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Hashirama knows the mission is a bust when the “weakened” Yamanaka clan leader arrives within a minute of the alarm call. Yamanaka Inori is injured: arm in a splint, weakened leg, and heavy bandages over one eye, but that doesn’t stop her from striking out towards the first Senju she can reach, downing them within seconds.
All of this and we can’t even find the scroll… Hashirama scowls, fighting through the last of his winter exhaustion to heal Isamu below him. His cousin groans, hand clutched at his side where a kunai nearly ran him through.
“It’s alright, just a few more seconds,” Hashirama reassures, trying not to think about the fact that Tobirama was part of the recovery team that’s currently trapped in the Yamanka’s ceremonial hall. He understands why Butsuma took this mission; this was a bad winter for the Senju and they desperately needed the money, but that knowledge does nothing to help the budding anxiety as more and more Yamanaka appear around them.
Finally, the last patch of skin knits together under his hands. Hashirama urges Isamu up, telling him to watch his back as he helps break through the bottleneck in front of the hall. They were discovered almost immediately by the sensor nin guarding the building and before they could stop her, she sounded the alarm. Butsuma planned for this to be a stealth mission with only eight of them. Four to enter, four to guard in case of complications. Hashirama also knows why he assumed it’d work; this ceremonial hall is on the edge of Yamanaka territory because it mirrors two other halls at the edges of the Akimichi and Nara territories. There wasn’t supposed to be a large presence here, especially since the Yamanaka fought the Hatake less than a week ago.
Be okay, Tobirama, please be okay… Hashirama slams his hands together in a snake seal and presses both palms against the cold, frosted ground. The mokuton wakes, but it’s sluggish. Sweat beads along his hairline, caught by his headband before roots finally burst free of the earth. It’s not his most graceful creation, warped bark swollen and lopsided, but it’ll do. Three tendrils grab the nearest Yamanaka while a fourth slams into the hall's outer wall.
A suiton bursts forth moments later, tearing through the weakened wood and paper to create a second exit.
Hashirama breathes a quick sigh of relief before grabbing his sword to meet the oncoming rush of kunai. Isamu is half a breath behind and barely manages not to get skewered a second time. The Yamanaka forces split, half of them trying to get past the wooden construct into the hall and the other half turning to face him. Hashirama steadies his breath, hands tightening around the sword hilt.
“Fall back!” Butsuma’s voice rings out as he rips himself free of the new exit. It’s not clear if he has the scroll. It’d better be in his pouch. Hashirama thinks, jaw clenching. Despite the command, he waits for Tobirama before turning back into the forest.
Isamu immediately obeys. The two other members of the outside team lay dead at the Yamanaka’s feet. One of Hashirama’s aunts appears after Butsuma and then…then…Where is he? Hashirama is ready to storm into the building, forget the now dozen Yamanaka heading toward him to drag his brother out. They’re already missing one other from the recovery team, is Tobirama…did he…
A white head pokes out of the hall. Tobirama’s eyes widen at the sight of so many enemy nin and then he’s racing out, a large scroll tucked in his arms. Hashirama shoots forward as a couple of the faster Yamanaka try to head him off. He brings down the broadsword. Blood splatters the ground, accompanied by choked cries. The other Yamanaka hesitate and that’s good enough for him. Hashirama turns, ready to escape.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Inochi raise her hands. It’s the Yamanaka seal. Or it’s supposed to be. Her injured arm is spasming, the tremors reaching to her fingers and twisting them into strange shapes. Hashirama throws himself to the side, training taking over.
He’s not her target.
Tobirama is almost at the tree line. He ran at a curve like they were taught, and he’s a second away from safety.
The jutsu hits him square in the back.
“NO!” Hashirama yells and pushes himself up. He barely has time to grab and sheathe his sword before hurtling toward Tobirama, medical ninjutsu already gathered on his hands. He only just registers as the Inochi drops, a gush of blood pouring from her mouth and nose as her clansmen exclaim and gather around her.
Hashirama wastes no time grabbing Tobirama, hauling him up as he darts into the trees. He’s running, no care to where the other Senju have gone or gathered as he presses a hand on Tobirama’s back.
Immediate are the minor wounds, bruises and scrapes from training that all Senju children except Hashirama have. Malnutrition from the winter has weakened his musculature but not concerningly so. His chakra levels are fine. And then the diagnostic chakra pools in his skull and Hashirama physically flinches, nearly tripping.
That’s a…a genjutsu? It’s not the mind-body switch technique. Tobirama collapsed before the Inochi did and her clansmen clearly weren’t expecting…whatever that was. Hashirama tries to disrupt it, but the surging, malevolent chakra coiled around Tobirama’s brain doesn’t react at all.
Home. I need to get home. If this isn’t something Hashirama can heal through sheer overwhelming chakra, maybe the aunties will recognize it and know what to do. It’s then that he skids across the ground, nearly toppling over roots this time as he barely avoids slamming into Butsuma.
The other Senju startle but relax once they realize it’s him.
“We lost Yuma, Shugo, and Teruyuki. We’ll have to return for their bodies or petition the Yamanaka to hand them over,” Hashirama’s aunt, Nao, says.
“After we return and send the scroll to the daimyo,” Butsuma says, and then finally looks at Hashirama, Tobirama’s limp form in his arms. “Was your brother injured? Why haven’t you healed him?”
“It was a misfire of their Mind Body Switch,” Hashirama snaps. “Why did you make Tobirama carry the scroll instead of taking it yourself?”
Butsuma scowls. “Watch your tone, boy. Your brother insisted he be the one to hold it.” And with that, Butsuma turns, not another word spared. Hashirama can almost meet him eye to eye instead of craning his head up. Those last couple of inches are monumental.
As soon as they make it back to the Senju compound, Hashirama wastes no time heading for the healers’ house. He kicks off his sandals at the threshold and does his best not to transfer blood everywhere, but it’s a lost cause. The aunties hurry to help him, ushering him to lay Tobirama down on the clean sheet. Two start checking his brother over with medical ninjutsu while Auntie Rui starts on him.
“I’m fine, Auntie Rui, focus on Tobirama.” She ignores him, but they all listen as Hashirama describes the Yamanaka leader’s failed jutsu, how Tobirama collapsed, and then wouldn’t respond to his own medical ninjutsu. “What can we do? He didn’t have any reaction on the way home, much less woken up.” Hashirama is a good healer, a great one even, but his natural prowess stalls whenever mental jutsus are involved.
“There are a few things we can try,” Auntie Hotaru, the oldest, most experienced healer, says. She has both hands on Tobirama’s temples, massaging gently. “If it were a simple Mind Body Transfer jutsu, we could disrupt the chakra and reverse it, but because it was a misfire, it’s more complicated. Fetch Touka, Hashirama. She’s skilled in genjutsus; we’ll need someone to unravel it instead of breaking it.”
She’s barely said the words before Hashirama is up and racing out of the house to find his cousin. The Senju compound bustles around him, a change from the worst of the winter days when most stayed inside their homes or the large meeting halls to conserve warmth. Butsuma must have spread the word that the mission was successful. The promise of money and food has everyone in a good mood, and several are bundled up, chatting on the streets. Normally, Hashirama would be among them, asking after kids, personal gardens, upcoming festivals, and the like. Now, he only has thoughts of finding Touka so that Tobirama will wake up.
Touka is the daughter of his third uncle, a powerful position, but not one directly threatening Butsuma. Despite their status, their house is the same as any other around it, but it's well-kept. Hashirama announces himself and enters. He removes his shoes and is much more careful about the drying blood on his clothes this time as his aunt Yoko greets him. He greets her back, polite as can be, but can’t look at her directly. She and Mom were cousins, both left Uzushio at the same time to marry into the Senju. They actually didn’t look that much alike, except for the white hair and pale eyes, but he can’t help but look and wonder how she would or wouldn’t look every time he sees Yoko.
“Hashirama? Everything ok?” When he hears Touka’s voice, it’s a relief. Hashirama excuses himself, managing not to wince as his aunt ruffles his hair, and drags Touka from the house. He explains what happened on the mission and hopes more than anything that she’ll be able to look at Tobirama and fix the problem.
Touka and the healers discuss Tobirama’s condition as Hashirama flits uselessly around. He’s never been able to do any genjutsu and doesn’t know half of what they’re describing. Maybe Madara— As quick as the thought bursts to life, he smothers it, burying it as deep in his mind as he can.
The healers bring out ammonia to put under Tobirama’s nose. It doesn’t work. One of the healers presses her knuckles hard against Tobirama’s sternum. It doesn’t work. They get out the acupuncture pins and prick him until he’s more porcupine than boy. It doesn’t work. Hashirama is pacing around the room, doing his best not to make a nuisance of himself, but is unable to stop. With every attempt, Touka had taken the original place of Auntie Hotaru, her hands pressed to Tobirama’s temples, trying to untangle the knot of chakra. When the final attempt fails, she opens her eyes and frowns.
“I don’t think this is going to work. Each time we try to wake him, his body responds but he can’t escape the chakra. It tightens instead, trapping him deeper. Unlike normal genjutsu, it doesn’t dissipate by chakra disruption and there’s no easy opening I can find to enter and disrupt it within. I don’t have the power to put him under a second genjutsu either with how little he can respond. I think…we’re going to need a professional genjutsu specialist. A real one.”
Hashirama’s stomach sinks. The Senju don’t have a genjutsu specialist, that’s why fifteen-year-old Touka was summoned. There’s only one clan close to them in Fire Country that could be considered experts, and Butsuma would never agree to hire an Uchiha for the task, not even one of the few shinobi who’d been hired to work with them for a mission and picked up a few skills along the way. No, they’ll have to look outside Fire Country altogether, and that’s going to take time and money they don’t have…
“I’ll speak to Butsuma,” Auntie Hotaru says and reaches out to squeeze Hashirama’s arm. He nods, but only to show he’s listening. He’ll have to come up with his own plan.
Butsuma’s reaction is to take every possible job available to them to save money for the specialist. It’s more than Hashirama was expecting. The other issue, beyond having enough money, is finding someone. A messenger bird has been sent to Uzushio to ask their cousin clan for help but everyone’s discussing weeks, if not months, of work. The healers will take good care of Tobirama and monitor his condition day and night but months are too much. What if Butsuma decides enough is enough and it’s not worth it sometime in those months? What if Tobirama’s condition worsens and they can’t fix it and he dies in those months? Hashirama consoles himself that the former won’t happen because that’ll mean Butsuma will have no other heir than him. Butsuma will do anything to avoid that. He isn’t nearly as good at consoling himself about the latter. Instead, he checks on Tobirama every day before setting out for his assigned mission and takes extra shifts in the healers’ house at night to watch him. Besides stealing the Yamanaka scroll, these contracts are mostly smaller, less dangerous tasks. Not as much profit either, but spring has barely begun. Soon, the daimyo will start warring again and the real money will come in.
Hashirama is proven right not three weeks later when two large-sized daimyos start a feud. Both decide to throw around their weight and money, hoping to seize the other’s territory. Not only do they send their normal retinue of samurai, but they hire shinobi as well. Senju on one side, Uchiha on the other. Like most battles, it starts out as a mission of sabotage. They’re supposed to target border towns, destroying food, poisoning wells, and killing a few vocal supporters of the other side. The Uchiha are hired to do the same thing and they meet in the middle of the job only to end up clashing.
The battle is dragged into the woods surrounding the latest town. With spring in full force, Hashirama is bursting with power, but his mind is too distracted to make the most of it. Tobirama, still and silent, takes up most of his attention. The rest is—
“You’re even worse than usual, Hashirama,” Madara says right before a katon barrels toward him. Hashirama manages to fling himself away from the worst of it, but the familiar burn of blisters is quick to bubble up on his right side before he starts healing it away. “Can’t even focus on our battles now? Am I so boring?”
It’s a taunt, but Hashirama expects that. All of their communication is through taunts now. Normally, he can find some pleasure in it. It’s still seeing Madara, talking to him even if it’s only in brief snippets. Madara is beautiful when he fights, swift and powerful, which makes Hashirama want to watch him for days.
“No, no, you’re not!” Hashirama says and swings his broadsword at Madara’s side. He dodges, a gorgeous arc and whips a kunai at Hashirama’s face. A single seal and a slice of wood rises to block it. A second vine shoots out toward Madara, but is burned to a crisp before it gets within striking distance.
“Could have fooled me…” Madara mutters and Hashirama rolls as another wave of flame sweeps toward him.
“It’s just…it’s my brother,” Hashirama says, unable to stop himself. Madara hesitates. After a moment, his eyes flicker red and now Hashirama’s dodging both his scythe and fire. Ah, too much? It’s been almost three years since the river. Hashirama has to be careful. He knows, knows deep in his heart Madara is still the same as him but Madara is careful never to cross that line again. They can spar with one another—and after about a year, their fights became spars again—and they can speak through taunts and the occasional compliment of form. They cannot broach any other topic or their friendship. As soon as Hashirama tries, Madara turns tail and runs.
He waits for the burst to end and then to see Madara zipping away but…but Madara’s still charging at him.
Hashirama swallows hard. He didn’t even dare think but maybe…maybe…
“He got hit by a misfired Yamanaka mind jutsu,” Hashirama says as Madara’s sythe slams into his broadsword. It’s a shriek of metal that normally Hashirama could push off, but chooses not to. He keeps his eyes on the edge of Madara’s eye, the soft taper of his long eyelashes. Don’t mess this up, you have to say the right thing. “Do you…do you know a genjutsu specialist we could hire?” Madara yanks himself away, putting several feet of distance between them. Now he looks like he’s about to run. “Please, Madara. It’s my brother.” Hashirama is not above begging, not to him. Vaguely, he can hear the sounds of fighting around them, their clansmen screaming and yelling. None of it matters, only Madara in front of him.
“Top of the cliffs. Two days.” It’s all Madara says before he turns and lets out a sharp whistle. The Uchiha start to disengage.
“Fall back!” Hashirama yells in response and the Senju obey. The Uchiha haul off a couple of their downed comrades, and the Senju bring one of their more injured members toward him to heal. Hashirama watches until the Uchiha disappear into the forest. Madara is the last to leave. He spares Hashirama one more backwards glance, his eyes still spinning with the sharingan.
This time, Hashirama meets them head-on.
Then he’s gone.
Did Madara seriously agree to meet with me? It’s the only thought in Hashirama’s head. It swirls round and round and round. While he’s healing his injured clansmen on their way back to the compound, when Butsuma berates him for not killing any of the Uchiha, as Hashirama sits by Tobirama’s bedside, watching for the smallest change. Even if it’s strictly business and Madara gives him a name and nothing more…
Madara agreed to meet with him. Off the battlefield! Hashirama waits until all the healers are busy with their own tasks and then he whispers it to Tobirama. Part of Hashirama expects that to break through the genjutsu block and Tobirama to rise in anger. Unfortunately, he does not.
Hashirama keeps himself busy but he makes sure he’s scheduled for foraging and nothing else for that second day. He leaves the compound early in the morning, a basket on his back. He does pick some medicinal herbs and edible plants he finds along the way, stashing them away in the basket.
Maybe he could share them with Madara…
Maybe he could suggest they go pick some together…
Hashirama arrives at the cliff face well before noon. He races upward, the spectres of his and Madara’s 12-year-old selves laughing and giggling around him. It makes him smile, tears silently spilling down his cheeks. Of course, the real Madara has to be waiting at the top of the cliff, seated impatiently on a flat rock.
“Are you crying?” Madara asks, giving him a once-over. “Is it Tobirama? Did something happen?”
“No! I’m just…I’m relieved. I haven’t been able to do anything but missions for weeks. I feel so useless,” Hashirama says, scrubbing at his eyes. “Some great healer I am.”
“You’ve always been shit at genjutsu, that’s not something you heal with medical chakra,” Madara says, and that’s his terrible attempt at comfort. It’s exactly the same. Hashirama sniffs and the tears come faster. “Gods, you're still such a crybaby.” Madara stands from his rock and walks over. He doesn’t touch Hashirama, but stands close to him, radiating enough heat that it’s physical. “Tell me what happened.”
Hashirama wipes his eyes, clears his throat, and meets Madara’s eyes. There’s a split second of hesitation. He hates that it’s there and that Madara sees it too.
“You said a Yamanaka jutsu misfired, that could mean a dozen different things. You’re going to have to be specific. If you can’t…” Madara angles himself away, ready to leave.
“Wait! I’ll tell you.” Madara can’t leave. Not yet. Hashirama explains the situation again, recalling every detail he can remember. Madara asks a few questions about the timing and what the chakra pooling in Tobirama’s skull felt like with his medical ninjutsu. “Like…a coil. It doesn’t respond at all to chakra disruption or traditional methods to wake him up. One of our genjutsu users tried to help, but she couldn’t get it to budge either.”
“Did she try to puncture it?” Madara asks.
“Puncture…?” Touka hadn’t said anything like that, not that he could remember. Madara chews on his lip for a second, hesitating.
“If someone gets caught in a genjutsu and can’t free themselves, another person can try to insert a needle of chakra to break through the illusion. Sometimes it fully disrupts the genjutsu or it creates enough of a disturbance for a skilled user to take control. That’s one option.”
“No, I don’t think she knew about that. If a puncture doesn’t work is there any other option? What if nothing works? What if he’s stuck like this forever—”
“Hashirama.” Madara reaches out to grab his shoulder. He’s still wearing gloves, but his palm is a comforting, searing weight. Hashirama swallows down the rest of his nerves. “A puncture is only one option. There’s layering-–to peel back each piece of the genjutsu until you reveal the heart. Cracking–-to force it open by any means possible, though I wouldn’t recommend this one right away. Or…” he hesitates again before sighing, “sharingan substitution. Do our best to replace the current genjutsu with a sharingan created one and unravel it from there.”
“Sharingan? You mean…you’ll do it?” Some part of Hashirama hoped, because some part of Hashirama always hopes, but he didn’t really think Madara would volunteer.
“Don’t make this into something it’s not. You’re going to pay me a commission, I’m not doing this for free,” Madara says. That comforting hand on Hashirama’s shoulder, becomes a jab instead. “And I’m only taking this job because it’s your brother. No other reason.”
“Okay…okay. How much do you want?” They had almost a million ryo saved up, hoping it’d cover the cost of a specialist and any travel expenses they’d request. Surely that’d be reasonable, right? That was the price of most high-profile assassinations.
“200,000,” Madara says.
Hashirama stares.
Madara stares back.
“200,000,” Hashirama repeats weakly. “Are you…are you sure?” He can’t help but ask. They both know that’s low. Madara’s lips thin.
“That’s what I said. If you keep questioning me, I’m leaving.”
“Ok! 200,000. I can do that. I can definitely do that!” Hashirama is going to be normal about this. He’s going to thank Madara, maybe professionally shake his hand, and then sit down and plan out all the logistics. Instead, Hashirama bursts into tears again and grabs Madara in a hug before he can react. “Thank you, Madara…thank you.” Hashirama buries his face in Madara’s spiky hair. It’s down to his shoulder and immediately pokes Hashirama in the eye. He doesn’t care. Madara is warm. Madara is going to help him save Tobirama. Madara might still be his friend after all.
“Alright, alright. Stop getting tears and snot all over me,” Madara complains, but he doesn’t even try to push Hashirama away. Hashirama lingers a moment longer before finally pulling back. “You good?”
“Y-yeah. So, the big issue: Butsuma’s not going to hire an Uchiha, especially you. We could try and disguise you, come up with a fake backstory about you being a wandering medic or something.” Honestly, getting Madara into the compound and out again in one piece is probably going to be the most difficult part.
“No. I don’t have any skill in medical ninjutsu and I’m too recognizable. Butsuma will be suspicious of anyone coming into your compound. He’ll push and prod and if anything isn’t watertight, it’ll turn into a fight,” Madara says.
“Alright, you’ve got a point…but I probably could disguise you well enough,” Hashirama can’t help but say.
Madara scoffs. “Oh yeah? How?”
“Well, if I shaved your head—”
“Oh so this is just a ploy for you to win that old bet about growing out our hair.”
“No! I’m just saying…I could shave your head and find a wig made out of oxen hair or something, then paint your face. With the right clothes, as long as you don’t flash the sharingan or say anything incriminating…it could work.” Hashirama still has Mom’s old makeup. He’s not going to claim to be an expert, but surely, how hard would it be?
Madara rolls his eyes and swats Hashirama’s arm. “Idiot! Oxen hair? Make up? I’d look like some diseased beggar.”
“Fine, since you have no faith in me.” Hashirama bites back a smile and holds his hands up. “I could try and take Tobirama out of the compound, but I’m a little worried about moving him. You think that’d be ok?”
“I’d rather not risk it, especially since I haven’t seen him in person. How about sneaking me in?”
“I could do that. I know the healers’ schedules, plus when I’m assigned to monitor patients, I’ll be the only one in the house at the early hours of the morning. I have access to guard rotations as well, I could make a gap for you to get in and out. How long do you think it’ll take to heal him?” Hashirama mumbles, fist pressed against his mouth as he thinks.
“Can’t say until I see him. Hopefully less than an hour, but it might take up to three.” Madara shrugs, one hand on his hip.
“Alright. When I get back to the compound, I’ll figure out when it’d be the best time for you to sneak in. Do you remember the old badger’s den near the mouth of the river?” They’d often used it as a meeting spot. Madara nods. “I’ll leave a note with the details in a couple of days.”
“Sounds good. I guess if that’s all…” Madara turns, ready to leave.
“Wait! Before you go, do you maybe wanna go forage for some medicinal herbs with me? That’s what I was sent out to do today.” Hashirama jiggles the wooden basket on his back and does his best to look innocent.
“Hashirama…” Madara’s going to refuse. He has the same pinched look between his eyebrows he got when they were 12.
“You can think of it as extra payment. It won’t take long.” Say yes, please say yes. Maybe it’s unfair. Hashirama knows the Uchiha don’t have medical ninjutsu specialists so they’re always in need of herbs and medicines.
“Ugh, fine. But only for two hours. I’m leaving right after!” Madara says and pushes past Hashirama, down the mountain cliff. Hashirama nearly jumps for joy as he follows him.
Unfortunately, Madara keeps to his strict two-hour limit, but Hashirama can’t be too mad. It was two extra hours with Madara off the battlefield, combing through the woods for plants and spending time with his friend. And Madara still is his friend. He can’t help but tease, and Madara can’t help but react. They fall back into the same patterns as kids. It’s a reprieve, a small one that Hashirama knows isn’t permanent, but he can enjoy it all the same. When they separate, Madara has an armful of herbs, dirt-darkened hands, and a red face from all the blushing and yelling.
It’s perfect.
When Hashirama makes his way back to the Senju compound, he doesn’t waste any time before heading home. To align his schedule at the healers' house, he only needs to talk to Auntie Hotaru. As long as he’s not injured or there’s not a big upcoming contract, she’ll agree to any proposed date he asks for. Butsuma’s office is where the guard rotations are stored until they’re sent ot the archives or destroyed. Luckily, he’s out for the day, training or meeting with his brothers, Hashirama can’t quite remember.
Hashirama slips into the office, the paper door sliding easily open. Tobirama shares their father’s organizational habits, so it’s not hard for Hashirama to find the right scroll, neatly dated, and unroll it on the desk. He finds a date early next week that has Isamu as the sole guard on the western gate, closest to the healers’ house. There’s an escort mission two days before, but nothing else is penciled in after. Isamu has a weak spot for soju, and Hashirama still has a bottle from the last contract they took in the Land of Earth.
As quickly as he can, Hashirama sets his preparations in place. The note is delivered to the badger’s den, and he receives Madara’s confirmation the next day. He asks Auntie Hotaru if he could watch over Tobirama next week and she agrees without issue. Their escort mission is a brief, uneventful one, escorting a paranoid merchant through disputed territory and the edge of Wind Country. When they return to the compound, Hashirama gives Isamu the bottle of soju as a gesture of goodwill, and sure enough, he starts drinking even before his overnight shift. After he steals 200,000 ryo out of the supply, there’s nothing else for Hashirama to do.
Once dusk falls, Hashirama slips once again from the Senju compound, racing through the forests to meet Madara by the river. It’s the closest spot to the Senju compound—a logical choice—but seeing him by the water still causes Hashirama’s heart to skip a beat. So familiar…
“Are you ready?” Hashirama asks before he shoves his foot in his mouth. Madara turns toward him and nods. As a show of good faith, he only has a small blade on his back, no scythe in sight.
“You have my money?” Madara asks, but he’s already running beside Hashirama toward the compound.
“Yes, yes. I stashed it in the healers’ house last night.”
Madara grunts and says nothing else. He’s a blur through the trees, dark mantle and hair, only the sheen of the blade and his bandaged legs catching the light. Hashirama has only a little time to admire him because Madara soon slows, no doubt picking up the concentration of chakra just in front of them. Hashirama matches his pace, and they come to a stop on a high tree branch. The Senju compound is a smudge in front of them, patrol flames lighting up the night, but everyone elseis tucked away in their homes.
“The guard at the west gate has been drinking. He’s not due to change shifts for another four hours. I’ll lead you to the healers’ house, it’s one of the largest, with a plaque above the door and a streaming banner outside. The other healers have already retired for the night,” Hashirama says.
“Alright, I’ve suppressed my chakra. I won’t be able to when I’m treating Tobirama though,” Madara says, and there’s a question buried in there.
“A couple of Senju are sensitive to chakra, but we don’t have any true sensor nin,” Hashirama says after a moment’s pause. Madara nods and, after a moment, squeezes Hashirama’s arm. Let this work, please let this work.
Together, they jump from the tree and approach the Senju wall. Madara follows behind Hashirama. As quickly and quietly as they can, they scale the wall and slip unnoticed into the compound. Hashirama leads him through the streets, watching as Madara looks around at the buildings with interest. What does he see when he looks at us? Hashirama wonders and then yanks Madara into a small alley as one of the internal patrolmen passes. He holds out a lantern, eyes glazed and stifling a yawn. As soon as he’s gone, Madara bites down on Hashirama’s hand covering his mouth and he’s forced to let him go.
“Ow,” Hashirama whispers, shaking out the pain. He broke skin!
“Don’t startle me like that, you’re lucky I didn’t spit out a katon,” Madara whispers back.
Hashirama has no other response other than to stick out his tongue. Before Madara can respond, Hashirama grabs his wrist, and they continue toward the healers’ house. The lantern Hashirama left glows softly from inside, welcoming them in. With no other surprises, Hashirama pushes open the door and leads Madara in.
Besides the lantern, everything is dark and quiet. Tobirama is the only patient, lying on his bedsheets with a heavy blanket tucked around him despite the warm weather. Auntie Sayuri changed his clothes and the sheets before Hashirama relieved her. Madara isn’t looking at him, but at the healers’ house around him. The medicine cabinets, the surgical tools, and the large shelf of medical scrolls.
“If we have time, you can memorize some of them with the sharingan,” Hashirama whispers when his eyes linger on the shelf.
“I don’t need your charity!” Madara spits, but it’s not as angry as Hashirama expects.
“It’s payment. You explained genjutsu terms to me, so I’ll show medical techniques to you,” Hashirama argues and Madara doesn’t say anything else. He turns, stomping towards Tobirama in a little pique.
Once he reaches Tobirama’s side, any anger evaporates and only a serious look of concentration remains. He reaches out toward Tobirama’s temples as Hashirama hovers anxiously around. To Hashirama, the diagnosis feels like forever. He can’t help but glance at the locked door, expecting Butsuma to break it down and a whole horde of Senju shinobi to rush in. It remains shut.
After a few more agonizing minutes, Madara exhales and lets his hands drop.
“Well? What do you think? Is it…can you save him?” Hashirama tries not to let his desperation show. Madara already knows, of course, but if Madara can’t do anything, if an Uchiha can’t break a genjutsu…
“You’re really fucking lucky I agreed to this, Hashirama,” Madara says and pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s like a knotted ball of yarn in there. We all better hope the Yamanaka don’t learn how to do this on purpose.”
“But you can help him? You’re complaining, but you’re not saying it’s impossible.” Hashirama kneels on the ground, shoving his face into Madara’s space to watch for the smallest reaction.
“No, I don’t think it’s impossible. It’s going to take all three hours and will require you to help me manage his chakra for the smallest changes…but I can do it.” He doesn’t reach for Tobirama immediately, though. Instead, his hands curl into fists on his knees. Hesitantly, Hashirama reaches out and covers one of Madara’s fists.
“Madara?”
“...don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope I don’t regret this,” Madara says slowly.
“What?” Regret helping Hashirama? Regret saving Tobirama?
“Your brother doesn’t exactly share your beliefs, Hashirama. You’re the eldest son, but I’ve heard rumors that Tobirama’s the favored heir. If your father picks him …” It’s a grisly thought, but Hashirama can’t help but smile. Madara’s worried about his position in the clan. Madara still thinks, deep down, that if they were the clanheads there might be something like peace in their future.
“I understand what you’re saying. Tobirama has his beliefs, but he’s still young and I know he doesn’t have plans to try and take clan leadership from me. It’ll be okay.” Hashirama squeezes his hand and slowly Madara’s fists unclench. “I know even with payment, it’s costing you a lot to do this. I promise if you or Izuna ever need something from me in the future…”
“I appreciate that, Hashirama,” Madara says and reaches out towards Tobirama’s temples again. Hashirama takes his own position, reaching for Tobirama’s wrist to measure his pulse and send faint bursts of medical chakra through his system.
It’ll be okay.
Madara will untangle the genjutsu. Tobirama will wake. Hashirama will cling to this sliver of hope for a better future.
Everything will be okay.