Archive of Our Own

“Happiness is a direction, not a place.” – Sydney J. Harris

***

Tobirama ran. He ran faster than he ever had, his leaps higher and longer the further he went, chakra fluctuating dangerously under his feet but never erupting more than giving him the required burst of speed. The world was a blur around him. The trees that he knew by heart were quickly forgotten behind and the corners of Senju land were quickly approaching. Wind was barely a whisper in his ears as he focused on that weak pulse of his brother’s chakra, sluggish and far too low to be anything but life-threatening.

He ignored everything as his world narrowed down to that single fading star. No one knew where he was, where they would soon be; even if he had the time to turn back to get a healer more experience than him, there simply wouldn’t have been time. Tobirama himself hadn’t been at the compound, having decided to train near the waterfall midway to the borders. He had been waiting for Itama to come home, knowing that being late was a bad sign, and that Hashirama had been sent after their little brother to get him home safe just a couple of hours prior.

Tobirama sidestepped a huge boulder and changed his direction slightly. He scowled, worry furrowing his brows deeper. Sudden cold strangled his lungs as his realisation left him freezing. Itama was crawling from a direction now aligned with Hashirama’s mission. Hashirama had passed Itama and not seen him.

He had passed their brother and not seen him.

And suddenly Itama was clear in his vision and his breath was stolen away. The blood on Itama’s face was dried brown, the torn clothing more strips of fabric than anything to cover with. Itama let a noise of pain, something in him giving in the moment Tobirama appeared in front of him. Tobirama was there before he could meet the forest floor. He spiked his chakra so high and strong that there was nothing to hide it from their clan’s enemies but Tobirama didn’t care; he was only begging the retreating sun that was Hashirama to return.

Giving no more attention whether or not his message had gotten through Tobirama forced his hands to stay steady as he gathered chakra to start healing his brother’s wounds. He focused on the still-bleeding cut on Itama’s stomach and watched as the skin knitted together far too slow for his liking. He tried to force more chakra into it but immediately stopped when Itama made another pained noise.

“Bro…ther,” Itama gasped, weakly clinging to the glow that Tobirama knew was much greener for Hashirama. He cursed his gifts for lying in other directions, for not focusing more on the healing arts, for not being Hashirama. Hashirama, who didn’t even—

His bright chakra was rapidly getting closer. So were multiple more less brilliant ones but they were not carried by the same desperation that had given Tobirama his speed nor Hashirama his power.

“Conserve your strength,” Tobirama said, pressing his hand over Itama’s stomach. He was bleeding badly internally and Tobirama was in no circumstance an expert in healing them. He patched Itama up as well as he could but it was difficult; one wrong more and he could end up tearing Itama up more than he already was torn. “Hashirama will be here soon.”

“Broth—Tobi—”

“Shh,” he shushed gently, brushing the hair that was caked with blood. It was uneven as if someone had attempted to hold him steady by his hair and Itama had returned fire by cutting it short. The brown locks had bald patches in them and the half that was all white was almost unrecognisable under all the dirt. “Brother’s here. Just let me—we’ll get you home soon, they’ll—” his voice choked, seeing the cuts on Itama’s face, the eye not forced shut by the caked blood hazily fixed above Tobirama’s head. “—you will be all right. I have you, I’ll always—”

“Ma—” Itama rasped and coughed, out coming specks of blood. Tobirama instantly switched to see to his lungs, afraid of what he would find there. “Ma—”

“Itama—”

“Mada—ra,” his little brother said and a triumphant smile lit his face despite its disfiguration. “Ma—dara.”

“What is it?” Tobirama said. Hashirama was almost there. They could then get Itama home together and they clan healers could—they could— “Do you see spots? Colours? You—”

Itama coughed again and shook his head weakly. With the last of his strength he lifted his arm just a little, finger pointing over Tobirama’s head.

“Madara,” was the only thing he said, somehow clear in the face of the effort it took, before his strength gave and his eye lolled back, unconsciousness taking him. And then Hashirama was there and Tobirama couldn’t recall anything from the journey but the whisper of a name he had never heard before and the shock of carrying his brother while Hashirama tried to stabilise him long enough for them to make it home.

***g

Tobirama paced in the room where Itama slept in a medically induced coma. His brother’s legs would never carry him again and the sight in one of his eyes was damaged—the eye itself had been saved, thankfully—but he would live. He would live and recover and nothing and no one was going to take him away. Tobirama ignored everyone who tried to say it was too soon to tell because he was not willing to accept any other outcome. Itama was not allowed to die and that was final.

“Tobirama-sama,” Asami, the healer assigned to watch over Itama for the night, pleaded. “Please, consider your health as well. Itama-sama would not want to see you in a state such as this. What would he say if you were to collapse?”

Tobirama ignored her begging as he had for the past hour. He had to keep an eye on Itama. What if he needed him and Tobirama was not there? He had been unable protect him before; to repeat his mistakes again was unthinkable. Asami, married to the Senju as she was, would not understand so he didn’t bother to explain it to her. The woman in question threw her hands in the air and stalked to the door. She spoke to someone there and returned soon after, sitting down by Itama’s bedside again. Tobirama glared at her, but she merely took Itama’s wrist in hers and started her hourly check-up.

Half a turn later, after Asami switched the dying candle for another, Tobirama heard familiar footsteps from outside the sickbay. Hashirama knocked on the door before entering with the Head healer Ren. There were circles underneath his eyes and when he spoke his voice was hoarse as if he had been yelling for hours straight.

“Tobirama,” he said, laying a hand over his brother’s shoulder and halting his pacing. “Bu—father has ordered you to leave and go to your room.”

The room temperature dropped by a notch instantly. “He hasn’t even visited,” Tobirama said through his teeth. “How would he even know where I was?”

Hashirama said nothing but they both knew the answer. Tobirama had become very predictable about his sole younger brother, protective instincts going overdrive after the loss of Kawarama. His senses also zoned in on Asami who was barely hiding her smug look behind her hair.

“I’ll stay with him,” Hashirama said quietly as he rubbed Tobirama’s shoulder. The ache in it started lessening with the subtle green glow under his palm. “Father said four hours.”

That was four hours too long. However, knowing Butsuma, he wasn’t above banning Tobirama’s visits all together so he would have to pick his battles carefully. At least Tobirama knew Hashirama would not neglect Itama’s care.

Tobirama squeezed Hashirama’s hand and, with one last freezing glare at Asami who shivered despite herself, he walked out.

Intellectually he knew that there was nothing he could do for Itama right now and he was not the best person to look after him. His skill as a healer was lacking so even Asami had a better chance at saving Itama should anything happen. His life was now in the hands of the healers and the spirits above. But there was a burning need for Tobirama to do something, anything, to ensure his survival.

Instead of heading towards his room where his futon would already be made for him, he turned towards the garden his mother had grown herself. It was one of the only things left of her that thrived; Butsuma had destroyed all her belongings in his grief but the few Hashirama and Tobirama had managed to sneak away. For the first time in his life Tobirama lifted his head to meet the stars the way she used to every night and prayed for each kami he knew, every spirit, to spare his little brother’s life.

As he knelt in the garden, the coolness of the night surrounding him, Tobirama could no longer ignore the whispered name Itama had given him. It sent his skin crawling, knowing just how close to death his brother had come to, how he was still fighting to stay in the same world as them.

It was a universally known fact that soulmates existed. There were stories of people being stronger together, complementing each other in ways that seemed too good to be true. While many believed in them, rarely anyone could confirm the connection since it involved such cruelty—or stupidity—to try it.

Because the only way to know who someone’s soulmate was for certain was for another person, just a moment from certain death, to see it hang above their head and give them the name.

The first instances of such stories were met with blood, of a person killing another because of a life that was supposedly taken by them, a crime revealed in the dying moment, and not someone else. Later, when another with no such tragic backstory went looking into the given name and found their match, more stories of similar experiences started building up until it became a legend proven true.

Tobirama had not given much thought on soulmates before. He knew Hashirama dreamed of meeting his match and how he had infected Kawarama and Itama with the same hope. Tobirama, however, was practical. He knew there was just as much of a chance for him to meet his soulmate, more unknowingly than not, as there was for him to die without ever doing so. Even then, if they weren’t an ally, he would never side with them over his family regardless of his feelings. If they really were his ‘match’, as the legends spoke, they would never demand that of him… nor do so themselves. It had always seemed like a lose-lose situation to him and thus he had brushed it under the carpet with the trash it belonged with.

But now he had a name and he didn’t know what to do with it.

A name. Madara.

Itama would have wanted him to see the person behind it. He never would have made such an effort to reveal it if he didn’t believe in its worth. Tobirama did not want this sacrifice to go to waste, if only for Itama, but the more logical side of him knew how difficult it would be to find them. Madara was not a name Tobirama was familiar with; with its meaning, it could have belonged to a cat for all he knew. What kind of a name was ‘spots’ anyway?

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. If he didn’t at least try his hand at finding them, Itama would be disappointed whether his brother remembered telling him or not. He was honour-bound to at least attempt it.

Tobirama stretched; he could feel Touka’s eyes bore into him from where she was keeping an eye on him. Hashirama probably nagged her into it although it never took much to convince her. Their mutual loss of siblings in the same dark month had made them grow closer, so close in fact that she was now known as an honorary older sister to the brothers. She would make sure he followed Itama’s last wish too should she learn of it, at least to see if there was anything worth pursuing. If there was not, unlike Hashirama, she would not force him to continue. But if there was…

She would want him to be happy. Itama must have known he was dying and wanted to give him something to live for. Tobirama swallowed the tears threatening to escape. Itama would be fine, he repeated to himself. No matter how long it took for his brother to wake up, he would, and Tobirama would be there for him. He was useless, a burden, unable to do anything about Itama’s condition nor this ‘Madara’, but…

Perhaps there was something else that he could remedy.

He stood up, waved off Touka’s protests that he would pay for later, and walked back to the sickbay. When he snuck in, Ren was already scowling at him, ready to smack him with Butsuma’s order again, when he interrupted her before she could.

“Give me lessons,” he said, his shoulders set in a tight line. “Please.”

Ren, to her credit, said nothing. She took one long look at him, taking note of the lines around his eyes and the blood from earlier still staining his clothes. She was the midwife who helped his mother nurse him back to health when the complications from his birth almost took him; one could say she knew him more intimately than most. She was especially familiar with the determined, grim look in his eyes.

“You have your orders,” she said finally. When Tobirama didn’t move, she sighed and pointed at the door. “At sunrise, I expect you clean and rested by my office.”

Tobirama bowed, deeper than usual, and left.

He had his orders after all.

***

Itama woke up three weeks later and cried when he realised he couldn’t be a shinobi like his brothers anymore. Hashirama cried because Itama was alive and, if not well, better. Tobirama did not. He pried Hashirama’s grabby hands off of Itama, gave him a hug of his own that was just as tight, and told him of all the branches of shinobi arts that did not require standing up and how he could be just as beneficial to their clan and them even without the use of his legs. Touka smacked him for that, telling him to leave the lectures for later, and sent a smirk to Itama that caused him to let out a hiccup-y laugh. Butsuma visited but didn’t stay.

They didn’t let it make Itama feel any worse than he already did.

Tobirama kept up his healing lessons even as his father’s training regime started chafing on him. After Itama’s mission Butsuma had doubled the training both Hashirama and Tobirama were forced to endure. Tobirama doubted it was due to any worry on their behalf but how he had one less ‘spare’ to use now. He had long suspected they were expendable to Butsuma—the only person he had ever shown love towards had been their mother—but his treatment of Itama and the subsequent forgetting of his existence enforced the idea.

Itama took it hard after everything he had suffered. It took long midnight conversations and one scare of finding him floating in their pond—

“It was hot,” Itama complained.

“Never do that again,” Tobirama lectured him, spreading his healing chakra to see any invisible wounds or strains. Seeing Itama grind his teeth and the way his shoulders rolled, Tobirama amended, letting the glow die reluctantly, “When you are alone.”

—but they got through to him. He started following Tobirama to his lessons with Ren in which he quickly managed to outclass him. After several more sessions, each of them making Tobirama look worse in comparison even if he wasn’t necessarily bad himself, Ren told Itama to come there on his own whenever Tobirama was unavailable.

“There is always something to do for a healer this talented,” she stated before turning back to the fish they had used to practice on. “Your mending is almost as good as Hanako’s.”

As Hanako was second only to Ren herself, it was high praise from the usually taciturn woman. The smile that lit on Itama’s face was something Tobirama would treasure forever. If Ren found her favourite onigiri by her desk after a particularly gruelling day, there was no one to tell her who had placed it there if she asked. She didn’t.

She didn’t have to.

***

The life went on. Hashirama grew more and more resentful of Butsuma and hid it worse than Tobirama and Itama did. Whereas Itama faded from the view and Tobirama endured the harsh treatment, Hashirama lashed out loud enough for the whole clan to hear and ran off on his own to cool down. Thankfully, he never did go past Tobirama’s sensing limits; after the first and only time he did, he found a frantic Tobirama and a tearful Itama waiting for his return. He kept leaving—they all knew it was for the best, he was not strong enough to truly challenge their father—but he never repeated his mistake and found a spot by the Naka river to be his sanctuary.

So used to the new normal did Tobirama become that he almost missed the fact that, after weeks of going to the river, Hashirama didn’t stay there alone. There was someone whom he met there, a person with none of the familiar earthy tones of Senju chakra. Tobirama followed Hashirama once to see who the stranger was but he couldn’t recognise the boy under the unkempt mop of black hair, pale skin and loud voice.

Tobirama considered revealing himself to them but he settled into watching their antics instead since he knew how much Hashirama hated being spied on. And antics they were, indeed, everything from skipping stones into smacking each other with sticks they found. They even threw a jutsu or two at each other and that was when Tobirama felt it, a chakra that was as close as possible to the comforting heat of hearth and home when biting winter cold took hold of the world.

It was also then that Tobirama decided to trust in his brother and keep his secret despite his initial misgivings. No one who wished ill towards his brother could have chakra that warm towards him. He relaxed in his fear and let Hashirama find happiness outside the walls of their compound. But when Itama voiced his question, having seen the skip in Hashirama’s step, Tobirama did not lie to him.

“Does Hashi-nii not love us anymore?” Itama whispered, wringing his shirt. It hurt, more than a little, to see how joyful Hashirama could be away from them, but if there was no danger... Sleeping dragons and all that. Tobirama tugged Itama into a one-armed hug.

“No,” he denied, ruffling Itama’s hair. “He just has a friend. You know how he is when he gets attached.”

Itama made a face and they both chuckled.

The poor bastard.

***

The happiness, unfortunately, did not last.

Two months after the conversation with Itama, Tobirama felt a disturbance in the calm as a crackle of lightning found the playground of earth and fire and rushed towards the direction that held the forces of their worst enemy. His stomach dropped and he immediately left his training ground to see his father, spinning a tale of sensing Uchiha patrols in the general vicinity.

No battle was fought that day despite elite forces of both the Senju and the Uchiha meeting by Hashirama and his friend’s sanctuary. It became apparent that the boy had been Uchiha Tajima’s eldest living son and later Tobirama could hear Butsuma curse that they hadn’t arrived just a few minutes earlier so they could have taken out a future threat like that. Hashirama had been ordered to house arrest and he… hadn’t taken it well.

He yelled at Butsuma, he yelled at Touka, he yelled at Tobirama. He especially threw his frustrations on the latter and Tobirama… took it. He didn’t deserve any better, having taken Hashirama’s only outlet with this one decisive action.

The person who did not take it, and the only person not thrown any insults at, was Itama.

“I’m glad Tobirama told father!” he yelled two weeks after the constant tantrum Hashirama had thrown around. “I don’t want to wake up one day and find that I have three graves to tend to!” He gestured wildly at the tree Hashirama had grown—the first thing he had ever grown actually—that looked after the lost pieces of their hearts.

Mother and Kawarama watched on silently. Hashirama left in a hurry in tears, apologizing quiet enough for the wind to sweep it away as he disappeared inside. Tobirama held onto Itama as his frustrations wet his shoulder. The clouds darkened but unkindly didn’t bring rain down on them. He snuck them in after a while, careful not to let Butsuma see.

Tears were a weakness not allowed, even for a son who didn’t exist.

***

“I’m sorry.”

This time Hashirama’s words were well heard. The brothers sat around an already cooling tea set. Tobirama held the cup in his hands but had barely taken a sip. Neither had Itama. Even the rice cakes were left untouched; none of them was in the mood for pretences.

“I have been a bad brother,” Hashirama continued. His grip tightened on the cup he had downed in one go when it had still been scalding hot. “I just got so focused on my friend that I just—I’m just so, so sorry.” He set the cup down and bowed his head over the tray.

“It’s not your fault,” Tobirama said but the words felt hollow. He traced the small decorative lines of his cup, playing with the chip on the rim. Itama scowled.

“What was so nice about him that you would throw your own brothers away for a stranger?” And an Uchiha at that, the clan that had killed Touka’s sister and were suspected of having downed Kawarama as well, although none of their enemies had come forward and claimed that they had killed one of the Senju main line.

“He’s—Madara’s different,” Hashirama defended and instantly started on about how his friend was good, kind, even if a bit of a hothead. He prattled on, oblivious to how both Tobirama and Itama were only listening to him with half an ear. Instead they stared at each other, unable to believe what they had heard.

Madara.

Uchiha Madara?

Itama’s eyes difted to the air above Tobirama’s head, disbelief twisting into wonder and back again. Tobirama himself couldn’t believe it either. Silently they were both asking the same question, unable to find an answer in Hashirama’s ramblings.

Could Hashirama’s Madara also be Tobirama’s Madara?

It sounded like fate but Tobirama did not like it. He detested the idea, actually, to be tied to their mortal enemies on soul-level. There had to be other Madaras out there, some who were actually suitable, one who would not drive the Senju into ruin… One who would not be a threat to his family.

“—and then we thought, a village could be the answer!”

Itama perked up. He set his cup down with a clatter. “A village?” he asked. “What village?”

Hashirama threw his hands up dramatically. “Have you not been listening?” he asked but then laughed good-naturedly without waiting for a reply. “Madara and I got into talking about our families—not in detail, don’t worry, I can feel your scowl, Tobira—but enough that we discovered we had both lost siblings and other family to, well, enemies,” he lowered his voice, as if ashamed, but then it rose again.

“And we thought, what if there was a world where this didn’t have to happen? So we decided that if shinobi could form a village, we could form a permanent alliance without the fear of betrayal! No one would have to lose a brother again, a mother, a father, a cousin, a friend…” Hashirama continued listing, unaware of the shine Itama had taken to the idea of such a world.

“Do you think that would work now?” Itama asked, poking the beast further. “Even now that you know he’s an Uchiha and we are Senju?”

“Of course!” their eldest brother exclaimed. “Now more than ever! Who even remembers what started this war? It’s been going on for so many decades even our grandfathers didn’t! I’m sure Madara’s the same. He only has one brother now, the other three of theirs have… passed,” he ended lamely. They collectively looked out the window where the tree Hashirama had grown was still growing flowers as if it was spring, despite how the better part of the summer was far gone.

“Are you sure?” Itama insisted. Tobirama wanted him to stop, not to think about it anymore, but he physically couldn’t open his mouth to deny him this. Itama hadn’t been this passionate about anything in a long while. There was desperation there that came with clenched hands on his pants, tight enough to rip into it if he wasn’t careful. “The Uchiha aren’t known for being kind to us.”

“Neither the Senju to them but there we were.” Hashirama’s whole demeanour changed as he laid his hands on his lap, still as a mountain and just as reliable. Tobirama could see the ‘him’ there who had healed Itama enough for them to make it back home, whose hands didn’t shake when Tobirama could barely keep himself together. “I trust him. I trust Madara. He won’t change his mind easily. One day, when we are both clan heads, I believe we can do it.

“Father won’t change his mind. I don’t know about Tajima, but I doubt he will either. They are old and stuck in their ways. But Madara and I have a dream and I believe it’s possible. Anything is possible if we just want it enough!”

Hashirama’s voice echoed in the otherwise silent room and one look at both his and Itama’s faces told Tobirama he had already lost the battle. He hid his sigh and doubts, buried them inside deep enough not to soil this moment, and swore he would look after his siblings and protect them while they worked towards a future they could both see lying ahead. He would stand behind them, not because of the ridiculous notion that Hashirama’s friend could be his soulmate, but because when this eventually fell apart, he would be there to catch them.

After all, when the fire burns the earth, it is the water that soothes the pain.

***

Years passed. Summers turned to autumns to winters to springs and to summers again and again and again. Hashirama and Tobirama were taken to the battlefield when they were sixteen and fourteen respectively and set against Madara and his brother, the crackling lightning Tobirama had felt all those years ago, who were brought to stand by their father’s side the same day as if planned. Six years later, Tajima dies by Butsuma’s sword on the battlefield but only after he mortally wounded Butsuma back. The last hours of their father’s life were spent listening to his insane ramblings and delirious orders to hunt the Uchiha until every last one of them were sent to the Pure Lands.

Butsuma died with a grin on his lips that slowly melted into a more familiar grimace as they buried him next to their mother. No one cried at the funeral, but candles were lit and prayers were said as was customary. The two years before Butsuma’s death were hard on the whole clan so, while it was not explicitly stated, most were glad that they now had someone as trustworthy as Hashirama as their new leader with someone as steadfast as Tobirama at his right and someone as kind as Itama at his left.

Hashirama and Itama had slowly turned the younger generations into their allies over the years. They pursued the dream of world of no more hurt and needless death and with every disillusioned battlefield returnee their allies grew. The bitter elderly tried turning to Tobirama for support, seeing him as Butsuma’s less insane legacy, but he entertained their badly masked manipulations only to reveal them to his brothers later when he had concrete proof of their treachery. So when it was time for Hashirama to take the reins, they knew who to remove from the trusted positions and who to introduce as their successors.

Some took it with grace, some tried to argue, but only one tried to rebel. No candles were lit on her grave. Tobirama did find Ren later to apologise for losing her mother like that, but she just shooed him away so she could better focus on her patients still suffering from the passing fire cough. As someone who had been one of their first allies—who had even caught onto their plans before they had barely even started on building their base—and who had told them of her own mother’s inclinations long before it became need-to-know, she only told him: “My tears have been shed years ago. I don’t need the apology for I am not sorry that she has passed.”

Tobirama still bowed to her. There were few he was as grateful to as her. Itama told him later that he had caught her staring at the regularly appearing ‘mysterious’ onigiri a moment longer than usual, something misty in her eyes, before she had taken a bite to savour it. Next time they saw her, she accepted her place as one of their new council of advisors.

Most of the clan were now ready to advance to the next part of their lives, one without constant vigilance and hatred filling their veins. Tobirama helped Hashirama to prepare the message for the Uchiha and they sent a raven to deliver it for his long-lost friend.

The raven came back without a reply and the next time the Uchiha and the Senju met, Madara was dressed in his full armour, his gunbai in hand, and Tajima’s sword strapped to his side. Next to him, Izuna’s smile was cold and filled with teeth. And then they clashed, just like before, just like when their fathers were still alive…

And something in Hashirama broke that day.

Oh, his faith was still there, his words were just as inspiring, and he was willing to throw down with anyone who badmouthed his former friend, but his smile was just a tad hollower each time Madara refused him on the field.

Tobirama hated it, hated what Madara was doing to his brother, and he grew even colder to the idea that Hashirama’s ‘friend’ was the other half of his soul. Even Itama, who still sometimes stared at the air above Tobirama’s head with wistful hope, didn’t speak of soulmates anymore.

One evening late into the autumn Tobirama found himself by his family’s graves, the empty branches of Hashirama’s tree barely swinging in the light wind. The frost in his breath faded into the soft breeze and he buried the hopes his brothers had managed to wake in him despite his efforts to pretend otherwise.

“You win,” he told Butsuma, and tried imagining his father’s grin when he had still been happy to be part of their family. He couldn’t.

Tobirama left the site with a fourth grave to mourn.

***

Itama was rarely smiling anymore. Hashirama’s grins lacked the brightness that used to be an integral part of them. Tobirama grew more silent as time went on. Their masks were on full display whenever they stepped out of their house, presented for all to see and for the Senju to rely on, but those closest to them noticed the difference.

Ren took care of Itama, keeping him busy so he wouldn’t dwell on his inability to follow his brothers to the field and protect them. Touka made sure they lacked nothing, sometimes turning into a downright mother hen like her own mother despite her denial of any such fussing. Tobirama supported Hashirama both on the battlefield and off of it, helping him to focus on the important parts and planning on how to change Madara’s mind. By some miracle he managed to keep Hashirama and Itama’s dream alive even when they wavered. He didn’t understand how that was, considering he had buried his own into the cold, hard ground.

He didn’t dwell on it, refused to even, but it did leave him unsettled and kept him awake long after his brothers had fallen asleep themselves.

But then, after a couple of more years of the ongoing battles and no give, the year Tobirama turned twenty-two, it happened. As time went on, Madara and Hashirama had gotten more and more destructive in their fights, so much so that Tobirama wasn’t sure if they even realised the state they would leave the ground in before the battle concluded. Izuna had gotten wilier as well, forcing Tobirama to stay one step ahead of him not to break Itama’s heart by arriving home no longer breathing. He even grew to respect Izuna, felt his passion and skill every time their blades clashed, but the hatred in his eyes was something that kept Tobirama focused. It made him inherently glad that Itama was bound to stay behind the protective barriers of Tobirama’s seals. He was also very glad of the alliance Hashirama had brokered with the Uzumaki and the seals his betrothed Mito had helped him with after she found Tobirama dabbling with them by himself.

Izuna sidestepped him nimbly and managed to kick his side hard, enough for his armour to bite into the tender flesh of his ribs. He grunted and dropped down, swiping at Izuna so that he had to take several steps back not to be hit by the sharp edge of his blade. Tobirama could sense the heated scowl in the displeased crackle of Izuna’s chakra, refusing to look into his blazing sharingan just waiting to snare him into its depths.

While Tobirama hadn’t experienced the illusions first-hand, he had seen Izuna once catch Touka by surprise and only by sheer luck he had managed to get to her before Izuna physically could. It had left her unstable and with enough nightmares to scream herself awake for four weeks straight. It had made Tobirama viciously happy to return the favour by breaking Izuna’s arm in three parts the next time they clashed blades.

Hashirama yelled to Madara, asking him to stop the fight, if they could just talk, but Tobirama more felt than heard the futility when the noise of trees growing in a rush and the crisp sound of a hungry inferno met and shook the ground. Izuna took encouragement from that and threw himself back to lash out an attack that Tobirama did not let him finish. He gathered a mix of blood and saliva and spat out needles sharper than seamstresses used. Izuna had to duck down to avoid them, cursing him with each breath he took.

Tobirama readied himself, waiting for an opportunity to strike, and then a stray kunai flew at Izuna and he took a careless step back and Tobirama—

He threw a kunai carefully inscribed with seals he had created himself, tested and proven true, and when Izuna focused back on Tobirama he was no longer there.

Instead, he was standing right in front of Izuna, his blade ready.

Izuna’s eyes widened in dread, the turn of events taking him by surprise. His sword was stuck to his side and he was not quick enough to raise it to deflect a blow already halfway to pierce his flesh. Izuna twitched and made a move to dodge which put Tobirama’s blade at his stomach instead of the arm he had first aimed.

“Bro…ther,” Izuna whispered, sharingan spinning uselessly with each rapid beat of his heart, and Tobirama saw Itama. The needles he had thrown had coloured Izuna’s cheeks red and the blue and purple of his traditional clothing was darkened by the cuts Tobirama had managed to inflict on him. The knowledge he had lost, the fear of never seeing—

Madara screamed, terror and grief mixing into a horrified screech, and Tobirama—

Tobirama stopped.

His blade pierced through the weak spot of Izuna’s armour and cut through the cloth underneath it but merely stood there to tickle Izuna’s skin. Izuna’s chakra, now feeling very invasive and vulnerable with their physical closeness, was filled with disbelief and shock, fear and surprise. Tobirama refused to look at him, the image of Itama’s broken body filling his vision regardless. By instinct alone he evaded Madara as the Uchiha rushed to get between them, gunbai raised, as Hashirama arrived less than a second later to shield Tobirama with his hand in a half-seal, ready to protect should the need arise.

Itama—

He wanted, no, needed to see Itama.

“I’m done,” he said. His voice sounded empty even to his own ears. He pulled his happuri down to shield his eyes but it didn’t protect him from the onslaught of chakra impressions. His chakra was spread all around him in a wild, untamed mess, released from the usual tight hold he had on it. He saw everything; every fading chakra on the field, the physical and emotional fatigue, the hate and the hopelessness. It was draining him further every second he stayed on his feet and the noise that wasn’t noise almost drowned the faraway star he called his true north.

“What’s the point?” Tobirama continued. He impulsively sheathed his sword, uncaring of the fact that it was still stained with blood and grime. He took a hold of the happuri and removed it. Bangs fell on his sweaty skin. He couldn’t even feel the difference, the seals that usually perfectly muted the world were useless against Madara’s hellfire chakra. He faced him, squinting as if looking at the literal sun in the middle of pandemonium. “If you don’t want to accept Hashirama’s hand, then don’t. I don’t care. But why do you continue to drag us here, to this very field, and force our hands to kill those of yours while you do the same to ours?”

He threw his arm out, gesturing at the quieting field who had turned to watch the confrontation play out. “Do you even know if they want to be here? You are supposed to be a sensor! Can’t you feel their reluctance, the constant fear? Revenge doesn’t bring your family back. It certainly didn’t bring mine or I would have had my brother back a thousand times over!”

Madara’s jaw dropped and his gawking expression was extremely unattractive. Murmurs started spreading amongst their men and both Uchiha and Senju warriors were glancing at each other in discomfort. Tobirama still refused to look in Izuna’s direction.

“If you don’t want peace, then fine. Have at it, live your sorry little life hating all you want. I want no part in this.”

Hashirama pressed a hand over his shoulder, rubbing the fur that was Tobirama’s only comfort in the field. A slight breeze brushed the dirty locks against his forehead. Tobirama removed the hand and turned around, ignoring the gasps as he deliberately revealed his back to the Senju’s sworn enemies. He could practically hear his father scream how could he—

Tobirama focused on his little guiding star and pushed chakra to his feet. One second later there was no more white to be seen.

He didn’t see Hashirama meet Madara’s puzzlement head on, disappointment written on the lines of his face, as he gave his friend this one last chance. He didn’t see Hashirama’s fists clench nor mouth form a thin line as he chose Tobirama’s side over Madara’s. He didn’t see how there were no words exchanged, no cheerful exclamations, begs, or even sighs directed at Hashirama’s long-lost friend as Hashirama merely gathered the Senju shinobi and followed his brother’s footsteps to their compound.

He didn’t see Madara’s expression oddly lighten as he silently watched the retreating Senju. He didn’t see the deeply buried hope raise its ugly head, how Madara finally saw light at the end of the tunnel; how the realisation dawned on him how it was not just his and Hashirama’s childhood dreams speaking but that there was an actual chance to... to…

Neither did he see how Izuna’s eyes never strayed from the air above Tobirama’s head.

***

Four days later a raven arrived. The message tied to its foot was short and concise. The two rows of text were written in messy-looking loops that poked through each other in an almost illegible manner. Despite that, Hashirama started jumping up and down the moment he saw the handwriting and it took Tobirama and Itama tying him down and stealing the note to understand what he was babbling about.

“’The Uchiha want to discuss ceasefire’,” Itama read. “’Meet by Naka river in three days’ time an hour after sunrise.’ Signed by Uchiha Madara.”

“He wads peace!” Hashirama sobbed. He broke out of his bounds and hugged the closest person who also happened to be Tobirama. Tobirama wrinkled his nose at the snot that was gathering on his chest. “Peace! Tobi’a! Tobiiiiii!”

The noise of him snorting the snot made Itama gag.

“I heard you the first time,” Tobirama grumbled and wriggled out of Hashirama’s hold. He pushed him in Itama’s direction and Hashirama fell on their youngest brother with ugly sobs. Itama’s look of pure betrayal was kind of funny though. “Is the message legitimate?”

“Yed!”

“Really?” Itama insisted, attempting to remove the snot monster from his lap.

“…’s his han’writin’!” Hashirama exclaimed after looking at the note again. He sat on his knees and sniffed profusely. “Mada’a never does anythin’ he doe’n’t want to! I’m ‘o glad! I didn’t want to go all ou’ on them!”

“All out?” their youngest brother shook his head. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Language,” Tobirama said. Itama stuck his tongue at him.

“Be’ause! Because if Madara didn’t wan’ to make peace, I woul’ have, have had to—” Hashirama wiped his face into Itama’s shirt much to their brother’s horror. “I chose you, you know? Always, always an’ forever. But if Madara didn’t want to choose and just wanted to continue, I just couldn’t. What if next time it was Izuna who—who—”

Hashirama buried his head back into Itama’s chest. Itama widened his eyes at Tobirama, wordlessly begging for help.

Tobirama sighed. “Then we just make sure the ceasefire sticks,” he said. Tobirama took two large strides to reach his brothers, joining Itama in rubbing Hashirama’s quivering back. “If we can’t make the peace stick the way you dreamed of, then at least we can make sure there’ll be no more deaths.”

Hashirama lifted his head and he nodded, sniffing again. Tobirama reached for the rag hanging by the desk three feet from them and roughly wiped the snotty nose and bloodshot eyes while Hashirama weakly protested at the treatment.

“Go wash your face,” Tobirama ordered, thrusting the towel in Hashirama’s hands. When Hashirama opened his mouth, he jabbed towards the door. “Now. We can discuss our reply after.”

Seeing his brothers both scowl at him made Hashirama’s shoulders slump and he dragged his feet towards the door. When he looked back and saw neither of them relent, he pouted and shuffled to the closest washroom. The closing door gave Tobirama and Itama permission to finally relax.

Itama thumbed the message, following a particularly messy loop with his finger. “I hope this is true,” he said quietly. “I wonder what changed his mind.”

Tobirama shrugged, silently judging the handwriting. “Perhaps the realisation I could have killed Izuna right then and there,” he said.

“Was it that close?”

“I had my sword pressed against his stomach. I could have torn his insides enough that he would have bled out on the field had I wanted to.”

Itama twitched. He laid a hand over his own belly, grimacing. Tobirama followed the movement and clasped their hands together. “He reminded me of you,” he said quietly. “And Madara of me. Even if Izuna was—is—a big threat, in that moment…”

“I’m glad.” Itama hugged Tobirama’s waist. “I don’t want to imagine a world without you or Hashi-nii. If Madara-san lost Izuna-san…”

Knowing himself and his tendency to go overboard if his loved ones were threatened, Tobirama winced. Even if he still had doubts about his and this Madara’s connection, he could not deny that they were similar in this manner.

“Mmm.”

Not long after Hashirama returned, face pink from aggressive scrubbing but joyful all the same. Itama and Tobirama exchanged one last look before the excited babbling restarted and they directed Hashirama to sit by his desk.

After all, they had to pen a reply as well and make it a somewhat coherent one.

***

The day came and the Senju arrived by the agreed meeting spot. Hashirama had been a barely contained ball of energy the whole morning and Tobirama couldn’t be happier that Madara would have to bear the brunt of that instead of him. No sooner than he had thought of that, the Uchiha appeared. Tobirama quietly spread his chakra to see if it was an ambush they had walked into. Thankfully, it was not; he really didn’t want to explain that to his elated brother.

He could recognise Madara, Izuna, and a man he knew was their cousin but could not put a name to the face. A stern-faced woman followed them and six others as well, making the number into the agreed ten. The Senju were of a similar strength, with Hashirama and Tobirama taking the lead, but including Itama, Touka, Ren and a few others from their trusted council. Those still against the ceasefire, few as they were, were quietly removed from the volunteered companions.

“Madara!” Hashirama exclaimed. “Hi!” He threw the man in question a smile brighter than the sun itself and the Uchiha with the exception of Madara seemed dazed. Hashirama’s friend, on the other hand, seemed almost resigned.

“Hashirama,” Madara greeted as well. He took in the Senju with a sweeping glance, curiously lingering on Tobirama a moment longer than on others. “I’m glad you came.”

“Of course! I’ve been waiting for this moment for a decade!”

A small smile spread on the Uchiha’s face. “So have I,” he murmured. They clasped hands much to Izuna’s visible displeasure and sat down after Hanako and Seiki formed a small island for them to settle in and another Uchiha—curiously with an earth affinity—helped to tie it to both banks.

The negotiations went on for the whole day. They had managed to agree on several matters—such as working together to hunt down any child killers and kidnappers—but both clans seemed to skirt around the heavier topics. For a good reason too, Tobirama decided, seeing as many of the policies they discussed were already causes of severe scowls and downturned mouths on the Uchiha side, for some of the Senju too. He wasn’t worried, however; none of them seemed interested in rekindling the war efforts. Curiously, Hikaku, Madara and Izuna’s cousin, looked particularly relieved with the minor successes.

The only thing marring the whole event was, in Tobirama’s opinion, Izuna. For some reason his rival didn’t seem to be able to remove his eyes from him. His hawk-like gaze kept roaming over him and cataloguing each of his movements and he always had something to say whenever Tobirama opened his own mouth. It was getting quite tiresome. Tobirama even complained to Itama about it once during one of their breaks but his brother only got a weird look on his face and said he’d look into it.

It made him worry even more.

Itama refused to share whatever it was that he had planned but neither did he do anything during the rest of the meeting. Rather, he acted as if nothing was wrong and was awfully pleasant to everyone. Tobirama grew more and more suspicious. When it was time for them to leave, after agreeing to return at the same time tomorrow to continue, Itama still had said nothing. Tobirama got closer to him, getting ready to carry Itama back to their compound on his back—his wheeled chair was too difficult to carry long distances—when they were interrupted.

“Sen—Tobirama.”

Both Tobirama and Itama turned to look at Madara’s stormy face. Izuna stood just a couple of steps behind him and he didn’t look all too happy either. Tobirama did note that Hikaku was keeping Hashirama entertained not too far from them. He leaned a little to his left, just in case they wanted to try something at Itama.

“I—that is, about the thing—a week ago,” Madara said, stumbling over his words, the lines on his face deepening. Tobirama shifted a little but said nothing. “It’s just—I found this—”

“He wants to return your stupid kunai!” Izuna interrupted him. He was tapping his foot, practically glowering at his brother’s back. “Now, can you give it to him so we can go?!”

“Shut up!” Madara yelled. He stopped himself from saying more, glancing towards Hashirama who was still distracted. He ruffled his bird’s nest of a hair and almost growled. He fixed his glare on Tobirama. “I wanted to say thank you for sparing my idiot brother. He’s… he’s everything to me and if I had lost him…” he trailed off, an embarrassed flush worming on his face. He grabbed the kunai from his belt and thrusted it towards the Senju. “Here!” When Tobirama didn’t move, this time he did growl, the prickly bastard. “Take it!”

Tobirama extended his arm slowly, hand curling around the hilt. His fingers brushed against Madara’s before the Uchiha let go as if Tobirama was contagious. “Thank you,” he said. “I… believe I know what you mean.”

Itama coughed by his side, hiding his giggles on his sleeve. Tobirama pinched him back, causing him to squeal and scowl. Madara looked between them, something in him relaxing and the severe lines on his face softening.

“Yes,” he murmured. “I can see that.”

Madara gave him one last lookover—Tobirama forced himself not to shift under its intensity—before he turned back towards the Uchiha side of the river.

“Izuna!” Itama called and the Uchiha in question turned his head towards him. So did Madara and Tobirama. “I would like to have a word with you tomorrow if you were so kind.”

“What would you two have to talk about?” Tobirama instantly asked, his bad feeling intensifying. Itama smiled at him, one of his ‘I got you now’ smiles that never spelled any good for anyone.

“Nothing you need to be concerned about,” he said cheerfully before turning back to Izuna who was switching between them curiously. “Just something that would fly right over your head.”

That seemed to mean something to Izuna whose eyes widened before sliding back into slits. “Yes,” he said slowly. “I think I would like that.”

Madara and Tobirama exchanged an uneasy look over their heads.

“Until tomorrow then,” Madara said, eyeing Izuna as if he was a venomous snake. Which was an apt description, Tobirama thought. That, or a wily weasel if he was feeling particularly charitable.

“Tomorrow,” he agreed and proceeded to scoop Itama up. He waited until Itama had a good grip on him before pushing against the ground with his chakra and following the trail of his clan. As if that was a signal, Hikaku somehow managed to disengage from Hashirama and escape to where his own clan was, leaving Hashirama to bounce after Tobirama and Itama.

But when Tobirama asked Itama to be careful tomorrow, his brother merely smiled and said, “It’s all right. I bet we have tons in common together!”

No matter what Tobirama said, Itama would not divulge what he meant. It frustrated Tobirama to no end but he held comfort in that Madara more than likely had just as much luck with his brother.

He sighed.

He did not look forward to tomorrow.

***

It was just what he was afraid of. Izuna and Itama got along like a house on fire. They spent every break with one another, heads practically pressed together, yelling and hissing and arguing and quite probably plotting how to take over the world. Tobirama might have let it go—not really, but perhaps in another world—if that made Izuna leave him alone but it seemed that his former rival was getting even more into his business than before. Anywhere Tobirama went, Izuna was there. Anything he commented on, Izuna had something to say about. If Tobirama had a question, Izuna had two. It was driving Tobirama crazy. Especially since he was finding Izuna to be surprisingly witty with similar opinions to his. If Tobirama wasn’t sure that Izuna had ulterior motives, he would have said the Uchiha was trying to be friendly.

But that wasn’t possible. Especially since he kept taking those breaks with Itama.

Clearly plotting.

Tobirama began to wonder if he had managed to piss Itama off somehow during these past few weeks but he couldn’t think of anything. The only good thing that had come from it was that the Senju and the Uchiha took it as a ‘permission’ to mingle together. The pessimist in him wanted to claim this would only encourage people to break the entirely shaky lull in the violence.

When he expressed that to Touka though, she just laughed at him as she was wont to do and left him alone so she could keep Ren and the stern-faced Uchiha woman company. Hashirama spent most of his time harassing random Uchiha into talking about ‘peace’ whenever Madara managed to ditch him… which was surprisingly often, considering how many times Tobirama found him looking for some solace in the shade next to him.

They didn’t talk much. Tobirama didn’t really have a lot to say to him. They exchanged pleasantries, made a few comments here and there about the negotiations but mostly they just sat in blessed silence. It was odd, Tobirama thought. He liked quiet, preferred it even, but rarely with other people. Hashirama would always find a reason to break it, Mito had a habit of humming while she worked on her seals, and even Itama was seldom in the mood to just sit in silence. But Madara was content to just share the space and watch. It was… a pleasant surprise.

A smile traced Tobirama’s lips as he closed his eyes to enjoy the warm sunrays. He heard a soft gasp from beside him but when he turned to Madara, the man’s face was looking away from him, towards where Izuna and Itama were sharing what looked like tea of all things. Tobirama snorted.

“Is Izuna fond of tea?” he asked, glancing at Madara. The Uchiha huffed a laugh and tilted his head in Tobirama’s direction.

“He hates it.” Madara brushed his hair aside, fanning his neck, and Tobirama noticed that the tips of his ears were pinker than the rest of him. Huh. “He calls it ‘hot leaf juice’.”

Tobirama couldn’t help the short bark of a laugh that burst out. “Does he really?”

“Yes. It used to annoy our mother so much, not to mention Hikaku. He’s been trying to find a tea Izuna likes for years,” Madara confided in him as if it was the world’s greatest joke.

“Then I doubt whatever Itama is making him drink will be one either. He likes to put medical plants in people’s tea so it tastes just slightly off. Mostly to those he doesn’t like but no one is safe, really.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“Mmm.”

The Uchiha narrowed his eyes, looking Itama over. “I guess I can see that.”

“Just know that if your tea tastes off, it’s not poison. Itama prefers people to know when he’s coming.”

“How does that work? With his legs not working and all,” Madara asked distractedly. When Tobirama didn’t immediately answer, Madara seemed to realise his blunder. He started spluttering a mix of “I didn’t mean—it’s just that—err—you know—” before Tobirama raised his hand to end his suffering. Madara buried his head in his hands. “…was not an insult,” was all Tobirama could hear him mumble.

“Just because his legs ‘do not work’ doesn’t mean the rest of him don’t.” Tobirama twirled the chopsticks he had left from his lunch. He snapped them into position and poked Madara’s arm with them. His voice dropped down a few octaves as he frowned at Madara. “His precision with thrown weapons and medical chakra puts Hashirama and me to shame. In addition, he’s surprisingly agile with his hands; he can climb any surface he wants to. Just because he cannot run doesn’t make him useless.”

“I didn’t—!” Madara exclaimed, paused, and released a loud blow of air. “I deserved that. If anyone said that about my people, regardless of their bl—disability, I would kill them. I apologise.”

Tobirama blinked at that, the easy way Madara calmed down after bristling and apologised. “…It’s fine,” he said finally, turning away to stare at Touka demonstrating a particular move the Uchiha kunoichi with earth affinity was observing. “Just as long as you don’t say anything to his face.”

“I would never. I will make sure no one else does either.”

The conviction in Madara’s voice confused Tobirama. He let the conversation drop and they returned to the easy silence with none of the awkwardness he was expecting. Perhaps there were more sides to Madara than he had first thought. He was starting to see why Hashirama called him a friend.

Perhaps the peace was not so doomed after all.

***

Tobirama’s cautious optimism turned out to be right. They finalised the ceasefire negotiations the very next day and started actual peace negotiations a month after that. When Hashirama and Madara brought up the possibility of a village made by both clans, it was not thrown out instantly which was a miracle in itself. It was not an easy sell either, but after months of badgering and shared winter resources—it turned out that the Aburame and the rest of their allies hadn’t helped as much as the Uchiha had presented outwardly—most had become warmer towards the idea.

The real turning point in their relationship came when they launched an allied attack against another clan. The Hagoromo attempted to sabotage their newly made alliance by rumourmongering and feeding the distrust but Izuna of all people caught wind of that and took personal offence. Madara later revealed that Izuna was their resident spymaster and the Hagoromo had managed to sabotage some of his more important contacts, making them useless. In the end, the clan specialising in poisons and poisonous words was no match to the combined power of the Senju and the Uchiha.

“They were afraid they were losing their position as our closest allies,” Izuna hissed as he pulled his sword from a particularly stab-happy Hagoromo kunoichi. “Well, you did! How does it feel now, huh? Huh?!” He spat and kicked the woman over.

Tobirama merely decapitated another shinobi attempting to take revenge on his clan member. Izuna pulled his sweaty bangs from his forehead as he glanced at the rolling head. “Toma, huh. Think he’ll have his antidotes with him? They’ve come handy a few times.”

Tobirama considered that. He pulled the headless body up and rummaged through its pockets. Izuna threw a kunai into the face of another attacker. Finding a few small vials with clear liquid, he tossed one to Izuna. “These?”

“Exactly. Grab them all, will you?” Izuna considered the bottle and hummed. He shook it once before putting it in the pocket inside his armour. “Think we can ransack the place afterwards? I want to see if I can replicate these.”

“It’s not like they’ll need them anymore.” Tobirama cleaned his blade on the back of the body, hiding the bottles inside a seal on his shoulder. Izuna watched them disappear without fanfare, eyes glinting. “Itama might be interested in trying his hands in poisons. He’s mentioned being bored lately.”

“How fun.”

They glanced at each other and snorted in unison. When Hashirama and Madara found them, clearly having had some fun on their own, they were confused by the camaraderie only robbing other people out of all their valuables could bring.

***

The building process was a mess. Tobirama had spent countless nights working on the layout and destroying any notions of having three restaurants on every street— “Hashirama. No.”—that he would have gone grey ages ago had he not been born with naturally white hair. Perhaps the world had been trying to tell him something. At this point, he wouldn’t be surprised.

Izuna and Itama were invaluable help. Whenever Hashirama and Madara—he too?—had especially hare-brained ideas, they rarely survived the combined onslaught of Tobirama’s glare, Izuna’s sarcasm, and Itama’s condescension. Tobirama had learned to mourn the times when Izuna’s network called him away from the village. It left only two people to handle the disasters that were their village leaders—spirits help them—in addition to the rest of the problems that arose.

Well, at least he got Madara. He wasn’t sure he could have handled Hashirama’s whines and tears more than he already did. Itama was a saint.

This did not mean that Madara and Hashirama did not work just as hard for their project than the others since they did. Hashirama was invaluable in providing them with materials to build and keeping the morale high while Madara kept their smithies running like well-oiled wheels and proofing the ground for builders. They would not have been able to make the progress they did without their tireless support.

Tobirama was shaken from his thoughts when Hikaku tapped his shoulder. He thanked him, rolling the delivered message open before the man had even left.

N, Y, and A want in. Leaders at capital. Response as discussed?

Izuna’s handwriting was at least more understandable than Madara’s, Tobirama thought, as he rose from his crouch. His back cracked uncomfortably and he stretched to lessen the ache. He gathered the nearly finished plans he had for the plumbing, sealed them away, and used the hiraishin seal he had carved to one of the smithies to guide himself.

“Madara?” he called, raising his voice so it could be heard over the loud clanks of the hammers at work.

“A minute!” he heard the answering holler from the building to his left. He settled down to wait, watching the Uchiha craftsmen manage the heat he knew he himself couldn’t stand. Not long after Madara slammed the door open, rolling his shoulders as he walked out. The summer heat was finally cooling down but one wouldn’t know it by standing anywhere within 30 feet from the smithies. Tobirama was sweating even from standing a good few feet over that, having retreated due to self-preservation.

Due to the heat and its tendency to burn, Madara had gathered his mop of hair into a bun above his neck. He had forgone his shirt, his broad chest for all to see, and was sweating but not nearly as much as he probably should. In the light of the sun it actually made his skin glisten which was… an annoying side effect. Tobirama averted his eyes before he could be caught staring, focusing on Izuna’s message as if it was more interesting than the view in front of him.

“What is it?” Madara asked gruffly, wiping the excess sweat off himself with a towel. “It’s not dinner time yet, right?”

“No, it’s not. Izuna sent a word.”

“Oh?” Madara hopped the last few steps over, settling beside Tobirama to see the message. Tobirama could practically feel the heat curl around him the way his chakra did whenever Tobirama opened his senses. He shivered. It didn’t go unnoticed. “Are you cold?”

“Hardly.” Tobirama spread the piece of paper. “The Nara, Yamanaka and Akimichi clans approached him.”

“Hmm.” Madara eyed the short note. “Isn’t this what we wanted? You do know you don’t need to inform us about this? Just confirm it with Izuna and we can set up a meeting.”

Tobirama tapped the paper twice before rolling it away. “I didn’t forget. It’s common courtesy to inform—”

Madara waved his hand, obviously unconcerned, and Tobirama clenched his jaw in irritation. “Yes, yes. Proper conduct and all that.”

“If we don’t set the example—”

“—no one else will follow it either,” Madara finished for him as if he had heard him say those words dozens of times. Which he might have. A flush started creeping on Tobirama’s cheeks.

“Shut up,” he mumbled. Madara barked a laugh that Tobirama felt it rumble against his side.

“What’s the real reason you are here?” Madara asked, throwing an arm over Tobirama’s shoulders. Tobirama wrinkled his nose and squirmed to get away from the sweat and musk.

“Bathe before you touch me,” he said but Madara merely laughed again, teasingly tightening his hold before letting him go. Tobirama straightened his yukata from the invisible creases. “Itama is going to be busy with the hospital planning this evening since Mito’s cousin arrived with her so he won’t be able to make it for dinner. Neither will Mito or Hashirama.”

“Will they finally finalise the wedding plans?”

“I suspect so.” If Mito had gotten her way, they would have been married already. Hashirama had wanted to wait until the village was built but perhaps she could speak some sense to him now that they were making good progress.

“That means we’ll have dinner alone, yes?” The way Madara said it put Tobirama on guard, but he could find nothing but nonchalance in Madara’s relaxed pose. “It’s been a while.”

“Not so long,” Tobirama corrected. “Only a week or so.” Five days, but who was counting?

“What do you feel like?” Madara asked. “Risu managed to catch fish from the river and gave one for Izuna and me. Since he’s not here, I could make it for us.”

That did sound delicious, Tobirama had to admit to himself. Based on how Madara stood taller with his chest puffed, someone had told him Tobirama rarely said no to fresh fish. “I can bring vegetables from our garden.”

“Then it’s settled,” Madara said. His tone got lower and if he was anyone else Tobirama would have called it suggestive. However, Madara didn’t ‘do’ subtlety, not really, the bull-headed menace that he was, so Tobirama decided to let him have his moment.

“I suppose so.”

Or perhaps not. He hid his smirk when Madara made a show of rolling his eyes at him. “It’s not that difficult to say yes.”

“Yes, then,” Tobirama mimicked his exasperation. Madara shoved at him but Tobirama was nimble enough to avoid it. “An hour before sundown?”

“It’s a date.”

They both paused, the words ringing between them. Madara spluttered, face turning redder than the smithy ever made him. Tobirama quickly looked away to hide his own burning cheeks.

“I’ll, err. See you later?” Madara said when he got his voice back. Tobirama nodded quickly.

“Later. Yes.”

Madara didn’t instantly move away. He continued to stare at Tobirama. The flush wasn’t fading from his face, but he didn’t seem to care. Slowly, as if projecting his movements, he lifted his hand to brush against the heat Tobirama felt on his own cheeks, gently tilting Tobirama’s chin so their eyes could meet. The tenderness of the touch, the soft smile on his lips, felt all too much and not enough at the same time.

With one last nod, Madara threw the towel over his shoulders and made his way back to the smithy. He raised his hand in a wave without looking back before he ducked inside. When his perfectly sculped back disappeared from Tobirama’s sight, the Senju took a deep breath and let it out in an explosive exhale. He dragged his hand through his hair, tugging it hard once, and then teleported back to the base to see if anyone had come to ask for anything. No one was waiting for him so Tobirama took the moment to sit down and let his head hit the wall with a soft ‘thunk’.

He still doubted the whole soulmate system and didn’t put much weight to it. His little brother wholeheartedly disagreed, evident from his attempts at engineering Tobirama to spend more time alone with Madara. Somehow Itama got Izuna to join him although Tobirama wasn’t clear on how he managed to do that. It had become less subtle as the construction of the village progressed and he was almost certain that Madara had caught onto it as well. So had many others. Touka laughed at them anytime she saw them together much to Tobirama’s dismay and embarrassment.

Still, Tobirama was reluctant to move by other people’s pace but his own. He didn’t even know what the term ‘soulmate’ was supposed to mean. Itama clearly thought it meant romance and the forever and ever kind of love, but Tobirama couldn’t help but think that that was a very narrow and flawed line of thinking. Rarely if ever people got to know the name of ‘that’ person. Just the name, no other identification. During the past year Tobirama had met two other people called Madara and either of them could have been ‘that’ person to him rather than Uchiha Madara. Granted, Tobirama had not felt a similar type of attraction to them than he did for this Madara, but even that was after months, close to a year, of seeing him every day and getting to know him as well he did now. He was fairly certain the feeling was not one-sided, considering the looks he had seen Madara give him when he thought Tobirama couldn’t see.

Tobirama doubted everyone had merely one person they could be happy with. He had been happy enough before Madara came to his life and definitely could have lived his whole life contented without ever meeting him. There were more to life than walks on the beach and watching the sunrise together. No, instead of eternal bliss, Tobirama thought the name Itama had seen gave him a crossroads where there had only been one path before.

Without Madara, they couldn’t have stopped the war.

Without Madara, Tobirama might have lost more of his family than he had.

Without Madara, the idea of a village housing both the Senju and the Uchiha wouldn’t have been born.

Madara had already given him a much to be grateful about. In a way, Madara was the key Tobirama had needed to be able to live in a world where he didn’t need to face new regrets every single day.

Tobirama smiled, small but genuine, and straightened in his chair. A moment later he wiped it off his face as Hotaru knocked on the doorframe and came in with Uchiha Kei, her assigned partner. He leaned on his desk and listened them explain the problem with the irrigation system, focusing on the village for the time being.

Deciding that he needed to see to it himself and gathering the necessary equipment, Tobirama found himself, for the first time in his life, truly at ease. There was still much to do with building the village, gathering allies, and securing their position in the world. But he also found himself looking forward to that, to see the future open itself right before his eyes… and there was one person in particular that he wanted to see it with.

Right before he reached to teleport the three of them to the other side of the village, Tobirama wondered what Madara would do if he kissed him. A wicked grin spread on his face which alarmed both Hotaru and her partner as he let his hiraishin carry them away.

Perhaps he could see where this new path could lead him… starting from tonight.