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Uchiha Madara does not laugh.
Hashirama can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Madara truly smile let alone laugh in an audible fashion. In fact, he’s only ever heard him laugh uncontrollably once, right after they discovered each other’s surnames.
Madara had laughed until tears streamed down his face.
Hashirama had laughed, too, at first. It was just too absurd. What were the chances that fate would throw them together? But as Madara kept laughing, he became concerned for his friend.
“Of course. Of course, you’re a Senju. I should have known from your stupid hair.” He had said, his head in his hands, eyes pressed into the heels of his palms, a wild grin splitting his face.
Oh, Hashirama had thought, his heart is breaking .
Hashirama had reached out to offer support, only for his hand to be slapped away as Madara continued to laugh.
Madara left shortly after that, wiping tears from his eyes.
As two heirs to warring clans, they saw each other often in battle.
That was the last day he had just been Hashirama to anyone. Not the Senju heir. Not an older brother. Not a leader or a protector. Just Hashirama. A friend. A boy.
And the more time moved forward, the more it seemed like Madara had disappeared that day as well.
And that was a haunting thing, to see the shell of someone you once thought could be your best friend, walking around in imitation of something alive.
And Hashirama had agonized over it until Madara disappeared altogether a few years ago.
But that didn’t stop the dreams from tormenting him. That didn’t stop him from trying to think of what could have been. Of how he could have helped. Could still help, if only he could meet with Madara again.
Hashirama wasn’t running away, no matter what his brother will say when he returns home later that night. If he was running away, he would have gone somewhere more fun than the lake. Like a gambling den, or a bar.
No Hashirama was hunting ghosts. He was going to remind himself that the boy he remembers being and the boy he remembers befriending did exist. That his dreams aren’t just nonsense and, well, dreams.
He is almost to the shoreline, just past the tree line when he notices he’s not alone.
He freezes.
There is no mistaking the raven dark hair for anything aside from an Uchiha. And there is only one Uchiha who would ever be in this specific spot.
“Madara?” Hashirama speaks softly. Worried that if he speaks too loudly, Madara might bolt like a frightened deer, slipping away from his sight again.
Madara turns and it takes a moment, but recognition flutters across his face before being concealed again beneath a neutral mask.
No one moves.
Hashirama has changed, he knows he has. Not just by growing his hair out but by how he stands and talks. He can feel it in the weight of his shoulders. But seeing the other boy… no man , reinforces the passing of time. Like they were now strangers yet again. Madara’s eyes bore into him. Intense and familiar and yet completely foreign,
Madara turns back to the water and skips a rock across its surface.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Hashirama blinks and the trance is broken.
“Are you going to sit with me or what?”
Hashirama sits down next to his old friend.
It is awkward.
So painfully awkward.
Hashirama has to fight the urge to scratch at his skin and fidget just to break the tension. He keeps catching himself looking at Madara from the corner of his eye.
Finally, he gives in.
“Alright. This is awkward.” He chuckles, as he leans back on his hands. Madara snorts in amusement and throws another stone.
Once
Twice
Three times.
They wait until the ripples settle and Hashirama feels himself grin as the tension dissipates some.
“So awkward.” Madara agrees, causing them both to quietly grin.
“Yeah.’
They watch as a group of dragonflies dart over the water.
Never one to sit in silence Hashirama asks, “Do you remember when we used to go fishing here?”
“I remember me fishing, and you scaring everything away with your obnoxious voice,” Madara says deadpan.
“Remember the time we thought we caught a huge fish but it turned out to be a log?”
Madara turns his head toward Hashirama a bit, “yeah… we were pretty dumb.”
“According to my brother, I still am.”
“So little Tobirama is still around then?”
“Sort of. These days he goes off on what he calls “pilgrimages” to exchange information and learn from other clans. We are working on foraging alliances with some of them.”
“Still a nerd, huh?”
“Of course. What about Izuna? Still messing around?”
“Of course.”
“Of course.” Hashirama echoes with a chuckle.
They go quiet again but this time it feels familiar. Like Hashirama and Madara sitting in their spot. A bird calls somewhere off in the distance.
Madara answers it through force of habit, whistling its call back. When he realizes what he’s done his face flushes slightly.
“It’s nice to see you again Madara. I’ve missed this.” Hashirama wraps his arms around his legs before admitting, “I’ve missed you .”
And there it is. The small widening of Madara’s eyes before he averts them. The show of emotion is under the surface before it is completely cut off. “Yeah.”
It’s as good a confirmation as Hashirama can expect to get. “To show emotion is to show weakness.”
"My father is sick. I will be expected to assume my place as clan head in less than a year."
Madara threw another rock but instead of gracefully skipping across the water’s surface, this one fell flat. One quiet splash, then it is gone beneath the surface.
“Does anyone know you’re here?” Hashirama asks quietly.
“Does anyone know you are?” Madara counters.
And that’s a “no” from both of them.
If they wanted to, they could kill each other here. Generations of rivalry between their clans.
Hashirama waits as Madara blindly grabs another and throws that one too.
Once.
Twice.
It occurs to Hashirama that the act of throwing the rocks is Madara’s way of fighting back against what he can’t control. Against fate. Against his emotions. Against what was expected of them.
“You will be a good leader.” He says. He has always thought that about Madara. He is compassionate and understanding; strong and intelligent.
Madara turns away again and sighs, “I’ve been trying.”
“What do you mean?”
“Forming alliances like you. Trying to create peace in the clans. Trying to get them to understand that it doesn’t have to be this way.”
“There’s so much death,” Madara had raged once upon a time. Back when they were small and frail. Back when they had been lamenting the unjust nature of the world they were being raised in. When they were skirting around the names of the dead they still mourn, even as grown men.
Hashirama hears it now. The sorrow buried beneath it. “ So much death .”
“Is it working?”
Madara looks reluctant to admit it but he finally does, “Yes and no.”
Hashirama waits.
“We’ve formed a few strong alliances through marriages and trading deals. Offering services as ninja to nearby civilian settlements. But trying to convince the Uchiha that the Senju aren’t all devils is like trying to convince a cat that it doesn’t want to hunt a rattlesnake in a mouse costume. You know it’s bad for the cat but all it sees is the mouse.”
Hashirama takes a small twig and turns it in his hands causing small leaves to grow along its surface. “I know what you mean. With the Senju it’s more like convincing a mountain it wants to become a field.” he gestures to the branch, “It’s easier to remind something that it can be something else than it is to try to change something's nature.”
“It was easy for us.” Madara grumbles.
“We didn’t know. We were like saplings. Mailable and able to bend with the blows.” Hashirama admits running his fingers over a delicate green leaf.
“So we should start with the other clan's children? Is that what you’re saying? I don’t think they will like that very much.”
“Maybe if we joined forces. Like we used to talk about. Start our own village. We could still do it, you know.”
Madara’s eyes flicker over to Hashirama’s.
Hashirama waits for Madara to ask.
“Do what?”
“Create a better world.”
“hm.” Madara doesn’t say anything, as he considers Hashirama’s earnest face. “You’re an idiot.”
“Is that a yes?”
Madara stands up and stretches before holding his hand out for Hashirama to take. As Madara helps him up, he pulls, causing him to barrel into Madara and topple the both of them into the lake.
Hashirama splutters and sits up, his hair now wet and stuck in his face.
Madara starts to chuckle quietly but at Hashirama’s unamused pout it turns into a full-out laugh.
“Why does nothing ever go according to plan with you?” He asks Hashirama. Hope blooming across his face.
Hashirama has always been different.
Maybe Madara has always been different too.
“Just lucky, I guess.”