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Chapter Text

Tajima didn’t fail to notice that the battle was even less enthusiastic than usual. 

At this point, the hereditary feud between the Uchiha and Senju had tempered down to inofficial semi-scheduled inter-clan sparring sessions. Building families and bringing children into the world who were bound to inherit the rivers of blood, the tears and the anguish, would do that to sensible people. There were fewer dead with any battle, all casualties contained within the ranks of rabid warmongers who no one cried over but the elders’ who kept egging their hate on in the first place. But today, even the ‘sparring’ seemed more tame than usual, as members of both clans kept an eye on their respective sidelines instead of fully focusing on their opponents and giving it their all.

Tajima knew what his people looked out for, and could only assume the Senju shared their fate. Could only assume that Butsuma’s hand had been forced by his elders just as Tajima’s had been, pressuring them into bringing along their children to witness the battle, to get exposure and experience alike. After all, he couldn’t see the Senju’s fierce Hatake matriarch allowing her cubs in danger for anything less than a mandate by the full council, and even then it was a toss-up if she wouldn’t just do them all a favour and cut the old fools down for their gall. 

Come to think of it, wasn’t she supposed to be due with another child? It might explain how even her youngest ended up on the outskirts of the battlefield. Thankfully, Tajima had been able to put his foot down and draw the line at bringing Madara along. Eight was still awfully young but better than bringing along a slip of a child, barely old enough to be out of his mother’s arms.

Tajima had only been able to get a glance at Butsuma’s youngest, but the boy was little more than big eyes and a tuft of wild hair, just like his own baby Izuna. Tajima really hoped the boy would stay perched on the high branch from which he observed the field. He had put a hard stop to all attempts of reestablishing the child hunter practices of old, but one could never know which foul souls wandered among them. And while Tajima knew at least about one of these despicable, a quick survey of the battlefield soothed his worries. Yashiro kept himself secure at the back, as usual. 

Tajima blocked the blade aiming at his neck and sidestepped the punch to his kidney in a choreography that was long since established and needed little to no thought. It was only this long-practised dance that allowed him to avoid losing an eye to a senbon as his focus zeroed on the white flash appearing in his periphery.

“What the-”

The child had given up on merely observing the battle, as he’d undoubtedly been instructed to do, in favour of crossing the battlefield in a mad dash and springing right into Madara’s face, holding onto his son’s head for dear life as he clamped his tiny legs and arms around it.

Madara’s muffled shout and wild flailing arms were enough to bring the lacklustre battle to a complete standstill, Uchiha and Senju alike distracted by the image their clans’ second heirs made. Although, notably, there was less surprise on the Senjus’ faces. 

“Oh, for the love of- HASHIRAMA!” As Butsuma bellowed for his heir, who should be around Madara’s age if memory served right, Tajima’s eyes briefly flickered over to the edge of the forest where another boy emerged, his too-big armour decorated by what appeared to be fresh flowers. The odd display was almost enough to make Tajima pause, almost, but his eyes were drawn back to his own son’s failing at dislodging the toddler around his head. 

Madara might have had an easier time if he weren’t a big brother at heart and used to similar displays of violent affection by his little siblings and thus didn’t put the strength behind his efforts that extracting an enemy from vital points should warrant. Then again, as far as Tajima could tell, the little one was busy nuzzling his face into Madara’s hair, so it didn’t seem as if there was that much danger to his son’s life other than the mild suffocation that he was most likely suffering through. 

“Go get your brother,” Butsuma growled. “The one you were supposed to watch over, if you need me to remind you of your duties.” 

Hashirama ducked his head with a sheepish expression but seemed otherwise unimpressed by his father’s ire. He took a quick look around and visibly brightened when he found his brother, who by now had abandoned smothering Madara against his stomach and instead was perched on his shoulders, tiny hands buried into the wild mane his son insisted on letting grow, and legs crossed under Madara’s chin for more stability. 

Thankfully they’d recently trained how to dodge attempts at strangling and neck breaking, so at least Madara had the good sense to get one arm between his throat and the legs that Tajima had no doubt were more powerful than a toddler had any business to be. Not with how fast the boy had pounced over the entirety of the battlefield. 

“Oh wow! We’re the same age!” Butsuma’s heir cried out as he ran over to Madara and his little brother. “Do you wanna be friends?!” 

Tajima didn’t know what he did expect, but it wasn’t for Madara’s little kitten to show literal fangs at his brother, snarling in an impressively threatening display and yowling a sound that Tajima so far only knew from the nin-neko at the Uchiha compound when they were beyond the patience for any additional warning.

“No, mine!” The little one hissed, unusually sharp teeth bared at his brother. “Tobi’s Sunbeam! Go away!” And no matter how simple-minded Butsuma’s heir initially appeared to be, he seemed sensible enough to know a threat of bloody murder when he was met with one and backed off slowly, his hands raised in a placating gesture. The ugly tears running down his suddenly red-blotched face as he cried about brother-thives were a rather pathetic display, though. 

Madara’s new stray seemed to share Tajima’s opinion as he used his height advantage perched on Madara’s shoulders and draped over the cloud of black hair to sneer down his little nose, the impression of a tiny growl still echoing around the otherwise silent field. 

“Care to control your offspring?” Tajima asked calmly, side-eyeing Butsuma, who wore a long-suffering expression with little grace and pinched the bridge of his nose before he visibly gathered himself. “No.”

“Pardon?” 

“No,” Butsuma repeated tiredly, face set in stone. “Tobirama might be of my blood, but he is his mother’s son. There is no controlling him.” 

“So what,” a nasal voice cut in without prompting. “He’s a baby clinging to his mother’s skirts who isn’t even here. Pluck the brat of our spare’s head and be done with it. What is he supposed to do about it? Start crying like his disgrace of a brother?”

Tajima and Butsuma slowly turned to Yashiro as one, equally unimpressed by the Uchiha’s unwarranted outburst. “His mother - the one whose skirts he’s supposedly clinging to - is the Hatake’s Black Scourge. Go ahead, and we’ll leave it to you to explain to her why her precious baby is crying.” Yashiro paled rather drastically at that, but Butsuma snorted at Tajima’s dry words before he went for the kill. “No need to worry about my wife. Try to pry Tobirama off his ‘sunbeam’, and he is more likely to go for your throat with his teeth than allow you to walk away and live with the shame of being bested by a three-year-old.”

As they watched Yashiro’s fast retreat with a sense of accomplishment, Tajima mused how it would be if they could do this more often. Fighting common enemies rather than each other. He imagined they could even bring the Daimyo's court to its knees if they put their mind to it. Ah, well, they would see what the future would bring. Even the most resilient elders were bound to die eventually, and those bound to inherit their places he had already primed to allow for peace for years. He suspected Butsuma had done the same on his end. 

Peace was only a matter of time. Until then, they had their glorified clan-wide sparring sessions and now maybe a budding friendship between their sons. 

Another shout from said son brought Tajima out of his musings. In true Uchiha fashion, Madara seemed eventually fed up enough with the constant clinging of an unknown child that he’d managed to get a good grip on one ankle and pried him off his head with a triumphal outcry that he would be undoubtedly embarrassed about later. 

“Just take him, dammit. I don’t-” 

Tajima saw it happen in slow motion. Madara, holding little Tobirama up on one ankle towards his brother, strands of hair still trapped between little fists. The little one’s arms outstretched towards his son, begging him without words but a wobbling lip and sad eyes to take him up into his arms. Tajima saw when Madara made the mistake of looking into these big red eyes and- matching red flared to life, tomoe spinning first fast but slowing down in an instant, focused on Tobirama’s little face in innocent wonder.

“Oh, fuck me sideways.”

Butsuma’s head whipped around at the unprecedented swearing, but Tajima paid it no mind.  It seemed their peace would come sooner than anyone could have hoped for.

For Madara’s Sharingan to activate without any sign of trauma, there was only one explanation.

And just as was to be expected, the moment Hashirama stepped up to take his brother as requested, Madara spun around and tucked his new-found center close to his heart to hide him from anyone who might try to take him. “Fuck you, bowl-head. He’s mine now; go away!”

Tajima coughed delicately and deliberately ignored Butsuma’s judging stare as well as the scabbling children in the middle of anyone’s attention. “So, how about some sort of fostering agreement to establish peace between our clans?”

Chapter Text

Tajima should have been more suspicious when Butsuma allowed for his son to become a ward to the Uchiha with little fanfare. But he had been too relieved about narrowly avoiding the impossible task of separating Madara from his new-found Center that he didn’t question it, and now he had no one else to blame but himself. 

“Is there anything the Uchiha can do for you, Ōkami-sama?”

The wolf huffed - a moist breeze that tousled Tajima’s hair and carried the smell of death - before they smiled in a show of glaring teeth. Tajima felt a drop of sweat running down his neck, but he refused to let his posture and face show anything but pleasant hospitality. 

Never in his life had he been more grateful for his grandmother’s training under the Great Neko’s judging eyes- her crusade to turn him into a suitable Head for a hereditarily noble clan as the Uchiha prided themselves to be, a clan worthy of being associated with the proud nin-neko.

“Pack-Sister has to care for her litter. Her mate gave something away that wasn’t his to give,” the wolf growled without an outward sign of hostility. Yet.

“Ah,” Tajima stalled and pushed down the need to squirm under the far too intelligent yellow eyes. There was little doubt what this was about, but neither did Tajima want to try returning Tobirama against his expressed wish to stay plastered to Madara at any given time, nor did he fancy outright denying the impressive creature standing at the main gate of the compound housing his clan’s families. 

Thankfully, Tajima didn’t need to decide on a course of action.

“AUNTIE!” Little Tobirama appeared out of nowhere - a dreadful habit his new ward seemed to have - cannonballing into the massive wolf at full speed, Madara hot on his heels. The boy crashed into the wolf’s unrelenting frame, purring up a storm as he clung to the shaggy fur and used it to climb higher up until he could nuzzle close to the blood-streaked snout, peppering kisses where he could reach. 

Tajima held Madara at his side, his son’s muscles tensing under his skin as the wolf returned Tobirama’s enthusiastic greeting with a broad lick over his face, sending the boy into a fit of giggles that betrayed his young age and involuntarily activated Madara’s Sharingan in tandem with his besotted sigh. 

“Cub. You had your mother worried,” the growl sounded the same to Tajima’s ears as before, but somehow it appeared to be infinitely more gentle and fond. 

“Why? Tobi’s fine,” Tobirama wondered, an adorable frown on his too-earnest face. 

“So you are. But your mother wouldn’t know.” Huh, so even growling wolves could sound exasperated. Come to think of it, it seemed to be a common reaction when dealing with little Tobirama- Madara being the sole exception so far, of course. “I am to bring you back to her den.”

Before anyone could intervene, Tobirama tried to leap back into Madara’s waiting arms, but he was plucked out of the air with deadly teeth burying into the fur tied to Tobirama’s vulnerable neck and back (huh, so it wasn’t just a toddler’s questionable fashion choice) and thrown to the ground. The huffing wolf carefully but firmly placed a paw on his small chest before the little hellion could squirm his way out of their reach. 

All in all, Tajima mused, it seemed like a practised dance. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised in the slightest. 

Tobirama clawed at the paw and bared his teeth, growling as intimidating as he managed with his small size - which was far more intimidating than any toddler should be but wasn’t that impressive in the face of a wolf big as a horse. 

Give it a few years, though, and the result might be something else than the wolf bowing down to nuzzle and huff the small frame, relentlessly licking and nipping until little Tobirama shrieked in helpless laughter, begging for his Auntie (how did Tajima miss that address before?!) to stop their assault.

“Will you listen to your elders and return to your pack?” 

“No,” Tobirama pouted, to no one’s surprise. Not even his… aunts. “Wanna stay with my sunbeam.” 

The wolf’s yellow eyes zeroed in on Madara with a heavy gaze, considering. It set Tajima on edge. He knew his shinobi speed was nothing compared to a Hatake wolf, especially not in close quarters. But before his anxiety could build up further, the wolf huffed a final time, gaze dropping back to Tobirama.  

“You always were drawn to warmth. There was no other outcome to be expected when the stringy Senju robbed you from pack-sister’s den to meet Amaterasu-kami’s chosen children,” the wolf mused, and Tajima carefully chose to let any and all implications fly right over his head. “Fine, for now, we will stay with your sunbeam.”

Chapter Text

Kyoko narrowed her eyes at the ill-mannered toddler clinging to young Madara-sama’s back like the fatuitous monkey she’d always expected any shinobi not of her marital clan to be. The brat’s creepy eyes were focused on her, blinking slowly - deliberately - all but daring her to speak up as he took a strand of Madara-sama’s fine hair in his mouth and started chewing on it. 

She averted her eyes, holding any and all objections firmly behind her teeth. 

Despite her status, Kyoko had already faced the consequences of attempting to civilise the feral thing once, and she didn’t fancy a repeat. Tajima-dono’s threat to remove her from the influential position as Madara-sama’s teacher almost paled in comparison to having her most prized kimono ruined by the fury behind her new pupil’s glare. The scorched marks on the expensive fabric turned out to be impossible to mend; that she had to replace the whole thing would make her furious if she weren’t still terrified by the display of unchecked power.

It made Kyoko wonder if the Uchiha weren’t just as savage as the other shinobi clans and if she hadn’t made a mistake by marrying into the supposedly noble shinobi clan. Taking a- a peasant into the main family’s home without reliable reason, all but treating them as the newly appointed heir’s pet. Not even touching upon the fact that they just passed over the able-bodied eldest son in favour of a hot-tempered child, reasoned with nothing but some obscure religious belief that Kyoko was sure no one at the Daimyo’s court had ever heard of- seriously. 

But she had made her bed, and now she had to lie in it. Even if that meant overlooking how the boy set to become the Uchiha’s next clan head developed an uncouth habit of carrying a lazy child around like a backpack or - far worse but thankfully rare - some sort of hat. The horrifying disgrace she’d suffer by association alone if anyone at court were to see the undignified display of her chosen clan’s heir, Kyoko didn’t dare think of it.

If only the devil spawn let her ignore his presence with the impeccably courteous aloofness any born and bred noblewoman learned at her mother’s knee, Kyoko would be able to deal with the situation as it was. 

But the demon spawn didn’t content himself with her ignorance and provoked her at every turn, regularly huffing when she explained concepts far beyond his meagre understanding and disturbing her lessons by monopolising her pupil’s attention. It was infuriating and worsened by the day, with no one willing to step in and correct the disrespectful behaviour.

Just like now, as he dared to pluck the freshly-inked brush from Madara-sama’s hand and started to draw over the assignment her pupil had been working on for the last half an hour, while Madara-sama bore it with grace. He hugged the boy to his chest and rested his chin on the unkempt white hair as he watched with fond indulgence and no little amount of awe as the impish boy continued to ruin the calculations he had worked on in today’s lessons with his tongue peeked out between his lips and a concentrated frown on his face. 

It felt as if Kyoko merely blinked, and suddenly the brush was properly cleaned and put away (how-), and Madara-sama had left in a whirl of indigo cloth, tiny menace held securely in his arms as they quietly debated on the best spot for a late afternoon nap now that today’s work was done. 

Kyoko blinked until the shown disrespect fully registered. Silently fuming with barely controlled rage, she pulled Madara-sama’s ruined assignment close. Never in her life had she been scorned like this. Not just the half-feral child’s behaviour, but her pupil’s also. Getting up without her leave, and before fulfilling his assignment at that! There was no way the ruined calculations were-

No. 

HOW-

Chapter Text

“What are you doing?”

It was the seventeenth time a variation of the same question was asked in what felt like just as many minutes, and Tajima was tempted to go into hiding beneath his desk. Would do it, really, if there were any chance Tobirama would let him get away with it. But despite his Senju name, the boy was Hatake through and through, sensing weakness a mile away and pouncing on it with glee.

He didn’t think this through. 

With Kyoko-hime’s frankly bewildering distaste of Madara’s Center, Tajima would have liked to replace her as his son’s tutor in general, but as it was, she was the best choice at teaching him the art of social grace and the intricacies that were to be expected at court. 

She was also the lone choice, sadly. 

Noble clan they might be, most Uchiha didn’t bother with the ridiculousness that was a civilian court. But one had to learn the rules first before they could be discarded, and as the newly appointed heir, Madara would need to learn them better than most. 

To make the much-needed lessons less explosive, Tajima had decided to keep his new ward at his side while Madara was with Kyoko-hime. Tobirama was a son of the Senju’s main line; as the Uchiha clan head, Tajima should make an effort, right? The current situation was the chance to get the peace he had longed for, after all.

“I’m reading and answering letters,” Tajima answered eventually after the previous evading and child-appropriate answers didn’t get him anywhere. 

“Hm,” his little guest accepted easily enough, tilting his head adorably as he peered over the edge of Tajima’s desk. “Tobi’s gonna help,” Tobirama added with a serious nod and grabbed one of the papers lying on the overflowing table.

“Of course, Tobirama,” Tajima sighed, defeated. He probably shouldn’t let the boy play with his documents, but frankly, whatever it took to get some minutes of peace and quiet, Tajima would allow it in a heartbeat. And so far, the little romp had shown a surprising amount of care whenever he got his hands on any kind of paper, it should be alright. The differences between Tobirama and Izuna never ceased to amaze Tajima. 

He couldn’t wait for his beloved wife to return with their youngest children. Their absence ached, but the extended stay with her family had been a necessity when Tajima caught on to the elders’ intent to send their children into battle. 

Konohanasakuya would adore the little rascal, Tajima was sure. Izuna, though- Izuna and Madara always were close, with Izuna having developed an overwhelming case of hero worship. Ah, well, time would tell. Until then-

“Ooops,” Tobirama’s quiet voice was almost drawn out by the harsh sound of ripping paper. Big red eyes intently peered up into Tajima’s as one half of the document Tobirama had taken for himself slowly inched closer to the candle at the far end of the desk, while the other got audibly crumbled in a tiny fist. 

Tajima was a shinobi. Of course, he had the ability to stop Tobirama at any point, but the bewilderment held him trapped in place as he watched the paper go up in flames and its remains securely dropped into the empty cup standing just beside the candle. 

“Oh no,” Tobirama breathed, his eyes widening just a tad more, lip jutting out in a muster picture of sheer innocence. “Clumsy Tobi.” His tiny nose scrunched up, and to his horror, Tajima could see the beginning of a tremble at the little chin. 

It was a manipulation, and a ridiculously obvious one at that. Despite his age, Tobirama was anything but clumsy. Quite the opposite, actually. But- 

Well, Tajima had no excuse, really.

Without any conscious thought, he had Tobirama scoped up into his arms and was halfway down out of the house to find Madara, making shushing noises and rubbing the shivering back as he went. As he passed the door, and the wolf lying in front of it conversing with one of the nin-neko, he also graciously ignored the snort following him. 

If he was aware of what was happening, then it didn’t count as being manipulated. It didn’t.

Chapter Text

“Tajima-dono, please. I beg of you, leash the demon spawn,” Madara’s tutor pressed out between clenched teeth, and actually lowered herself into saikeirei, where she stayed for a full minute before gracefully rising again, meeting Tajima’s carefully blank expression with determined resolve. 

“Take care of how you speak about my ward, Kyoko-san,” he chided mildly and relished in the responding flinch, small it might be, taking it as the sign of weakness that it was. Just as Yashiro himself, his wife had made it a habit of being nothing but trouble if left unsupervised, but Tobirama’s presence within the compound had truly broken up Kyoko’s aggravating self-importance. “What seems to be the matter? I’m sure my heir’s center is a delight as always.”

At the mention of Tobirama, Madara’s attention shot up from his calligraphy practice, eyes wandering over Tajima’s shoulder to watch through the window behind his back. That wouldn’t do. His son might be young, but that wasn’t any excuse to be sloppy or, worse, obvious. 

“A delight?! He broke into my home, stole priceless garments out of a locked dresser and threw them into the dirt! The cats, they, they-” Kyoko broke off with a strangled sound, still too horrified to put the fate of her misplaced fabrics into words. Thankfully, Tajima had no such qualms.  

“Ah yes, lovely boy. Noticed one of the cats was close to giving birth and was concerned she didn’t have a soft den for her litter yet and wanted to help her out. You should be honoured the softness of your fabrics was deemed worthy of such a noble cause,” Tajima gratulated her with the most sincere expression he could manage while knowing full well that Tobirama had abducted Kyoko’s expensive court attire for his project and that the cats left them beyond saving.

“He broke into my home - repeatedly - at night, and I had to wake up being stared at with unblinking demon eyes!”

“Aw, Tobirama wants to guard Madara’s honoured tutor, how sweet and thoughtful.”

“He attempted to strangle me with my necklace just yesterday!”

“Kyoko-san,” Tajima allowed a smidge of disappointment to bleed into his voice, if only to smother the mirth that was getting harder to keep from shining through. “Tobirama is only three years old. If he sees something shiny and wants to have a closer look, he’ll just make a grab for it, you understand? It was an honest mistake, I’m sure.”

“It was nothing short of attempted murder!”

“Ah, Kyoko-san, boys will be boys,” Tajima sighed like only a long-suffering father of four sons could. “And he was grounded for it, no? Don’t worry, Tobirama is serving his sentence as we speak.”

A loud crash from the backyard, followed by shrieking laughter and a loud hiss, disturbed the heavy silence between them. Kyoko’s eye twitched violently while Tajima kept his air of serenity. “Your grounded ward is running around, causing mayhem as he is prone to!”

“Now, that’s quite an accusation to make,” Tajima tutted, eyes returning to his paperwork in clear disinterest. “Madara.”

“Yes, father?” His son finally deigned Tajima with his attention, wariness audible in his voice. Good, at least he had the sense to realise some caution was advisable. 

“Do I need to take action because your center disobeyed my direct command to stay put?”

There was a moment of pause where Madara’s eyes undoubtedly returned to what sounded like the annihilation of their backyard garden behind Tajima’s back, trying to get out of this without getting in trouble himself. 

“...No?”

Good boy. 

“As I thought. Good day, Kyoko-san.” At the absentminded dismissal, the dreadful woman got up with unusually stiff movements and left without a proper goodbye. The smothered shriek of helpless rage as soon as the door was closed behind her was music to Tajima’s ears. 

Hopefully, little Tobirama would manage to blame someone else for his chaos so Tajima could lift his punishment on the grounds of good behaviour. The little tyke deserved it.

Chapter Text

His beloved wife wrapped into his arms, Tajima was content with the world and chuckled as they watched Izuna giggling while Madara continued to walk in slow circles despite his baby brother holding on to one of his legs like a little monkey and their sister clinging determinedly to his other ankle, getting dragged over the floor for it.

If nothing else, Tobirama’s presence would have at least improved Madara’s balance as well as his patience with weathering excited ramblings, it seemed. Great skills for an heir to have, yes. Tajima would have to remember it for the next time one of Madara’s tutors were to complain about the little one’s presence.

“Something changed,” his ever-watchful Konohana noted, sharp eyes trained on their son who had seldomly acted as content and, well, centred as he was now. It had to be startling to see their boy grinning wildly as he sped up his steps in a careful attempt to force Kurohime to let go of his ankle. For all that Madara had always clearly loved his siblings, his family and the clan, hidden underneath his temper, there had always been a doleful air surrounding him, weighing him down even when he had been too young to understand the pain of living. 

Never mind that he was Madara’s Center; for the ability to give his son peace alone, Tajima was willing to give Tobirama everything the boy would ever think to ask for.

“Something changed,” Tajima agreed, entirely unwilling to disturb his family’s peaceful moment with the lengthy explanations that would be required to make Konohanasakuya actually comprehend what had happened in her absence. For all that she was the clan head’s wife, she was still no Uchiha by blood, and the elder council kept denying Tajima’s repeated request to let her have access to the clan’s scrolls holding the cumulated knowledge about the Sharingan. 

It was a pity. Tajima was long since convinced his wife’s unique talent in healing combined with an outsider’s perspective might produce some cure for the ailments that commonly befell Uchiha, who over-used their Sharingan. But thankfully, now that her son had found his Center, Tajima could strongarm his council into allowing his wife into their library. 

Tajima truly adored having Tobirama around. 

Seeing Madara without his little shadow was kind of disturbing, though. It had only been a few weeks, but already it was hard to imagine Madara on his own since they rarely ever parted. Despite acting like a feral little terror on occasion, Tobirama was a sweet child, the best thing to happen to Madara, who had so much care to give but barely anyone happy to receive it. 

Even as a toddler, Kurohime had always been fiercely independent - ready to put anyone down who told her she couldn’t wear colourful kimono or try her mother’s face paint just because she was born with ‘the wrong set’, as the cowards liked to word it - and Izuna had just reached an age where he desired to prove himself and abhorred being coddled by his doting big brother. Tobirama, though, thrived under the attention.

“Do not worry,” Tajima addressed his son, whose eyes kept trailing back to the direction Tobirama had been left napping. “Tobirama is still sleeping, for sure. Even if he wakes up, Hikaku is there to keep him company. Your cousin will manage watching over your kitten just fine, it’s only been half an hour.”

“Just because he’s still compliant by the novelty of his sunbeam,” Auntie’s voice rumbled unexpectedly, sounding amused as she trotted by the open door without a care in the world, “and finally having undisturbed naptimes, doesn’t mean he’ll be easy on anyone but you or your son.” 

Madara grunted as Izuna’s, and Kurohime’s grip tightened in sudden freight, and Tajima felt his wife stiffen in his arms. He could not worry about them, though. Not when he heard the silent Fool hanging in the air just fine, and his instincts reared their weary head. 

As if on command, one of the compound guards skidded to a halt in front of the same door Auntie had just passed by, dishevelled and wide-eyed, near crazed but outwardly unharmed. Tajima shifted Konohanasakuya behind him as he stepped forward, putting himself between the door and his family without conscious thought. “An attack?!”

“No,” the guard wheezed, “Tobira-” 

Madara dislodged Izuna and Kurohime without them noticing and was out of the door in an instant, Tajima hot on his heels. But no matter how fast he was, fueled by fear for his Center, Madara left him behind almost as soon as they stepped outside the house. 

Following a hunch, Tajima made a break for the willow tree that seemed to be Tobirama’s favoured napping spot, and after a brief sprint over rooftops, he caught sight of his son, Tobirama attached to his head and shoulders in a mirror image of their first meeting.

At first glance, everything seemed alright, and Tajima allowed himself to relax marginally. But with his attention not solely focused on the boys anymore, he was forced to acknowledge Hikaku, coming up to him looking worse for wear and as close to tears as Tajima had never seen his usually calm and serene nephew.

“What-” Tajima’s voice trailed off when Tobirama’s head whipped around to narrow his eyes at him. “Tobi woke up alone,” Tobirama growled, showing off his sharp teeth. “Dara stays with Tobi.” Raising his eyebrow at the very faint touch of Killing Intent floating through the air, Tajima felt his wife coming up behind him. 

“Oh dear,” she muttered as she took in the near-swamp that used to be a patch of trimmed grass surrounding a koi pond shaded by the willow tree (...soon they would be running out of cultivated greenery, and Tajima prayed Konohana’s beloved flowerbeds would survive the kitten’s boisterous games by some miracle) and how Madara plucked Tobirama from his head to possessively hold him close as he sat down where he’d stood, nosing the white strands in an attempt to soothe his still high-riding chakra. 

“Something changed, hm?” Konohana deadpanned, making Tajima cough.

Chapter Text

Watching his children play, Tajima couldn’t suppress a sense of dread curling up his spine. His wife had told him repeatedly not to worry, that kids would be kids, but then again, she hadn’t met Tobirama yet. Not properly, at least. 

Upturned greenery and swamped gardens were the least of Tajima’s worries. So far, Tobirama had been a kitten, was sweet and delightful, if somewhat feral around the edges. The hints towards any viciousness were nothing to truly worry about as long as he could curl up around Madara at any given time and bask in the attention any Uchiha would gladly bestow upon their Center. 

Attention, that little Izuna went to great lengths to hog for himself. 

As the baby of the family, he wasn’t used to not being catered to by his doting brother, and it had never been as obvious as it was now just how much they’d spoiled him. There was little grace in the way Izuna’s childish jealousy showed until he managed to rope Madara into spending time with him alone. 

Tobirama had taken to hide from imminent sight, stalking Izuna with predatory intent, following his every move with suspicious - if not outright worrying - focus. 

Initially, Tajima had tried to entertain Tobirama as he did when Madara was busy with his studies, but so far, it had only gotten him some bruised shins and bitten fingers. Tobirama didn’t take well to being disturbed on his self-imposed mission that Tajima didn’t dare to look into more closely for fear of what he might find. At least his ward seemed to get on well enough with Kurohime, even if that didn’t do anything to soothe Tajima’s worries. His little girl had a vicious streak a mile wide and didn’t care much for Izuna’s dramatics on a good day. And as soon as she realised how said dramatics impacted her new friend, she wouldn’t have a good day by far. And neither would have anyone else on the compound. 

At this point, Tajima’s hope for the children’s continued well-being rested on his beloved Konohana’s shoulders, who showed a mother’s uncanny sixth sense for when shit was about to go down. Even if she didn’t seem to notice the severity or malicious intent behind the situations she diffused without a second thought. 

Tajima had seen Izuna’s frowning pout when his mother exchanged the meal he’d graciously served his big brother’s new friend for something lighter to stomach. In a moment of weakness - misplaced curiosity, one might say - Tajima had tried the dish later. Izuna might be a brat, but he surely wouldn’t try to outright poison Tobirama, right? 

Wrong. So, so wrong. 

The spice on his tongue brought Tajima to tears in a matter of seconds, and he couldn’t taste anything for days afterwards. He still liked to think Izuna didn’t attempt to truly harm Tobirama, that he just aimed to embarrass the non-Uchiha with an untrained reaction to spicy food, but Tajima didn’t dare to imagine how Auntie would have reacted to the attack on Tobirama’s Hatake-bred senses. She seemed to comprehend the intricacies of pranks well enough if Tajima’s continued suffering was anything to go by, but he wasn’t willing to bet on her goodwill if Tobirama were to come to harm. 

As it was, something would have to give, and Tajima dearly hoped it wouldn’t be anyone’s life.

Chapter Text

There was little as effective for getting up and running at the crack of dawn as your lovely wife kicking you mercilessly out of bed the exact moment your youngest child starts screaming in blind terror. Out of sheer reflex and without having reached full consciousness yet, Tajima rolled over his shoulder and got moving with the grace and speed that only years of fatherhood to shinobi children could grant.

He was about to bypass Madara’s room without much pause - a quick glance showing him no other danger to his heir other than the blankets he tried to wrestle himself out of, wide-eyed in the face of the sudden ruckus and with his hair fluffed up beyond comparison - but something about the whole scenery didn’t sit right with Tajima. 

It took his sleep-addled brain a long moment to notice, but there wasn’t a single hint of white hair between the numerous sheets and pillows on Madara’s bed that resembled more a nest than anything else (and finally answered the question where the missing furnishing fabrics went that various women had complained about, Kyoko-san most and foremost).

The ongoing scream climbed another pitch, and Tajima didn’t feel any desire to witness what he now could only suspect to be Tobirama’s retaliation for the half-baked pranks that his son had relentlessly tried to perform ever since his return to the compound two weeks ago. Admittedly, it was a wonder that his ward’s patience had held strong for as long as it did before it eventually snapped but-

“No, no, no!” Izuna’s hysterical pleading had Tajima burst through the door to his youngest’ room despite his reservations and- 

Tajima rubbed his eyes, the heaviness of sleep apparently clinging more stubbornly to his senses than should have been possible for a shinobi of his calibre. But when he focused back on the scene in front of him, it hadn’t changed. 

Madara’s sweet Tobirama made a horrific sight, with his face and front covered in drying blood while his equally sullied hands clutched a mangled form that might be a rabbit (or might have been something else but was definitely dead). Tobirama’s red eyes appeared almost glowing in the dark, illuminated by the pale light of the full moon shining through the window. The little boy dismissed Tajima with a glance before he turned his attention back onto Izuna, who’d tried to shuffle further away with small whimpers falling from his lips. Tajima watched bewildered as Tobirama crept over the futon after the terrified Izuna, cornering him without apparent effort and-

And tried to make Izuna eat the dead animal? 

What?

Before Tajima could find his composure and intervene, Madara followed him into the room, one leg still caught in a thin blanket that he’d pulled behind him rather than trying to get out of it. Somehow, his son hadn’t Tajima’s troubles comprehending the scene.

“Aw, Tobi. We talked about this,” he gently chided without any heat, eyes stupidly soft on his Center.

With his red-stained face and messy clothes, Tobirama’s silent stare was slightly disturbing, but unsurprisingly, when his lower lip jutted out in a pout, he made it work, and Tajima felt himself melting despite the gruesome sight. Somehow, the little terror had managed to overwrite Tajima’s self-preservation instinct by sheer cuteness, and he could only hope it wouldn’t cost him in the long run. 

“Tobi’s just helping the puppy,” Tobirama explained, somewhat nonsensical. “Auntie said puppies need to eat but can’t hunt.” With every word, his eyes got bigger and more innocent until Tobirama wore the most devastating look that Tajima had ever seen. Considering that as clan head, he had met every and all kittens their contracted nin-neko had littered during his tenure, that should be saying something. Coming to think of it… Tajima tilted his head, looked at Tobirama from a different angle, and-

A wet snort at his neck made him jump. 

“Is the cub causing trouble again?” Auntie’s bone-dry rumble soothed Tajima’s frizzled nerves somewhat, and he had to acknowledge that, yes, his sense of self-preservation had definitely taken a fatal hit somewhere along the line. But with warm and soft fur brushing at his hands as Auntie stepped past him to sniff at the bloodied Tobirama, Tajima couldn’t find it in him to care. 

Not when Madara swept a giggling Tobirama up in the thin blanket he’d finally freed himself from and bundled him up as a packet of joy in his lap, content to nuzzle the moonlit hair, praising Tobirama for the effort he put into taking care of Madara’s precious brother. 

Now that the initial panic had left his system, Izuna looked aghast and offended to be left out of the cuddle fest. Tajima could see it in his face that he wanted to jump right in, but was deterred by the dead animal sullying his bed where Tobirama had dropped it and lifted his arms to get taken up by his father instead. 

Tucking Izuna close to his chest and running a calming hand through the fine hair without further prompting, Tajima waited until Madara got up with Tobirama to return to their own nest, and for Auntie to eye the rabbit with interest before she snatched it up with a quick bite.

“Heh,” Tajima could only assume the low growl was some sort of laugh, “Tobi will always be a cub of my pack, but maybe I should start calling him kitten instead. Wolves don’t torment their prey, after all.”

Chapter Text

It wasn’t often that the Great Mother’s gift would look upon someone not of her chosen line and find them worthy, but Youko had to admit the little kitten brought in by Taji-chan had something about him that called to her, too. Of course, the wild thing lacked proper manners and had so far not bothered to pay his respects to her or the Mother, but he was still young, and Youko was willing to forgive. At least this once. 

Tobi-kitten was much too precious in his vicious possessiveness over young Madara-hiko to be held accountable for not following protocols he so obviously knew nothing about. Honestly, Youko couldn’t expect him to be any more sophisticated, raised by wolves as he was—and not even summons at that! 

At least there had been no dogs involved. 

As it was, Youko still held hope Tobi-kitten’s education would be saveable. So far, he had shown great promise, after all. He held naptime in appropriately high esteem and was willing to provide those less fortunate than him with ample opportunity to grow their skills. Although Taji-chan’s youngest proved to be rather disappointing in anything vaguely feline, the poor dear. Thankfully, Tobi-kitten had taken it upon himself to feed the runt some much needed meat and help him shape up. 

And if the little one decided to take his enjoyment while doing so, who was Youko to begrudge him some fun? What was a lesson or two of psychological warfare between new littermates? If Madara-hiko hadn’t coddled his mortal brother quite as much, the boy’s defences wouldn’t be so open that a kitten younger than him could take advantage of them so easily. Someone he should have taught instead. 

Then again, Youko was willing to amend that the mortal concept of age didn’t seem to restrict the little hellion currently clinging to Madara-hiko’s back, eyeing close-by cats with a suspicion that was entirely warranted. 

Even among the fire-blessed Uchiha, no one was as kissed by the Great Mother as her beloved Madara-hiko, and his warm embrace had been a favoured spot among the cats and nin-neko ever since he’d been old enough to understand that their tails weren’t to be pulled and their whiskers not to be touched, no matter how exciting it was to see them twitch. It was only to be expected that his newfound center would viciously conquer and defend his rightful place at Madara-hiko’s side. Good for him. 

It was easy for Youko to be gracious about it, since she alone was allowed to visit the Great Mother herself and could bask in the sun’s warmth without any shadow falling upon her. Her kin would simply have to cope since Youko didn’t foresee Tobi-kitten learning to share anytime soon, if ever. No, the possessive little fluff would drive away whoever might try to get between them, and even little Izuna-runt would eventually learn it or have to live with the consequences.

Yes, considering everything she had witnessed, Youko approved. Rini was right to relinquish her claim on Tobi-kitten. The sweetling wasn’t a puppy, couldn’t ever be one. He was the most feline human Youko had seen in a very long time, and it was easy to predict the greatness of his path. She would need to ensure his development would be properly guided, though. 

Sadly, Youko didn’t foresee one of hers to be the right choice. The Uchiha-Nin-Neko might be vicious in their own right but not quite the right fit for Madara-hiko’s sweet Tobi-kitten. No. She would need to call in some favours to ensure Amaterasu’s son would have a center worth his regard.

After all, who would be better suited to Tobi-kitten than them?

Chapter Text

When Youko-hime summoned herself in front of him without much fanfare, Tajima knew he was in deep shit. Amaterasu’s beloved companion didn’t just appear for no reason in the mortal realm, and if she saw fit to arrive with no apparent cause, it was a given that Tajima would end up with more problems than he’d know how to handle—especially considering that his hands were currently full with trying to keep Tobirama and Izuna apart before either of them lost an eye or worse.

“Taji-chan. Tobi-kitten,” the massive summon greeted warmly, completely bypassing Tajima’s youngest in her greeting. Izuna had lost all tentative respect granted to members of the Uchiha main line when he’d proven to be allergic to any and all kinds of feline, be it summons or the Uchihas’ nin-neko. While the nin-neko contented themselves by taking their revenge at being denied pets by shedding their fur all over his bed like common cats, the summons were never shy to show their displeasure at this blatant ‘disrespect’ more openly.

“Youko-hime, it is an honour to greet you in our home,” Tajima bowed, using his grip on both children’s ears to bow their heads, too. Little Tobirama might even get away with disrespecting the matron, but Izuna certainly wouldn’t, and Tajima refused to take any chances.

“If it is such an honour, why wasn’t I called to inspect the new kitten? And such a promising one at that—be glad Madara-hiko laid his claim on the little one, making him his responsibility rather than yours,” Youko-hime chided. Tajima ignored the disturbing level of respect the great summon never failed to give his son with practised ease and sent a quick prayer to Amaterasu, thanking her for being spared another of Youko-hime’s lengthy lectures on proper behaviour for someone allowed to hold her contract.

“No matter. What’s done is done,” she allowed, and Tajima could feel the hair on his neck rise in a sense of imminent doom. Youko-hime was unforgiving on a good day, it wasn’t like her to let any slight pass by with merely a verbal acknowledgement. “Even without proper introduction, I have observed your Tobi-kitten, and I’ve judged him worthy to be one of ours.”

That… didn’t sound as bad as Tajima had feared, but he still couldn’t shake the sense of having missed something integral that would bite him in the ass later. “I am pleased that you are welcoming Senju Tobirama among the Uchiha under your care, Youko-hime,” Tajima declared with the utmost respect and another bow, neatly clasping the boys to his side as he pushed their heads down, too, hoping against all better sense that the neko matron would miss their still ongoing grappling hidden behind his mantle. When the danger of earning Amaterasu’s beloved companion’s displeasure had passed, Tajima would- he would-

In all honesty, Tajima would probably stress-cry in his wife’s lap and let her maternal disappointment bring the boys to heel. For some reason that Tajima didn’t care to look into, little Tobirama had taken one look at his wife and developed an instantaneous case of hero worship that came with a healthy dose of respect which made Tajima fall in love with his wife all over again. His tiny, soft-spoken wife was a joy to be around, and above all else she was absolutely not to be trifled with. Tajima couldn’t be more thankful to have her at his side, to have her patient support in dealing with all the maddening mess that became normal when one was responsible for keeping a clan like the Uchiha in line—which, even before Tobirama had joined their compound, was only slightly easier than herding cats.

“Don’t be daft, Taji-chan, it doesn’t become you,” the matron sniffed and Tajima’s blood ran cold. “Of course Tobi-kitten would be welcome among my humans. But he is also worthy to become a summoner, and it’s always good to start them early.”

That-

Tajima didn’t even want to imagine Tobirama being followed by a litter of summons trained in his ways. It was difficult enough to circumvent the clan’s mature nin-neko following his bids because they thought him adorable and liked to indulge him in his self-imposed quests of mayhem and destruction.

“A great honour indeed, but-” the narrowing of his summon’s eyes made Tajima change track immediately “Tobirama is still only a kitten yet, and holding a contract is a great responsibility.”

“Hm,” the spark of mirth in yellow eyes was a clear tell that Youko-hime was aware that it wasn’t by far Tajima’s main concern, but thankfully she let it pass without comment. “I see your point, but since I don’t think one of mine will be his contract, we should consult a more neutral authority to decide on the matter, no?”

Before Tajima could answer, before he even could process, she sent a pulse of chakra that made Tobirama go lax for a moment and caused the air to grow hot and dry, almost impossible to breathe. Tajima was frozen in shock. Every Uchiha knew that Youko-hime was closely linked to Amaterasu, but would she dare to call down their Goddess for such a mortal matter?

A burst of blue flame, and Tajima was thankfully not met with Amaterasu’s disapproving glance. It was debatable, though, if the searing contempt of a mystic being was easier to face than a goddess’ wrath for failing to keep two grappling boys from trying to get around his legs for another hit that landed on Tajima more often than not.

“That’s him then?” The great cat-like being coated in blue flames snarled. “He doesn’t seem too fierce, I’m not impressed.”

“No, no. Taji-chan is mine,” the possessiveness shown by the great summon did sooth Tajima’s worries about his own mortality even if he would take it to his death-bed. “Tobi-kitten is the one I told you about, Matatabi-sama.”

At hearing his name, Tobirama finally deigned their otherworldly guests the attention they deserved while simultaneously pulling Izuna’s hair and slipping out of Tajima’s grasp—proving without a doubt that he’d only allowed to be contained because he didn’t have anything better to do at the moment.

Tajima wanted to close his eyes in silent despair but he couldn’t look away when his ward stepped closer to the burning chakra monster with a frown on his little face, red eyes tracking the flickering of flames as his fingers twitched in the obvious desire to touch.

Matatabi sniffed Tobirama where he stood, and toppled him over with a paw bigger than his whole body when he tried to make a fuss. Tajima could feel his immaculate black hair turning grey on the spot, and it didn’t help his sudden anxiety when Tobirama immediately attacked the paw holding him down by capturing it in a full-body octopus grip and gnawing on it with his ridiculously sharp teeth for lack of a better weapon.

Thank the sun, Tobirama didn’t have a weapon.

Watching the disaster unfold, Tajima’s soul was about to leave his body, when Matatabi let out a hissing laugh that stopped Tobirama for a mere moment before he took on his gnawing with a new vigour while he tried to push the paw off his chest by stemming his feet against it despite still holding it close with his arms.

“I see your point,” Matatabi snickered and Tajima was treated to one of Youko-hime’s rare purrs vibrating through his body, soothing his nerves. “The wild thing is certainly bound to be one of ours.”

They watched in companionable silence as Tobirama exhausted himself attacking Matatabi’s paw before he tried to wiggle out of it with similar success and finally fell limp in admitted defeat. Matatabi took obvious joy in licking Tobirama’s face and limbs, who bore it with an air of long-suffering grace that should be impossible at his age but Tajima had witnessed it in kitten before. It was always astonishing to realise how well the term fit him.

“Yes, he will do as a summoner. Eventually. For now, though, I agree with your pet-human, Youko-sama. Kitten duty is an important part of any feline summon contract and if my guess is right who’ll heed his call, then he’ll need some more mass before he is fit to care for a litter on his own,” Matatabi declared with finality to their tone, and Youko-hime bent her head in deference to the judgement. Tajima allowed himself to take a breath of relief at the chaos so narrowly avoided. There would still be a resemblance of peace at his compound.

“Until then,” Matatabi disturbed Tajima’s prayers by narrowing their eyes on Izuna pouting at Tajima’s side. “Tobi-kitten can train the needed skills by trying to instil some grace into your human’s runt. The little thing looks like it’d need it.”

With that, the being burst into blue flames, just like Tajima’s hope to have some peace within his home. With Tobirama having the blessing to ‘teach’ Izuna as he saw fit from a source that no mortal could argue against, Tajima saw dark times coming for his youngest’s wellbeing.

Tajima really needed that stress cry now. As well as Izuna, if the soft whimper was anything to go by. If they managed to look as pathetic as they felt, Konohana might even play with their hair for a bit. Before she went off and single-handedly saved the compound until Madara could be convinced that spoiling Tobirama’s ‘fun’ might be better for everyone involved in the long run.

Chapter Text

In.

He was one with the earth.

Out.

A mountain. Unmoveable but ever-connected to the ground.

In.

The rock his clan was built upon. Stable.

Out.

He was present.

In.

He was calm.

Out.

“I just-” another trumpeting sound as his eldest blew his nose in Butsuma’s sleeve, “miss him sooo muuuuch.”

Butsuma’s eyebrow twitched, and he doubled down on his meditation.

In. Out.

He was calm. His patience was endless. His tolerance as high as the mountain peak his wife hailed from. His lovely wife, who would murder him in cold blood if he even dared to think of sending Hashirama off to an extended stay with his maternal family to learn their ways or whatever nonsense Butsuma needed to come up with for the elders to approve a fostering of their heir.

Thinking of the Hatake, Butsuma envied their hair. His used to be spotless, a cascade of brown that had preserved his ageless appearance even past the tragedy of loss and war, but then-

“How could you do that? You’re so cruel, a monster–I HATE YOU!”

It was true, after all: Having kids did a number even on the most resilient men.

Thankfully, his eldest chose this exact moment—where Butsuma could feel his peaceful resolve grumbling to dust—to squirrel away with vociferous cries, sprouting greenery in his wake that would take ages to be removed from their home.

Butsuma strongly suspected his eldest did it on purpose. Tobirama wasn’t the only one with a wicked sense of revenge, after all, he was just more honest about it. And bloody. And less forgiving.

Precious little murder kitten.

Butsuma was confident his youngest flourished among the Uchiha. He’d fit right in with those cat fiends. The only minor worry Butsuma had was for his baby to get away with accidentally starting a cult of some sort, but he trusted Tajima wouldn’t let it happen. Then again, a warning might be reasonable? Ah well, he’d rather not.

Worst case, an elder misinterpreted the whole fostering idea as Butsuma’s attempt at subjugating the Uchiha while it only ever was a desperate plan to preserve the rest of his sanity. As if he’d be able to contain his feral bean at the Senju compound after Tobirama got territorial of a non-Senju, hah! Butsuma had learned his lesson when the same thing happened with inanimate objects, thank you.

Some days, Tobirama reminded him more of a dragon with its hoard than of a cat, as people liked to compare him with. But well. Who was Butsuma to rob them of making their own experiences?

No, no. He would graciously grant the Uchiha a chance to get used to Tobirama at their own pace without having their judgement clouded by his biased opinions as a loving father. And he would let Hashirama blow off his snotty steam as he saw fit, too. Preferably just as outside their house and Butsuma’s hearing as he seemed currently intent on doing.

Yes. That sounded like a good plan. The best plan, really. It would allow Hashirama to vent his dramatic suffering to his flowerbeds and, coincidentally, grant Butsuma the quiet to rebuild some much-needed peace of mind.

In.

He got this.

Out.

He was present.

In.

He was calm.

Out.

He was one with the earth their compound was built upon.

In.

His chakra was a gentle force.

Out.

Rippling through the ground, connecting him with his clan.

In.

He was-

About to get eaten alive by his wife.

Where the fuck was Hashirama?

Chapter Text

“Hello, young man! What a nice day, isn’t it?”

Akio blinked slowly and willed the figure in front of his eyes to make sense. He had quite a few tales to tell as the gate’s main warden—the number had strongly increased since Tajima-sama had decided to take in the little Senju, with all the insanity that followed on his heels—but he had to admit this was new.

The person standing at the gate to the Uchiha compound reached up to Akio’s elbow, wore wide robes that were bunched up at the back as if thrown over a backpack, and a ridiculously big straw hat that nearly fell to the ground when the small face tipped back to offer him a wide smile that was easy to see even partly hidden behind the white beard that could only be fake. For all that Uchiha tended not to have much facial hair in general, Akio was rather sure the free spot between moustache and beard was supposed to be for the lips rather than the chin, but who was he to argue? As a father of three, he knew how important it was not to outright discourage the young from trying to expand their skill set; he might as well play along.

“It is,” Akio agreed and paused momentarily, “honoured elder.” His voice raised a pitch at the end, a hidden question that wasn’t outright stated but made the kid’s eyes sprinkle in obvious delight before they nodded with vigour.

“True, true. Uchiha-san, could an old woman rest their tired bones for a bit?”

Eyes dropping again to the mighty fake beard falling to the kid’s waist, a long silence settled between them. Akio would need to take the kid aside and give them some pointers when the disguise was shed. While the effort was kind of cute, it was an utter disgrace.

“Please?”

Hands clasped under the hidden chin, the kid now looked up with imploring puppy eyes that might have been more effective if the attempt weren’t paling in comparison to Tobirama’s devastating pout—which the little tyke used without remorse or restrain and the Uchiha still weren’t able to build any resistance. 

As if summoned by his thoughts, a flash of white bypassed Akio and barreled into the rather pathetic kid. While utterly hopeless at disguises, Akio had to admit that the kid wasn’t entirely useless. He knew from experience that it was no little feat to stay on your feet when Tobirama pounced without warning, but the kid merely laughed as they pivoted twice to get rid of Tobirama’s momentum with an effortlessness that could only have been born from practice.

“Otouto! I missed you!”

Tobirama’s older sibling? That meant-

Oh fuck.

The Senju heir hugged Tobirama to his chest without any restraint or sense of self-preservation, not easing up even after Tobirama obviously had his fill of his brother’s attention. Akio didn’t bother acknowledging Madara stepping up to them—noticeably out of breath after having tried the impossible feat of keeping up with his whirlwind of a centre—too busy staring in mildly horrified silence as the boy kept prattling on and squished Tobirama to his chest like a teddy bear with no apparent care for the blood freely trickling from his face and hands where Tobirama had taken to claw and chew on his brother in lieu of getting out of his arms.

The displeasure coming off Madara in waves might not be linked to any wonder about the Senju boy’s high pain tolerance, though. Akio shivered as Madara’s chakra seared against his skin, leaving something akin to sunburn in its wake. Predictably, little Tobirama was anything but put off by the brutal force of Madara’s chakra lashing out—stopping the gnawing on his brother’s cheek only to stretch his arms pleadingly into Madara’s direction, bottom lip wobbling in silent demand to be rescued.

With a coo falling from Akio’s lips without conscious thought, he briefly worried for his clan’s collective sanity. As much as ‘cooing’ had become almost any Uchihas’ default reaction to Tobirama’s shenanigans, it was not the appropriate reaction to a child with his teeth and lips coloured by blood. Then again, the older Senju didn’t truly seem hurt? Other than the… mushrooms growing at his feet, giving him an air of defeat as he watched Tobirama being carried away by Madara, who wore the smug expression of a victorious emperor, with his centre happily nuzzling his cheek without even a hint of teeth.

Tajima was at a loss. He recognised the boy sitting in Tobirama’s assigned place, of course. Butsuma’s heir was hard to forget, if only for the cheery disposition that reliably shone from his face like Amaterasu's sun. But why the Senju was here was anyone’s guess. The boy had simply joined their dinner—taking the place always reserved for Tobirama no matter how much the little menace preferred to share Madara’s plate—and struck up a conversation with Izuna while occasionally trying to poke Madara.

It was hard to tell what exactly went on in the older Senju’s mind—Was he trying to get Madara’s attention as he had on the battlefield? Was he simply annoying his younger brother?—but it was clear as day that Tobirama was not having any of it, batting his brother’s hand away with a certain viciousness that couldn’t be denied, jealously guarding Madara with something close to murder in his eyes.

Whatever was going on, Tajima refused to deal with it on his own. It was high time to call reinforcements.

Chapter Text

Konohanasakuya had to admit, Senju Rhiannon of the Hatake was a formidable woman.

There was no doubt that despite her coming alone, accompanied by no one but two wolves even bigger than the one posing as sweet Tobirama’s aunt, she had been ready for war no matter their husbands’ dreams of peace. Not even the babe strapped to her back, happily gurgling while mouthing on some of his mother’s thinner braids (that Konohanasakuya suspected to be there for this exact purpose, with them being the only ones missing any adornments), managed to soften the sharp edges of the woman whose name was always ever uttered in fear of summoning her by mention alone like a demon of old. 

As a fellow mother of adorable children, it was something Konohanasakuya could respect.

Truth be told, fear was not even remotely among the feelings most women held towards the Black Scourge and her known habit of purging their lands from anyone daring to hurt or steal away a child. 

And, huh, wasn’t that a thought? 

Somehow, it just now occurred to Konohanasakuya that neither her Tajima nor Senju Butsuma had managed to fully think through the implications of their plans to establish peace between their clans by having the Uchiha fostering the Senju’s second heir without consulting their wives beforehand. 

Suddenly the appearance of ‘Auntie’ got a whole new flavour that Konohanasakuya didn’t like in the slightest. It tasted of blood and despair. Thankfully, without any of them noticing, a gruesome fate had been averted by Tobirama’s happiness at their compound alone. 

Shel couldn’t leave today’s issue unaddressed, though.

“While it is true that Madara is set to become the next Uchiha Clan Head, it is too early to tell if Tobirama will become Madara’s spouse and thus settle in a position of power like you’re envisioning for your son.”

Rhiannon’s head tilted in tandem with the wolves’ flanking her, their unblinking eyes equally predatory in their calm assessment of Konohanasakuya’s resolve. She bore it with the grace befitting to her station; she wouldn’t bartender her son’s happiness for his father’s well-meaning schemes, and neither would she Tobirama’s for his mother’s apparent ambition.  

The tenseness broke when Rhiannon snorted and bellowed out a loud laugh. Her intimidating posture mellowed out to a comfortable slouch until she could use the table sitting between them to prop up her chin on one of her palms as she continued to watch Konohanasakuya from half-lidded eyes with equal measurements of amusement and approval. Konohanasakuya felt faint with the sudden absence of danger that she hadn’t even noticed building prior, but she managed to merely blink when Rhiannon lazily gestured with her free hands towards the garden where their sons were playing in view. 

Well, or spending their time with what usually counted as playing for them, Konohanasakuya amended. Tobirama was braiding flowers into Madara’s unruly hair with great focus but little success, giggling delightedly with every little kiss on the nose he earned for any flower that stayed put for longer than a second. 

“You were saying?”

OMAKE:

“Auntie, help! Dara needs pretty ‘Take hair.”

“Cub,” Auntie started with a rumble before she lifted one of her enormous paws. “What do you see?” Tobirama narrowed his eyes in adorable focus - already deadset on answering any question that he came across - before he brightened, and at the sudden appearance of dimples, Madara felt as blessed as if Amaterasu herself had descended from the heavens for nothing more but to pet Madara’s hair in approval. “Auntie’s paw!”

“That’s right, cub,” Auntie took it with grace when Tobirama clapped against her raised paw with his open palm as he had seen with some of the teenagers around the compound. “And what is my paw missing?”

Tobirama’s face scrunched up in thought, and Madara was tempted to poke his nose to make him look happy again. But he knew better already, than coming between his little Center and a mystery to be solved. 

“Oh no!” Tobirama’s face cleared up, and a rarely-seen embarrassed flush settled on his face. “Tobi’s so sorry, Auntie! Here!” Madara blinked slowly as Tobirama scrambled up and quickly bound one of the colourful ribbons around two of Auntie’s toes with care, satisfied that it stayed put at his first attempt for once. 

“There, pretty Auntie! Now,” Tobirama hugged the paw to his chest and turned big, pleading eyes on the battle-hardened wolf, “help Tobi. Please?”

“That’s not-” Tobirama’s chin began to wobble. “Stop that, brat!” Auntie shot forward, used her decorated paw to hold Tobirama to the ground and mercilessly started licking his face and hands until the boy was nearly crying with laughter, Madara’s eyes turning red without conscious thought to capture the sight for eternity.

“I’m missing thumbs, you insolent cub. If you want your sunbeam to meet your mother with proper Hatake braids in his hair, you’ll have to do them yourself.”

Chapter Text

Butsuma dreaded what he would find at the Uchiha compound.

Thankfully, Tajima’s hawk had found him while he was still stalled by his elders, berated for losing his heir after all but giving up on the clan’s spare (and thank the heavens his wife had already left in search of their eldest, lest she heard that particular reference to her precious feral bean) so he had an idea for Hashirama’s whereabouts, at least, as unsurprising as they were.

But knowing that the Uchiha now harboured not one, but all three of his sons and their mother—because there was no reality in which she didn’t have already tracked down their wayward son to the Uchiha, carrying their youngest with her—didn’t help his peace of mind. Like, at all.

The occasional letters Tajima had sent spoke well of the Uchihas’ ability to handle Tobirama, but there was only so much Butsuma could expect the man (or his council) to accept before the whole mess would be declared an attempt at a hostile takeover. And he couldn’t even fault the Uchiha for it.

For all that he would only do so quietly—and far away from his wife’s impressive hearing—Butsuma was the first to admit that his family was quite a bit to handle. On a good day.

But today was no good day.

Rhiannon had been on a hair-trigger temper ever since he returned to her without Tobirama, and she carried with her the babe that she had yet to trust anyone—even him—to hold, distrustful and near feral for it after her second son having been given away as a ward to a previously feuding clan.

Butsuma still lamented that she hadn’t been able to join the field that fateful day. If only she had seen the way Tobirama behaved, the way he had claimed Tajima’s son, she wouldn’t have given him so much trouble for allowing their son to stay with the one he’d chosen as his own. Quite the opposite, frankly. She probably would have forced them to end the feud all at once, right there. Hatake were never shy to act on the particular brand of madness clinging to their bloodline, after all. They were proud of it.

“DADDY!”

Butsuma wheezed when a flash of white collided with his chest, nearly knocking him over if it weren’t for his habit of sticking his feet to the ground with a lick of chakra at all times. His hands settled around Tobirama only to find the little sprout grown since he last saw him, but the happy chirps his son made as he nuzzled his face into the crook of Butsuma’s neck before lightly biting his cheek made him relax for the first time in quite some time. At least one of his wayward sons was happy and accounted for. Things were looking up.

“Daddy,” Tobirama repeated a moment later, leaning back so he could turn big, soulful eyes to Butsuma. “Tobi missed you. Very much.”

Oh no.

For all this he melted a little bit inside—sue him, he hadn’t been on the receiving end of his son’s attention for quite a few weeks—Butsuma continued his walk to the looming Uchiha gates at a faster pace. It was never a good sign when Tobirama geared up to ask for something. It didn’t help that he could spot Tajima ready to greet them, looking slightly worse for wear. The brat had chosen his timing on purpose, for sure. Butsuma just didn’t know to which end yet.

“Can Tobi take the old man’s kuni?”

Ah, there it was. Time for their well-practised song and dance again, wasn’t it?

Tajima was impressed. And kind of glad that they had at least nominal peace for now, since he was in no rush to learn which atrocities Butsuma was able to commit with the level of resolve needed to withstand Tobirama’s puppy eyes with no apparent effort. His expression was a study of parental authority as Tobirama hugged him within an inch of his life with big eyes never straying from his father’s unimpressed face.

“Why would I allow you to steal an elder’s kunai, son?”

“Because he’s a meanie and Tobi wants it. It’s shiny.”

Tajima was familiar with the nonsensical arguments. He had heard them just a few minutes ago, baffled that Tobirama would come and ask before causing mayhem. Thankfully, before the silence could stretch on for too long, Tobirama’s nose twitched and the tyke had shot off without another warning, heading for the gates. Tajima had feared the worst as he sprung up and followed suit, but, all hail Amaterasu, reinforcements had arrived.

“No, no. We covered this in your lessons, son,” Butsuma chided. “Sell the idea to me. Give it some greater purpose. And quit the cute act, you haven’t spoken like that for more than a year.”

Wait, what.

Tobirama pouted for all of a second before the childish expression fell away and he narrowed his eyes in thought. “I need to practise stealth and it’s good to be armed with a weapon befitting my size?”

“A little less purpose,” Butsuma replied without batting an eye.

“I’ll be armed.”

“The other one,” Butsuma sighed, eyes rolling skywards. Tajima was still struck silent. Because… what?!

“I need to practise my stealth!”

“Yes, yes. Good idea, son. How mindful of you to further your skills rather than lazing around. I’m proud of you,” Butsuma nodded sagely, letting his son down to the ground. “Now, off you go. But remember: if you get caught…”

“Tou-san didn’t know a thing!” Tobirama chirped and was off not a moment later.

“Exactly, good boy. Have fun.”

Finally, Tajima was awarded some of Butsuma’s attention but he could only gracelessly gape. Suddenly, Tobirama’s behaviour made so much more sense. All of it. Well, most of it. Some. But that still begged the question:

“What?!”

Butsuma levelled an impressively flat stare at Tajima, eyebrow ticking in annoyance. Tajima had seen a weak imitation of this expression before, Tobirama liked to sport it on occasion before it smoothed out into something more age-appropriate in the blink of an eye.

Before Butsuma could defend his louse parenting standards, by now familiar sounds of mayhem and explosions reached them from the compound’s western side. For once, it wasn’t Tobirama’s fault, though. The Senju heir ran by, cackling like a madman as he was followed by Izuna brandishing one of Madara’s training swords with murderous intent, flowers knotted into his hair which were still continuing to grow, nearly dripping him up as he ran.

They followed their sons with their eyes, Tajima’s incredulity only outweighed by the sudden impression of tiredness wafting off Butsuma in waves. Still-

A weak surge of killing intent flared in the east, accompanied by Yashiro’s wordless howl of rage. As one, Butsuma and Tajima’s heads turned in the direction only to be met with the sight of an unfazed Madara carrying his pleased centre on his back, ridiculously ornate kunai worn in Tobirama’s sash like some sort of tanto—probably for no other reason than to tick off Yashiro even more than the theft of the useless weapon already did.

“You know what?” Tajima relented without looking at Butsuma, “Never mind. Tea?”

“Yes, please.”

Chapter Text

Tajima was revered as an artist of terror among his clan. Known as a demon among his enemies, haunting them with masterly crafted genjutsu and taking their lives when they’d least expect it.

But recently, Tajima had found a unique terror yet to be replicated by his Sharingan.

The prickle of tiny teeth gnawing on his skin as he carried his sleepy ward off to where Madara was supposed to keep an eye on him didn’t bother Tajima all that much. Sure, it used to be a surprise the first few times it happened, but as time went on without apparent ill intent nor any damage being made, it simply became part of the new normal within the Uchiha compound that Tobirama didn’t keep his teeth to himself—in some select cases, at least, as Tajima was smugly aware.

After witnessing the nin-neko flocking to the boy, heralding the nature of his spirit at its chore, he had relaxed quite a bit about Tobirama’s habit of mouthing Tajima’s hands and arms while worrying the skin with his teeth. With the neko’s blessing, it simply seemed improbable that there was something akin to a snake hiding beneath his skin, using the repetitive gnawing as a way to measure if he’d yet be able to swallow an offending limb whole. (At least Tajima liked to tell himself so. It greatly improved his ability to sleep on the rare occasions his ward sought out his bed to huddle down in the warmth provided by an adult Katon user’s body. Tajima really could do without waking up to unblinking eyes, though.)

Considering that Madara bore the brunt of it and Tobirama seemed positively taken with his son, Tajima used to think there wasn’t too much to worry about.

Auntie had simply snorted the first time she witnessed Tobirama using Tajima as a substitute chew toy whenever Madara wasn’t available and that was that. Simple. There might have been a few comments about how juvenile teeth were best sharpened on bones, but Tajima was entirely willing to overhear it as he concentrated on his paperwork while Tobi stayed put on his lap and entertained himself by gnawing on Tajima’s forearm without breaking skin.

But then-

Then Senju Hashirama appeared, carrying his bloody bite marks like a batch of honour, making Madara pout until Tobirama saw it necessary to lift his mood by tackling his brother into a brand new patch of mud and giving it his best effort to drown the brat in the quickly developing piece of swamp. And for all that Tobirama appeared like a vicious little monster (and Tajima seriously contemplated what it would mean for their peace if the nominal Uchiha ward strangled the Senju heir to actual death), Hashirama didn’t stop his coughing laughter. The Senju allowed Tobirama to get the energy out of his system until even his spite ran dry, and he clamped down with stubborn teeth to make his point, blood welling up and running past pale lips as Hashirama stood back up without a care and carried his brother where Madara directed them to the room he shared with Tobirama.

Tajima had been willing to ignore the violent outburst and wait the mess out until Butsuma came by to collect his wayward son, but then it wasn’t Butsuma that appeared. It was Hatake Rhinannon of the Senju, the Black Scourge known to wander the lands and violently dismember anyone even remotely involved in child hunting.

And there was murder written in her eyes as they settled on Tajima.

The single moment their eyes met across the empty plaza behind the gates, Tajima saw his life pass him by. And he realised how the Uchiha taking on Tobirama for fostering after a skirmish between their feuding clans might have looked to a protective mother.

Before anyone could say something, anything, Tobirama fly past and tackled his mother front and centre without causing her to move or blink, even as little teeth clamped down on the first patch of skin her son could reach, leaving a tiny pinpricks of red on her cheek before he cleaned them off with his tongue. His tongue.

Sometimes, rare as these moments have grown to be, Tajima despaired over his ward’s near-feral behaviour. But as long as he was being stared down by the little boy’s volatile mother, it really wasn’t the moment to let his woes show on his face. Especially when her stern face broke out into a wide smile, showing off her sharp teeth before she ducked down to catch Tobirama's ear between them, giving it a nip that made him yip in response.

“Finally grew some real teeth, cub?”

Tajima was not ashamed to admit that he used the brief moment of inattention to fake an important message that he needed to receive in person immediately, leaving his wife to handle the Senju matriarch’s arrival in his stead.

That had been two days ago and the stress was getting to Tajima.

The murder in Rhinannon’s eyes had softened to a predatory focus that Tajima seemed incapable of escaping ever since. It was maddening. (And inspiring, if he were honest. The sheer terror it invoked was something he needed to replicate within his genjutsu.)

Rhiannon’s eyes were following him everywhere, unwavering focus as she catalogued any and all interactions he had with her son, taking in all the little moments when Tobirama attacked him from the bushes and settled down to gnaw on his skin—making Tajima utterly self-conscious about the fact that the little boy didn’t draw blood despite doing so with his family. What had previously relieved him, now nearly caused him to rip out his hair.

Was it a bad sign? Was Tobi actually measuring up the limb we wanted to feast on, after all? Was it a warning? A rebuke? What did it mean?!

Tajima got a crash course in how Izuna must have felt living with Tobirama’s attention, and Tajima did not appreciate the experience at all. Neither did he Izuna’s knowing gaze on top of Rhiannon’s.

Needless to say, after he had foisted off his hosting responsibilities to his wife, sweet Konohana knew no mercy either and a good old stress cry was out, too.

Quite possibly, the world was having it out for him.

A suspicion that grew when Tajima suddenly found himself alone with the source of his distress, accosted in his favourite spot in the garden, trying to calm himself with a cup of tea and prayers for his hereditary enemy to appear soon and take back the majority of his family.

“You took my baby, and I should castrate you for it,” Rhiannon announced flatly, her eyes narrowing with every word. The silence that followed hung uncomfortably between them and did unspeakable things to Tajima’s already high stress levels. But then her expression cleared with a booming laugh, that frightened him even more “But he is happy, so I'm gonna let you off easy. Move over and hand me that cup. I’m thirsty.”

That was-

“What?”

“You heard me,” Tobirama’s mother rolled her eyes in a gesture that was so much like her son it gave Tajima whiplash and he didn’t even try to resist when she stole his cup from his hands to take it for herself. “But, for the record, I draw the line at stealing another one, so you better hand back Kawa this instance or I'll string you up on this pretty tree with your own intestines.”

“...what?” Tajima would like to pretend his reasonable question was anything but a faint wheeze but thankfully his spontaneous and profoundly felt spike of panic seemed to be apparent to the impossibly gifted shinobi in front of him.

“Ah. That cub, I swear. Be a doll and give me a refill, won’t you?”

Madara felt a twinge of panic rising up his chest.

It was nice of Tobi to give him something to entertain himself with while his centre was busy imparting some of Youko-sama’s wisdom to Izu, but what exactly was Madara to do with a baby?!

Chapter Text

“Puppy! My-”

Izuan didn’t even turn around, opting to break into a sprint instead. He knew he was no match to the younger boy’s speed (as much as it grated on him) but everything was better than sticking around to find out what rouse of a training Tobirama had in store now.

There was no sound behind him, but Izuna didn’t dare stop. His brother’s new friend tended to be freakishly silent for all that he was still a baby and Izuna knew from painful experience that the other was like a dog with a bone when in pursuit of his prey. And as much as he didn’t like to link the nightmare haunting him in the safety of his own home to adorable beings, Izuna felt qualified to make that call in this instance. He loved dogs and took the opportunity to ‘study’ them whenever he could, not that he would ever dare to mention such in his cat-infested home.

Life had been so much better before Tobirama came around. At least the cats used to simply ignore Izuna rather than following him around, leaving their fur on his clothes and bed to make him sneeze, causing his eyes to sting and his nose to run at any given time. It hadn’t been a good look for a child of the main family to be ignored by their hereditary summons, as some elders never tired to point out, but at least he had known some peace.

There was no peace to be found anymore.

Intent to shake off Tobirama, if only for the few minutes it would take the pest to pick up his trail again, Izuna took the next corner without a care for his surroundings. To his dismay, though, rather than giving him the needed edge to shake the pest, his feet lost contact with the ground as he found himself hoisted up by his collar, swinging from the momentum of his mad dash.

“The wayward Uchiha puppy, I take it?”

Izuna came nose to nose with a woman he’d never seen before, slanted grey eyes sitting in a pale face struck by red lines. Despite the colour, Izuna knew those eyes, and he couldn’t fight the tears welling up in response, blurring his sight. How was this fair?

The woman made a surprised noise, instantly changing her grip to gather him more securely in her arms and consequently allowing Izuna to hide his wet face in the fur-padded crook of her neck as she patted his back with practised ease.

“There, there. I know I have my reputation but I gotta admit a child crying at my sight alone is a new one,” she grumbled, but Izuna got the impression that there wasn’t any real disgruntlement involved and that she simply filled the silence with something other than his hiccuping. It was a surprisingly kind gesture, even more so than the allowance to hide himself away.

Izuna hadn’t been able to hide in forever. Tobirama would have been impossible to beat at their involuntary game of hide and seek even without the compound’s cats helping him cheat.

“I doubt it’s your fault,” someone growled, surprising Izuna by their presence but he was much too tired to move away from the pleasantly dark warmth he found himself in. It almost felt safe, and wasn’t that a mockery?

“He doesn’t take too well to the cub’s brand of playing,” another one added. Izuna recognised Auntie’s voice and buried deeper into the offered safety, moving away from the snout scenting his back. He liked to admire the big wolf from afar, but he never allowed himself to forget that she was Tobirama’s, too. Just like everyone else. “Tobi’s impulse control has gotten even worse with all these damned cats around and since their boss summon and Matatabi gave him an explicit free-pass, there isn’t much the Uchiha can do to protect the pup from Tobi’s schemes.”

Auntie wasn’t exactly fair, the people of his clan did try to protect Izuna to the best of their ability. His mother, ever fearless in the face of gods and monsters, had no qualms picking Tobirama up and carrying him outside if he dared to bring his play into their home, but neither could Izuna hide inside all day nor was she always in the compound. And his father and brother tried to keep an eye on them, ready to spring a distraction for the younger boy (the less said about his pest of a little sister, the better), just like everyone else was willing to hide Izuna away whenever Tobirama did end up in pursuit after all.

Sadly their efforts didn’t help all that much with the treacherous cats milling around, willing to steer Tobirama back to Izuna at all times. The only thing Izuna had learned in his training since the glowy cat’s command was how much he hated cats in general and the one at his home in particular.

“Poor thing. I did get the impression that those cat fiends lack some spine,” the woman scoffed, a gentle hand running through Izuna’s hair. “Ah well. Tit for tat should be fair, I guess. What do you think, pup: Want to give this fostering shtick a try and return home with me?”

Izuna tore himself from his hiding place, staring wide-eyed back at the woman who could only be Tobirama’s mother, ignoring the wolves’ amused snort at his reaction.

“You don’t have to, of course. I’d never-”

“Yes!” Izuna blurted, suddenly terrified she would take back her offer. But side-eyeing Auntie and remembering her ease with the feline masses, Izuna tentatively asked: “You don't have cats, do you?”

It earned him a throaty laugh and a pat on the head. “Don’t worry, pup. There are only wolves and dogs at the Senju compound, I’ve made sure of that. They scare away most of the cats, especially now that Tobi isn’t there to lure them in with his presence. So, what do you say—want me to steal you away? I was about to ditch this place anyway, and it would serve your father just right after taking off with my son in the first place.”

Izuna tried to imagine a life without teary eyes and a running nose, tried to imagine the opportunity to hide without a small army of arrogant snitches having it out for him personally. He found he couldn’t. But he was more than ready to find out what it was like.

“Yes!”

Chapter Text

Even after all these years, Tajima contemplated, peace was still a strange experience. But even so, the absence of certain death for his children—any of his clan’s children—was well worth the elders’ constant nagging. Although, admittedly, Tajima was getting rather tired of it. The old goats had grown almost rabid ever since Madara’s Center had rejoined the Uchiha compound for another year of fostering, and it grated on his nerves. 

It almost seemed they were worried about the torment awaiting them in the upcoming months. As if Tobirama would ever do something that’d seriously endanger the peace that he himself had been the focal point of since he’d been meagre three years old. Not when it was, technically, only in its name that he was allowed to stay with Madara for most of the year. Then again, it wasn’t as if their peace with the Senju would be endangered by anything Tobirama might do other than murder in cold blood. In front of witnesses. Who actually liked his crotchety prey more than him. 

Yeah, thinking of it, Tobirama wasn’t restricted in his choice of entertainment all that much. Tajima was ridiculously fond of the endearing little terror who wasn’t all that little anymore. 

And while he was interested to see what creative ways he’d thought of during his time at home, Tajima would have to talk to the old dog and see if they couldn’t send their remaining warmongers on a joint mission to either learn to keep peace with each other at long last or at least get rid of the problem in a more old-fashioned way. 

If Madara’s forlorn sighs over the past lonely month were any indication, his heir would appreciate Tobirama’s attention to be not focused elsewhere, anyway. He wondered when the both of them would eventually out-grow the puppy-love stage. It had held up so much longer than anyone had anticipated, but Tajima would enjoy the nightly quiet for as long as he could get it.

Sitting serenely in the garden and sipping tea in the early light of a new morning, he ignored the loud crash followed by maniac laughter. His kids knew better than to actively bother him during his dedicated downtime. 

Izuna would do well to get his reacquaintance with Tobirama out of the way right away rather than giving his all-but-brother a chance to make a game out of it. Tobirama’s feline brand of games wasn’t for the weak-hearted, and for all that Izuna showed great promise as an upcoming interrogator with all that entailed, he was still rather delicate himself. It might just be Tobirama’s uncanny talent of tailoring games to his chosen prey’s weaknesses, though. 

Tajima closed his eyes to savour another sip of tea and to protect them from the billowing steam as Izuna countered Tobirama’s multiple water bullets with a burst of flame like an idiot. As if that had ever worked in the past, and Tobirama wouldn’t simply use the spread-out moisture to imitate Fūton and carry his small Raiton on top of his devastating Suiton abilities. 

As usual, with Izuna and Tobirama caught up in one of their little games, Tajima didn’t get to finish his tea on his own time.

Roaring in rage when his hair stuck out in every direction from the charged air surrounding them, Izuna spat a Great Fireball that would have been impressive in its sight if Tajima wasn’t fed up with being its recipient after Tobirama sprung out of the way with a wheezing laugh. 

Tajima used his chakra to smother the flame approaching him while simultaneously weaving a genjutsu to hide its disappearance, allowing himself to light up in an illusioned inferno while dispassionately staring the boys down who stopped their spar to gracelessly gape as Tajima brushed off the flames like a traveller would dust themselves off, shaking his hand carelessly to the side until the last spark of illusioned fire dissipated into thin air.

“Are the two of you done yet?” 

OMAKE:

He should have known that he wouldn’t get to have his evening tea in peace after his morning had already been disturbed. The only surprise was that it was Madara who burst into his room, hair flying behind him like a banner, and almost climbed Tajima’s desk in an attempt to get up in his face. 

“You gotta teach me, and you’ll do it now,” his son snarled, something wild around his eyes that were both visible for once as his fringe billowed in the heat of his subconscious chakra release.

What?

“I don’t care that it’s a sacred secret of Indra himself. I don’t care that I’m not about to be clan head anytime soon. Tobirama hasn’t shut up about your ‘impressive feat that defies all known laws of nature’ all day, and I will not stand for it any longer.”

Ah. Tajima really should have known. Still.

“Sorry, son. Either you’ll figure it out yourself, or you’ll need to contemplate patricide to access the secrets reserved for the clan head’s eyes.” 

Tajima returned to his tea with all the serenity he could muster while Madara looked much too considering. 

Eh. 

Tobirama was too fond of Tajima for Madara to take the offered shortcut. He would be fine.