Tobirama to him to kiss the corner of his mouth is anything to go by.
There’s mirth under the freely given affection and Tobirama lets his devilish grin morph to a more genuine smile for this man he’s become so fond of.
Just a little one though.
And on the threshold of his house, he reaches out his hand because walking in the door together— sappy where the two of them definitely aren’t— is way funnier when you have brothers to torment.
It’s his plan until there’s a crash from inside the house and a curse that’s more heartfelt than anything that would be by accident.
Tobirama spins, saying fuck to propriety to crash open the sliding doors, nearly breaking the tracks. He can feel Madara’s chakra right on his heels, a reassurance they’ll handle this together.
He dodges a half-heartedly thrown kunai to make it to the main sitting room, only to find himself in the middle of another assassination attempt. And these nin actually seem to know what they’re doing.
His brother, all but invincible even on a off day, is stuck in a seal, thrashing at invisible confines whilst Izuna is cursing, pinned to the kitchen counter by three largely burly men dressed in black.
He quickly takes inventory, scanning for potential openings and what weapons are within reach. Him and Madara left in a hurry, no worries about what they would find in the forest after dinner. As for the house, Madara’s gunbai is in the other room, and all Tobirama has in reach is a butter knife laying mockingly on the floor after Izuna threw it at Hashirama earlier.
Madara snarls at his back, clearly deciding this can be solved with his fists, leaping for his little brother. He has an opening and he takes it, while Tobirama—
Tobirama is not afforded the same time to save his own kin. The seal glows threateningly gold and Tobirama sees the panic in Hashirama’s eyes as his sage marks come to his life in his defense.
Tobirama picks up the butter knife, imbues it with as much chakra as he can and chucks it like one of his marked kunai. If he’s lucky it’ll hit the assassin dead on, and Tobirama can focus his attention to the seal and how to free Hashirama from it. If he’s unlucky the assassin will live, but it might still give Tobirama the precious seconds he needs to come out on top.
The butter knife never connects. With the assassin that is.
Rather it sores through the air and hits the barrier, shattering it like it’s not clearly Uzumaki grade, freeing Hashirama faster than Tobirama ever could.
And then the assailant drops. Even as Hashirama’s roots come up to do the job, though rendered unneeded between one blink and the next.
Tobirama stares mutely at the nin in the vicinity to the knife dead body only to flinch as two others who were apparently in hiding drop dead too.
Six assassins. Three dead by Madara and Izuna behind him. Three dead by the... butter knife.
Silence keeps the room still as the founders of Konoha, feared beyond the borders of fire country, stare stupidly at a kitchen utensil.
Taking a breath, Tobirama walks over to the blunt knife, picks it up and turns it in his hand.
In the reflection he’s afforded to see a fraction of his face. The flash of a long dark red streak and matching eyes before quickly it changes into something different. The tiny knife reflects the room instead, and in it Hashirama still lays on the floor, Madara and Izuna still stand by the kitchen counter, and the dead nin still lay where they are.
Tobirama stands in the center, nothing different from how it actually is except for the fact that instead of an unassuming butter knife in his hands, lays instead a sword.
A sword that is blindingly silver, decorative and powerful, and in the pummel, nestled between intricate designs lays a carved Uchiwa, sitting proudly.
Tobirama’s brain, never slow despite the situation, quickly and silently puts together the pieces.
And Tobirama swears then and there to break Hashirama’s trust and use edo tensei. No ancestor will be safe when Tobirama finds out which one decided to melt down a mythical blade into a butter knife. He swears he’ll rip them a new one for putting him in this position.
Right after he checks the rest of this particular silverware set.
Out loud he doesn’t even know where to start to voice this particular revelation so at Madara’s questioning Tobirama? he instead he settles for a heartfelt,
“Fuck”.