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“Please, Dad? Please?” Obito looks up at him, hands clasped together and wide puppy-dog eyes eerily similar to Hashirama. “You said I could do whatever I wanted—”
“Within reason,” Madara reminds him, arranging the rice balls in his bento.
“—for my birthday and an amusement park is within reason,” he switches to a pout, lower-lip jutting out and that’s eerily similar to Hashirama too. “Come on, Asuma’s dad took him for his birthday. Are you telling me you’re not as cool as Asuma’s dad?”
“You need to work on your emotional manipulation. The day I feel inferior to Sarutobi Hiruzen is the day I deserve too,” Madara picks up a pair of tweezers and starts to arrange the seaweed faces: happy rice balls, angry rice balls, sad rice balls. He had ten years on Hiruzen but the man aged like milk. Not even thirty and he had deep wrinkles and lines around his eyes and his bones creaked every time he moved. He was one of Tobirama’s lawyers and Madara had the displeasure of seeing him every time he went to the DA’s office to yell at his brother-in-law.
“Yeah, Pops said that one wouldn’t work,” Obito mutters under his breath, resting his chin on the breakfast bar.
“Probably should have listened to him.” Madara finishes the faces and adds in little octopus-shaped sausages and fruit slices arranged by color. He snaps the lid on the box and tapes Hashirama’s thick rolled-up note he wrote before his morning shift at the hospital on top.
“You’re always telling me to seize the day, so I tried.”
“I’ve also told you to learn to pick your battles. Now go get your backpack, you’re going to be late for school,” Madara shoos him away and Obito scampers off. Madara finishes packing his lunch, putting the bento and two juice boxes in his limited-edition Ultimate Ninja Elite!! lunchbox that he begged and cried for until Madara stood out in the pouring rain for six hours to get one of the damn things.
Obito races out of his room, tugging the zipper closed as he goes so the papers don’t spill out. Madara’s already waiting by the door, coat, scarf, and hat in hand. Obito skids to a stop in front of him, shuffling his backpack around so he can put on the coat.
“Not so fast,” Madara grabs him by the handle as he tries to slip past. He slides on the knitted hat with a huge white pom-pom on top. Hashirama had gotten all three of them the same one for Christmas so they could match. Obito glowers up at him, pom-pom flopping in his face, but Madara doesn’t budge. He tugs it down over his ears and then loops the scarf around his neck.
“It’s just a short walk, Dad. You’re going to make me overheat and then I’ll collapse in the middle of the street. How will I ever be able to look Kakashi or Rin in the eyes again after that?”
“Somehow I think you’ll manage,” Madara tightens the scarf and tucks the ends into his coat. It only takes a few minutes of watching the street until he can see Kakashi and Rin come trudging down the sidewalk. It snowed last week, but the sidewalks are still clear and covered in salt. “Alright, I see them. Have a good day,” Madara reaches down to hug him and Obito squeezes him tightly back. He kisses his son’s forehead and with one last wave watches him bound down the porch steps, out to meet his friends. Madara watches them from the door until they walk around the street corner and he loses sight of them.
He spends the rest of his morning tidying up around the house until it’s time for work. He gets down to the station and is immediately assaulted by five of his cousins with complaints that range from somebody, Hikaku, broke the watercooler to someone, Naori, lit a fire in the break room again but it’s all under control now.
Madara barely sits down at his desk before Izuna barges in, uniform eschew and badge missing to tell him someone, Fugaku, brought in his youngest, Sasuke, and the baby was spitting up on people, Izuna, and wailing at the top of his lungs. So at least the screeching isn’t the fire alarm after all.
He nods and hums along as Izuna rants, tuning him out as a kind of white-noise machine as he starts on his paperwork for the day. About an hour in Mikoto, who’s still supposed to be on maternity leave, pokes her head into the office to apologize, screaming red-faced baby in hand.
Madara waves her off and finally kicks Izuna out of his office, nursing his first headache of the day. He works until lunch and then everyone and their fucking mother decides to ask him to pick up their orders from the local deli as he’s slipping on his coat to walk out the door. On the way back, he makes a small detour, stopping by the DA’s office to yell at Tobirama for some much-needed relaxation.
Refreshed, he returns to the station to hand out lunch and lock himself in his office. There are five locks on the door and a heavy deadbolt on top. It’ll keep them out for a few hours…hopefully.
It doesn’t and Madara opts for his second-best option, completely ignoring any and all insanity that comes barreling through his office.
He only looks up when he smells smoke and yells for someone to take all the damn matches away from Naori.
After the usual exhausting day at work, he heads home, nursing his third headache of the day. Madara slips off his shoes at the door and collapses on the couch next to Obito, who absently curls into his side, eyes fixated on the cartoon playing on TV.
“Did you have a good day at work?” Hashirama asks, stepping out of the kitchen with a tea towel thrown over his shoulder. He’s making dinner, curry by the smell, and Madara’s stomach rumbles.
“What do you think? All those fu—” Hashirama gives him a look, eyes darting pointedly to Obito, “—bastards constantly giving me headaches. It’s a miracle anything gets done.”
“That’s only slightly better, Madara,” he sighs, swatting him lightly with the tea towel before leaning in to lightly peck him on the lips.
“Tch, he didn’t even hear, did you Obito?” Madara taps his shoulder and the boy jumps, looking up at them with wide black eyes.
“Huh? What? Is dinner done?”
Hashirama rolls his eyes as Madara smirks before he calls them into the dining room to eat. After, they curl back up on the couch, Obito sitting between him and Hashirama. Madara reads while Hashirama changes the channel to a gardening show he and Obito watch religiously. Obito barely finishes two episodes, out like a light at nine.
Once they have him in bed, Hashirama tugs Madara to their room with a wink and a promise to help him relax after his long day. It does. Madara feels strung out and loose, head on Hashirama’s sweaty naked chest with the light covers twisted around their hips.
Hashirama runs one hand through Madara’s hair, careful not to tangle the strands.
“So, what do you want?” Madara asks, nuzzling into Hashirama’s neck and lightly kissing the bruise he just left. He feels the hand pause in his hair before continuing.
“What? I don’t know—”
“You think I can’t tell when my own husband and son are up to something? This is about Obito’s birthday and that damn amusement park, isn’t it?” Obito wasn’t whining about it when he got home, which was immediately suspicious. Hashirama hadn’t whined at him throughout dinner either, both of them trying to sway him with the combined force of puppy-dog eyes and pouts. Madara’s still relaxed, the irritation is only a faint ping that he can easily ignore because, if nothing else, Hashirama is a very good lover.
“…Obito did ask me to try and convince you when I picked him up from school today,” Hashirama sighs and Madara smirks at his little victory, “I just don’t understand why you’re so opposed to the idea.”
“It’s February, nothing is open and if it was there’s fucking snow and ice on the ground. He’s ten, he couldn’t ride half the big rollercoasters he’d want to and it’d upset him. He’s going to want us to ride with him and you get horribly motion sick. And the biggest reason of all: amusement parks are filled with nothing but snot-nosed kids who don’t wash their hands and then touch everything. It’s a breeding ground for germs, I know he’s going to come down with something the day after.” Madara lists off, nipping at Hashirama’s neck. He’s not worked up, yet, but the irritation is definitely interrupting his post-coital bliss.
“We can wait until summer, there are still plenty of rides he can go on, I never actually throw up, and we can bring an entire thing of wet wipes and hand sanitizer,” Hashirama argues, tugging lightly on his hair. If he were in his twenties the tug would have him crawling over Hashirama, but he’s forty-one now and it seems like too much work.
“You’re a fucking nurse, Hashirama. You of all people should know how disgusting little brats can be.”
“Yes, but you can’t keep Obito locked up in a sanitized bubble forever,” Hashirama kisses the top of his head.
“I can try…” Madara mutters, just to be obstinate. It’s not that he doesn’t want Obito to have fun, even if Madara personally thought an amusement park, even without children, sounded terrible. It’d be hot, almost no cover for the sun, completely overpriced, and full of long lines. But when he looks at Obito, sometimes he sees his younger brothers and he’s terrified something out of his control will take his son away like the car crash that took everyone but Izuna.
“True, but that’s how you get an insufferably rebellious teenager. I’ve already lived through adolescence once, I’d rather not have to raise that version of me,” Hashirama shudders and Madara can’t help but privately agree. He and Hashirama did so much dumb shit as teenagers they should have been dead three times over at least, the thought of Obito even doing a quarter of that…
“You’re saying I’m too strict with him.”
“I’m saying I know you’re doing your best to protect him but he won’t until it’s too late,” Hashirama’s hand slips down to his neck, his thumb rubbing gentle circles in Madara’s skin.
“I’ll think about it.”
Hashirama hums, kisses the top of his head again, and pulls the covers over them.
In the end, Madara gives in. He buys electronic tickets for the week after Obito’s summer session ends and gives the confirmation paper to him for his birthday. Obito, unsurprisingly, is ecstatic. He barely opens the small carefully wrapped package before he’s up on his feet, clinging to Madara’s waist and bawling. Obito clings like a little leech and it takes nearly ten minutes to get him to back away and open the rest of his presents.
It feels like every day he mentions how excited he is to visit the Golden Yen City and brags endlessly to an unimpressed Kakashi and a dutiful Rin about the trip and how cool it’s going to be and how he’s going to ride all the rides and get a bag of cotton candy bigger than his torso. Hashirama rubs comforting circles on Madara’s back while he tries not to imagine the stomach aches and cavities that’d cause.
On the day of their trip, Obito comes crashing into his and Hashirama’s bedroom at five in the morning. He jumps on their bed, one pointy elbow jabbing into Madara’s kidney while Hashirama gets a knee to the chest as Obito scrambles to get closer to them.
“Wake up! Today’s the day!” He yanks on Madara’s shoulder, trying to get him to flip onto his back. Half-awake, he reaches up and pushes Obito until he topples onto Hashirama, before burying his head under the pillow. God, he hates mornings. “Pops! Pops wake up, we got to—”
“Shh, buddy it’s five,” Hashirama yawns, “fifteen. Golden Yen City doesn’t open until ten. We have plenty—”
“I want to be first in line so we have the entire day!” Obito interrupts. The bed starts to move and Madara can only imagine he’s shaking Hashirama. “Dad’s gonna take forever to get ready so we have to start early!” Madara blindly reaches up towards the headboard to grab one of Hashirama’s ridiculous throw pillows and awkwardly whacks Obito with it.
With a heavy sigh, Hashirama gets up and mercifully takes their son with him. Madara drifts back to sleep until the smell of coffee and Hashirama running his hand down his back wakes him.
“He’s hellbent on it, Madara.” The smell of rich coffee gets stronger and, reluctantly, he peeks his head out from under the pillow. Hashirama has one of his favorite oversized coffee mugs in hand. The clock reads six-thirty and he’s already showered and dressed for the day.
The sight is almost enough to make him want to bury his head back under the pillow. Hashirama’s hair is up in a bun and he has on a Hawaiian shirt that Izuna got him as a gag but he unironically loves. He’s wearing khaki shorts and an extra-large red fanny pack around his waist. And Madara knows, with terrible certainty in his heart, if he looked down at his feet, he’d see socks and sandals.
But Hashirama’s not playing fair. He broke out the fancy imported coffee beans and if Madara goes back to sleep now it’ll go cold and that’ll be a waste. With a half-hearted glare, he sits up and reaches for the mug.
It still takes him nearly two hours to get ready. He stands motionless in the shower under blistering hot water for at least half of that, his hair carefully pulled up and stuffed under a shower cap. When he finally heads into the kitchen and collapses at the table, Hashirama sets a plate of breakfast and a second cup of coffee in front of him.
“Are you seriously going to wear that to the park?”
“You have no room to judge what I’m wearing,” Madara mutters, pointing his chopsticks at Hashirama as he takes his own seat and Obito comes barreling into the dining room, with an armful of papers.
“It’s July and you’re wearing a leather jacket and black jeans. You’re going to get heatstroke,” Hashirama scolds.
“Alright here’s the plan!” Obito dumps his papers on the table. A dozen of them are taped together to form a blurry, blown-up map of the Golden Yen City. God, Hashirama let him use the printer. Madara mentally adds ink to the list of things he’ll need to pick up at the store tomorrow. There are ride names circled in red and Obito’s sloppy ten-year-old handwriting next to it. He slides a handwritten sheet to Madara. It’s a schedule, with rides listed in thirty-minute intervals, an afternoon break for lunch, more rides, a snack break, more rides, and then shopping before they leave. It’ll be a miracle if they manage all of it or, more likely if Obito and Hashirama don’t get distracted by something first.
They bundle up into the car but only after Hashirama slathers sunscreen all over Obito and makes Madara take off his jacket so he can do the same to him. As ridiculous as the fanny pack is, Madara will reluctantly admit it’s useful and he makes sure Hashirama puts in an entire thing of wet wipes and a good-sized bottle of hand sanitizer before they leave.
Golden Yen City ends up being every nightmare he ever thought it’d be. Madara’s barely parked the car before he can hear screaming children and the thundering tracks of a roller coaster. It’s only 10:05. Hashirama slips him a bottle of water and two painkillers as they stand in line to enter the park. A little girl no older than eight sneezes next to him and Hashirama’s hand clamps down on his before he can drag Obito away back to the car.
“This is going to be so cool!” Obito looks back at him and grins, and Madara does his best to focus on him.
Once they enter the park, Obito’s grand plan immediately goes up in smoke. He doesn’t get fifty feet past the gate when he sees an open-air pop-up store selling Ultimate Ninja Elite!! merchandize and he takes off running towards it.
“Think we’ll have to take out a second mortgage?” Madara asks Hashirama dryly, watching as Obito darts around the little set-up shop, hands reaching out to grab shirts and toys.
“Dad! Pops! Look they have the super rare Aradam and Amarihsah team-up figures. They’re always sold ou—” Obito rounds around one of the racks and runs face-first into a stranger’s back. Madara squeezes Hashirama’s hand before letting go. He steps forward to apologize to the stranger and pull Obito away, when he turns and Madara, unfortunately, recognizes him.
“Danzo,” he glances around and there is a strange little boy with black hair, yellow eyes, and a creepy smile close enough to be with him, “I didn’t know anyone would let you look after a child.”
The other man scoffs, cold dark eye narrowed in a glare. “I could say the same for you, Uchiha. The orphanage must have been desperate—”
“—alright! Nice to see you Danzo, but we have to go!” Hashirama interrupts, tugging on his shoulder before Madara can swing at the bastard. Obito steps behind him, shrinking back until his eyes dart to the side.
“Dad look! It’s the Crystal Goggles from season four!” Obito points at a rack right next to them. There’s only one pair of goggles left and Madara can see Danzo’s hand twitch towards them. He’s faster though and he beats the other man, smirking as he picks up the cheap overpriced plastic and hands it over to Obito.
“Oops, last pair.”
Danzo sneers at him but turns away with his creepy brat. Obito picks out another shirt or two that he somehow doesn’t already own and insists on wearing the goggles immediately. Bags in hand, they continue to the actual rides in the amusement park.
Luckily Obito doesn’t actually want to go on any of the huge rollercoasters he’s most definitely too short for. Hashirama watches the clanging tracks for rides like the Lightning Cloak and Boiling Lava from a distance and already looks green. Instead, they go on smaller rides like the Spinning Teacups and the Ghostship.
Madara climbs into a hot red plastic teacup and watches Hashirama try and fold his big body next to him. He winces when the back of his legs touch the scorching hot seat and Madara feels unspeakably smug about his pants. Obito settles on his opposite side, positioned so when they started spinning, he’d fall into Madara instead of the opposite way. They strap in, tightening the black cloth belts as the attendant comes around and clicks the silver bar in place.
“How fast do you want to go?” Madara asks as he returns to the console and starts counting down.
“Fast!!” Obito grins up at him and Hashirama whimpers by his side. With a flick of a switch, the ride shudders to life. Teacups lift up into the air and drift slightly to the side. The staticky music starts to play, lights-bulbs blinking red, blue, and yellow on the main apparatus.
They start to spin, Madara and Obito lean forward to grab the center wheel and force them faster. Madara turns it as fast as he can as the pressure slams into him, shoving Obito up against him and him against Hashirama.
They spin and spin, Madara forcing himself to keep turning the wheel as Obito shrieks with laughter next to him and Hashirama does his best not to throw up. After a few minutes, the ride shudders to a stop and the metal gate on the teacup slides up with a hiss. Madara’s head swims as he reaches down to unbuckle himself and help Obito with his.
Obito scrambles out of the teacup, swaying back and forth with a shout that the pirate ship should be next. Hashirama is still collapsed next to him and Madara reaches over to help unbuckle him too and pull him out. They stumble away, one of Hashirama’s arms draped over Madara’s shoulders and one of his hands around Hashirmaa’s waist while he carries their bags in the other.
Obito stops at the gate where the rest of the passengers are filling out and the attendant is waving new ones in.
“Pops? Are you going to be okay?”
“Y-yeah, I just get dizzy and sick easily.”
“You need to sit down? Are you going to throw up?” Obito asks as Madara awkwardly shifts, straining to unzip Hashirama’s fanny pack and pull out the pack of wet wipes.
“No, no. I never throw up, just feel like I will,” Hashirama gives him a woozy smile and Madara finally gets the wet wipes out and hands Obito one.
“Here, now don’t touch your face,” Madara pulls out another for him and Hashirama and after watching and making sure Obito wiped his hands down thoroughly, they continue on to the pirate ship. This one at least only sways back and forth like a giant swing, so there’s no twisting motion that makes Hashirama so ill.
He looks nearly peaceful next to Madara, if a bit squeezed into his seat. The metal harness barely fit over his broad chest until a flustered attendant finally shoved it down and got it locked into place.
After the pirate ship, and more wet wipes, they wait in line for a few of the smaller child-friendly rollercoasters before going to the petting zoo. It takes all of Madara’s willpower to not grab Obito and douse him in hand sanitizer when other kids crowd around him and the goats start licking at their hands. When he’s finished, and covered in enough alcohol-based products to get even Hashirama drunk, they wander through the quieter section of the park, looking at the wares the artisans are selling, buy a small pretzel to share, and sit down to catch the tail act of some little play on a stage. Once it’s finished Obito wants to do all of the rides again, but this time when it comes to the teacups Hashirama sits on a bench and waves to them as they spin around.
When it’s a little past three they finally stop for lunch at one of the ridiculously overpriced restaurants. Madara complains, loudly, about paying thirty-five dollars for a single fucking burger but Hashirama forks over their debit card when the server comes with their check. By the time they finish lunch and get dipin-dots from a vending machine that Hashirama insists he has to have, Obito is flagging.
Madara was already worried that he’d get sick if he went on any more rides after he ate a full meal, but he can barely keep his eyes open when they start walking again. His enthusiasm hasn’t drained a bit so he’ll go from chatting excitedly about what he wants to do next or the latest thing he’s challenged Kakashi to do, when all of a sudden, he’ll stop and nearly trip over his own two feet before he’s up against and chatting. Madara takes one of his hands, and Hashirama the other, so when he drops they can pull him up before he actually falls and eats it on the asphalt.
“Hey buddy, you want to head to the gift shop before we head home?” Hashirama asks, crouching down to brush Obito’s hair back from his forehead when he nearly drops for the fifth time in less than a minute.
“What? Why’re we leavin’?” He blinks sleepily, tugging his hand free of Madara’s to try and rub at his eyes, only to bump into the goggles. With a grumble, he slips them off his face and Madara puts them in a bag.
“You’re about to fall asleep on your feet, Obito,” Madara says watching as he sways back and forth, before leaning heavily on Hashirama’s shoulder.
“Am not…” He yawns and after a moment starts to snore lightly. Madara meets Hashirama’s eyes as he smiles and picks Obito up with ease.
“I’m not surprised with how excited he was and how early he woke up this morning,” Hashirama says, reaching out to take one of Madara’s hands once he has Obito comfortably arranged. Madara hums his agreement, thankful their bank account will be spared a second hit today, third if he counts the restaurant’s high-way robbery. They’re on their way out, cheerful upbeat music, guttural coasters, and screaming kids fading behind them, when Madara sees a cart vendor selling pink and blue cotton candy on the very edge of the park.
He ignores the bags as long and thick as Hashirama’s arms and instead gets a smaller reasonable-sized one.
“He’ll be happy when he wakes up and sees that,” Hashirama smiles as Madara reaches out to slip the card back into his fanny pack. When Madara zips it shut, Hashirama leans down and gives a light peck. “See? Today wasn’t so bad. No disasters and Obito had a good time.”
“Fine, I’ll admit it. But if he so much as gets a sniffle tomorrow…”
Hashirama laughs, warm and loud. It startles Obito awake and he blinks at them with an adorably disgruntled face before reaching up to wrap both arms around Hashirama’s neck.
“Pops…I’m tryin’ to sleep,” he whines and Hashirama chokes down another laugh. Madara looks up at them, his grinning husband and tired cranky son, and smiles. Today was a good day.