Archive of Our Own ^beta

Hashirama grins as he settles himself down on the cushioned ground. Waving down a woman, he orders himself the finest sake in the small izakaya he found in a relatively forgettable village and winks at the young woman. He’s in a pleasant mood despite coming from a lengthy mission outside the Land of Fire. It was delicate business, a mission where he escorted a fleeing noble man’s son. Hashirama was tasked alone, as the noble did not want too much attention brought to the situation. The areas they had to pass over were rife with battles, And they had been lucky to not encounter any major Shinobi clans.

But that was the past, despite how recent it was. The young Senju man simply wants to drink himself a nice cup, or a dozen, of sake. He didn’t really get drunk, couldn’t in a way, his body recovered too quickly from such effects. Just another thing that set him apart from most folks. He played it off as some blessing, but sometimes a man just wants to forget the life he has and not be reminded that perhaps even his own clan sees him more as a weapon than a human.

Hashirama doesn't enjoy when his thoughts go to the dark corner in his mind he desperately ignores.

When a jar and cups are set in front of him, he nods at the woman, thanking her. He’s going to enjoy his little break before heading home where he knows he’ll have to write up a lengthy report, catch up on recent events, train with Tobirama, be assigned a absurd amount of chores and tasks that need comple-

“Nooo, stop,” he groans to himself, dreading going back home at the mere thought of being sent right back to work. Some older men give him odd looks at his outburst, one even going as far as to get up and leave. Strange. Whether he means the man or himself, it’s probably both, but with that, he takes another cup and chugs it down. 

Despite the strange aftertaste, he likes it overall and wonders if he should order something to eat next. He would love a warm meal; perhaps he can get Tobirama to cook him something, seeing as he was the better cook out of the two remaining sons of Butsuma. Itama had wanted to learn. He even succeeded in making plain rice, and everyone but their father celebrated. Small things like that in the life of a warrior were important, because the next day, you could collapse on the battlefield.

After some time, Hashirama feels a numbing buzz settle in, but he keeps ordering more. Wholly focused on obtaining as close to a state of drunkenness he could, he doesn’t pay one bit of attention to the duo that entered. He isn’t a sensor type and is even trying to subdue his own chakra, so he doesn’t really expect any shinobi to come in. 

It isn’t until he hears a curse and a shadow comes over him that he looks up to see one Madara Uchiha looking down at him, a mixture of amusement and disappointment in his eyes. Izuna is standing right next to him, a bit shorter and eyes narrowed, looking ready to demand Hashirama to leave.

“You look pathetic drinking by yourself,” Madara says, crossing his arms, annoyance laced in his voice.

“I-Sorry?” Hashirama stumbles out, any joy he was feeling quickly replaced with trepedicion. Leave it to Hashirama to encounter a rival clan so far from home only after he’s off duty. Just his luck. Not that he is completely saddened by the fact. Madara is in front of him! His dear childhood friend. A constant worry he carries with him is the chance his friend could be slain in battle. Sometimes he’s grateful that they clash most often, because at least he knows it won’t end with Madara's death.

“You should leave,” Madara says, eyes directed over Hashirama's shoulders and not at the Senju. His worry only grows when it feels more like a warning than threat. Something now feels off about everything.

Izuna looked nervous, Hashirama notes, seeing the young man fidget with the tip of his sword. The place seems to be less occupied than before, he realizes. Getting up proves to be a struggle, his limbs not seeming to want to obey him. He wants to laugh but knows it would be inappropriate. When did the room start shaking?

“He’s drunk, brother, let him be, we need to get out now,” Izuna says, sneering at Hashirama, who somehow found himself leaning onto Madara’s shoulder. Madara himself sighs before trying to get Hashirama to sit back down.

Then…

Then a row of bones suddenly appears between them. A woman screams, Izuna shouts, cups shatter, and the few remaining villagers run out. Hashirama straightens up, looking at the direction of the attack. There are now three men, cloud white hair and arms with bones protruding from them. They look like men ready to kill. The Kaguya clan.

“Tsk, if you plan to take out the Senju, you Uchiha bastards, know we claimed him first,” the shortest, yet broadest of the three says. Hashirama frowns as he realizes they must have come from the back room. Were they there the whole time?

“Fools, don’t speak as if you could best us, watch your place,” Izuna says, sharingan activating, Madara following suit.

“It’s always a displeasure to see the likes of the Kaguya clan. I see your tactics never change, going after a drunk, idiodic Shinobi. What? Can’t fight him on the field, so you go after him when he’s inebriated,” Madara says, taking a step forward. Hashirama wants to speak out, saying he isn’t really drunk, yet for some reason he’s unable to rid himself of any effects.

“Strange, you speak as if you were concerned for the Senju. After all, didn’t your own father slay him? Or are you after the new Senju leader yourself?” one of the Kaguya men asks, boldly looking right at Madara, not appearing to fear the power of the Sharingan.

“What?” is all Hashirama could say, shocked at the revelation. His father dead, defeated by Tajima. Hashirama was only gone for three weeks, and in that time, he lost his father. What about Tobirama? Is he alive? And Touka, did she make it through? Are Madara and Izuna really here to come after the new Senju leader? Hashirama didn’t expect to become leader so soon; he knew it was inevitable, but he was just 20. He wanted more time to prepare! He wanted...his father to say he was proud of him, at least once.

Before he could speak, all hell broke loose. Izuna releases a fireball jutsu, Madara unleashes his gunbai, and the Kaguya men leap towards them. Hashirama does a quick hand sign, intending to send roots, but weak vines only grow. His chakra comes to the surface all too slowly, and he jumps backwards, narrowly escaping a sword ready to pierce him. He needs to get out; something is terribly wrong. More Kaguya members arrive, and it seems even Madara and Izuna will be unable to make a path to escape.

“Fight!” Madara shouts at Hashirama, dodging blow after blow. Hashirama nods and takes out his own katana. But his movements are heavy, and he barely makes it in time to block attacks. The Kaguya clan is a formidable one, and their kekkei genkai is a terror of its own. The Senju have lost many to the bones of this fierce clan.

It is then that Hashirama sees Izuna unaware that one Kaguya man has been edging closer to him. Hashirama makes the quick decision to push him out the way when his own mokuton fails to produce any roots to grab him. Izuna now thrusts out through a window as Hashirama feels the arm bone of a Kaguya man impale him through his belly, yelling out in sudden agony. Madara calls out for him and Izuna, but Hashirama only sees the ground, his feet being painted red as he falls to his knees before blacking out.

Madara runs as far and as quickly as his worn legs could take him, the weight on his back not helping one bit. He can hear Izuna panting behind him. It isn’t until he’s far away from the burning village, no longer sensing the Kaguya men behind them. Madara has...He isn’t exactly proud of setting the building on fire, knowing a poor villager lost their income and livelihood, but seeing Hashirama cut down awakened the desperate need to exact revenge and get the man and Izuna out of there. Even after killing the Kaguya men that were there, he could sense more are soon to arrive.

“Why are you still carrying him?” Izuna asks once they stopped by a small stream, sitting on a fallen tree.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because he is passed out and bleeding to death, take a guess,” Madara says, pissed his brother would even ask such a thing.

“I know that, bu-”

“He saved you,” Madara says firmly, as he gently puts the Senju down. Izuna looks ready to argue further.

“He didn’t need to,” Madara continues.

“He didn’t have to,” Izuna says, huffing and turning away from the scene. Madara slowly takes off the armor, knowing full well that when it comes to the Kaguya clan, it rarely ever helps. Their bones could cut through steel. Madara glances at his brother, seeing him rummage through his rucksack before tossing him bandages. He could be a little shit, but Madara knows his brother isn’t heartless, just stubborn.

The cut is large and deep, grazing Hashirama's side. Madara knows it could have easily killed any lesser man. Cleaning it with the fresh water nearby, Madara does his best to close the wound with his limited supply and medical knowledge, knowing it isn’t his field of expertise. Izuna stands by, angered at the situation but keeping his mouth shut. Hashirama sustained that wound in order to protect Izuna, he’s indebted...to a degree. He’ll let Madara patch him up, but after? They need to leave immediately.

Madara himself sits pissed at the situation, wondering how those bastards hid their chakra signatures so well. He and Izuna had just wanted a drink to rest up in their journey to return home. And why is Hashirama not waking up! He appears to be developing a fever on top of everything. Isn’t this the same man who literally walks through a battlefield, a dozen kunai embedded in his back and laughed it off as if it was a joke. What is going on?

“They poisoned him, those fuckers,” Madara whispers to himself, eyes softening as he sees the pained look on his best friend's face. Hashirama is and will always be his closest friend. He can't lose him now; they have so much to do. Didn’t the fool speak of a village? But those were dreams of a child, and they are grown men now. Madara had to let go of him, or had thought he did. Yet here he is trying to save the other from death’s grip.

“Madara?” He hears Hashirama croak out, coughing before wincing.

“Don’t speak, fool,” Madara says, working to wrap as much as he could of the other's torso.

“I knew you still cared,” Hashirama says, letting out a breathy laugh. Madara bites the inside of his cheek, wanting to let out a retort but not finding it in his heart to deny the truth. Hearing rustling, he knows Izuna approached them, and when he kneels down, he glares at Madara and Hashirama.

“Just because he has his hands all over you now doesn’t mean he cares, now be quiet and rest so we can all go home,” he sas, before standing right back up, not before leaving a jar of honey on the ground. The younger brother storms off, and Madara wants to tell him to cut the Senju some slack, but he notices the small jar. Honey could help prevent infection, or so he heard his mother once say years ago. The little prick once again showed that he wasn’t as ungrateful as he appeared.

“Reminds me of Tobirama,” Hashirama says softly, looking in the direction Izuna had gone.

“Don’t let Izuna hear that,” Madara says, shaking his head, a miniscule smile playing at his lips. The two younger brothers were rivals on the battlefield, though at times it seemed more childish, the other going as far as to insult their look and clothing. Tobirama said Izuna would look ridiculous with long hair, and it led to his brother letting it grow out. Izuna had said Tobirama needed more color on his face, and next day the pale Senju appeared with markings.

“Hm, I miss seeing you smile,” Hashirama says, a melancholic smile on his own sweaty face. When was the last time his friend got to see a genuine smile from him? Madara has only been giving him cruel smirks or overall looks of pain and anger. Sometimes seething rage, Hashirama would dare speak of the village they dreamed over. He has so many mixed feelings, yearning for it, knowing then that Izuna would be safe, and he...He would no longer need to fight Hashirama. But his brother, father, clansmen, they wouldn’t agree, he knew that much. They expect so much of him, they know he would be a leader unlike no other and bring further glory to the clan and defeat their ancient enemies.

He doesn’t want that, he doesn’t want to further lead into bloodshed. There is no glory in war; it only reaps tears and heartache. Everyday he worries who he’ll lose next. Every night, he lays there in guilt, wishing his life should have been taken and not the lost brothers who never made it to adulthood or his mother who yearned to see her kids grow up.

A trembling hand gripped his as he dabs a bit of honey at the edge of the wound. Madara pauses to look at Hashirama.

“It’ll be okay, don’t worry,” he says before closing his eyes, drifting off. Madara scoffs, but appreciates the little gesture. SIlly fool. In a moment of affection, he bends over to give a soft kiss to his friend's forehead.


“I knew you liked him, gross,” he hears Izuna say. Crap. He shouldn't have done that.

“Shut -up, you li-” Madara starts before sensing a group of men coming their way. No doubt the Kaguya clan is finally catching up.

“Izuna, set down a trap. They are nearing, and we need to leave soon,” Madara commands, knowing his brother wouldn’t argue back. He lifts Hashirama up slowly, not wanting to wake the man up, and waits for Izuna. It doesn’t take long, and soon they’re able to leave. When they enter a dense forest, they begin to leap through the tree branches. The heavy weight in his arms does little to slow him down. He’s determined to get out of this situation and see that Hashirama recovers.

“We can take them on! Why must we keep running?” Izuna shouts, a look of utter irritation on his sweaty face. He’s tired of playing the mouse in this game of chase. Uchiha’s aren’t prey, they don’t roll over or run away. His eyes narrow at the Senju. Madara glares right back, equally irritated at his brother's complaints.

“We’ve gotten this far; I’m not going to accidentally burn him alive only after mending him up,” Madara says, knowing a battle with the Kaguya men would only end up in the battlefield being consumed by flames. They weren’t a clan to hold back on unless you sought death. If they gave it to you, that is. He’s heard many rumors of what they do to those they hold captive.

“You’re so fucking considerate, when he wakes up, you should cook him breakfast, bet he’ll let you kiss him while conscious,” Izuna mocks, only to fall off to the ground when his brother’s gunbai collides with his back. He shrieks in pain as he looks up at Madara, a shit eating grin on his face. Izuna flips him off, fully intending to get his revenge later.

“Asshole.”

“Bitch.”


With that bickering over, they continue their journey. The distance between them and the Kaguya members after them grows, and soon they go in another direction. Eventually they cross over into the Land of Fire and into a relatively quiet village. By then, night had fallen, some folks closing their shops, kids walking back from wherever they had adventured to. There had to at least be an inn or two around.

“I’ll find an inn, wait for me here,” Izuna says, not giving Madara a chance to argue.

“Isn’t he sweet,” Hashirama whispers, looking at Madara with drowsy eyes. It’s then that Madara notices the questioning gaze some folks were giving the pair. Moving to help Hashirama on his feet, he shrugs his shoulders, placing one arm the other’s waist when he nearly falls.

“He has his moments,” Madara says, guiding Hashirama to a nearby bench. Hashirama scrunches up his face in pain as he sits and lets out a sigh.

“If my brother was here, he’d be yelling my ear off, saying I was too carefree in my drinking not to realize I was getting poisoned,” Hashirama says, shaking his head. Madara watches as strands stuck to his forehead and resists the urge to move them away.

“How did you not know? I’m sure you would have been able to smell it or taste it,” Madara questions. Sure, at the time he himself could not sense the Kaguya members, their chakra subdued enough to hide their presence, but he knows a shinobi should be trained to detect poisons.

“Aw, not you too! To be fair, I’ve been poisoned before. Several times, in fact, and while it had killed some of my clansmen, it didn’t affect me in any capacity. This poison must be exceptionally strong,” Hashirama says, sheepishly scratching the back of his head. Madara stared at him with an unamused look.

“How many bottles of sake did you order?” Madara asks, not liking what he’s hearing.

“Two.”

“Liar.”

“Fine, like ten, but hear me out, I can’t get drunk! Today was the closest day, that poison, it’s different! I’m sure my body will detoxify after a night's rest,” Hashirama pleads, as if to convince Madara he hadn’t intended to purposely continue drinking the toxic alcohol. Madara rubs his temples, not believing what he’s hearing. The Senju could have easily been taken out. A moment of vulnerability like that couldn’t be chanced.

“Don’t act as if you and Izuna didn’t enter to get a drink yourselves. You know how it can be, this life we lead. I didn’t want to go home, I just wanted some time to myself to forget who I am and why I fight,” Hashirama says, now looking down at the ground, one arm over his stomach, the other clutching his pants. 

Madara doesn’t reply, and neither speaks after a while. They sits in silence, crickets screeching around them. It isn’t until both their stomachs grumble that they realize Izuna didn’t come back to retrieve them. Getting up, aiding Hashirama as well, they make their way to the inn where he could sense Izuna cozied up. Going to the front desk, a young woman directs them to the room his brother had paid for. When he opened the door he saw Izuna snoozing with a table full of empty plates and Madara’s money pouch on the ground. That rat bastard. With a kick to his side, he sends Izuna rolling away.

“You could have at least left us something to eat,” Madara growls out while Hashirama laughs, clearly not offended at all. He moves with caution as he sits himself down by the table.

“That’s how little brothers are, don’t get worked up over it, we can order more,” Hashirama says, gesturing for Madara to sit down as well. Rolling his eyes, Madara sits down and waits, staring at Izuna. Said brother scoffs, getting up and grabbing the money he stole from his brother.

“Damn, fine, okay, I’ll get the food, but stop hitting me, you ugly hedgehog,” Izuna says, stomping away. Madara grumbles to himself, annoyed that Izuna had to mention his looks.

“Aw, you’re not ugly, Madara, you’re very much handsome,” Hashirama replies, wanting to comfort his friend.

“I know that,” Madara says, trying to ignore the warmth he feels on his face.

“And?” Hashirama adds, giving Madara an expectant look, which confuses him.

“And what?”

“What about me? We’ve grown up so much, don’t I Iook better?”

That makes Madara pause, giving Hashirama a baffled look. That is, until he lets himself really take in the other man. His hair has grown way past the bowl cut he had when they first met, his long brown hair reaching past his mid back. It looks silky and soft; hell, he felt it and knows that it is. His eyes are just as big and honey brown, shining with life. There’s a nearly unnoticeable dusting of freckles on his cheeks. If he looks further down, he’d see a toned fit body.

“Bea-” he starts before Izuna slams open the door, a worker carrying food right behind him. Madara jumps and Hashirama waves at the two. They thank the woman, who places down the food and takes the empty plates from earlier.

“Now there are only two futons, so don’t get any funny ideas while I sleep in the other one,” Izuna says as he goes to the farthest one and plops down. The bastard purposely asked for two, Madara knew it. 

“What were you going to say before, Madara? '' Hashirama asks, a look of excitement on his face. Madara tells him to shut up and eat, and he turns away crestfallen, nibbling on some noodles. They chat a bit while eating, avoiding subjects of looks, loss, and war. Hashirama has yet to mention anything about his father, and Madara is glad for that. When it comes to sleep, Madara lets Hashirama take the futon and lays between Izuna and the Senju. Hashirama insists that Madara could take it, and Izuna insists that they should just marry and leave him alone, saying they spoke too much. Madara notices Hashirama blushing when he laughs Izuna’s comment off. Eventually they all fall asleep, awaiting what the next days would hold for them.

Which tragically leads to Madara waking to a kunai placed right over his throat. He opens his eyes to see a pale demon with red eyes over him, disgust in his eyes. Tobirama Senju.

“Get away from my brother,” he grits out. Madara has no clue what he means until he feels something in his arms move. Hashirama...Madara is holding Hashirama. When the hell did that happen?

“Piss off, Tobirama, they didn’t do anything yet ,” Izuna says to Madara’s left as he slowly gets up from his futon.

“Give me answers; I won’t hesitate to end you,” Tobirama says, firm in his stance.

“Give me questions,” Madara shoots back pointlessly, yet still wanting to be difficult. He does, however, let go of Hashirama, who moans. It only causes both Tobirama and Madara to blush. All of a sudden, Hashirama jumps up, looking around before running to an empty bucket and puking out his guts. Everyone winces as the poor man heaves. 

Madara takes that moment to explain everything, but Tobirama doesn’t look any happier. No, in fact, he looks ready to punch the hell out of everyone in the room. When Hashirama is done, he turns around and grins.

“Well, now that it’s out of my system, I think I can heal myself,” he says, closing his eyes, one hand raised. Madara and Izuna look on in confusion until Hashirama opens his eyes, takes off his top, and rips off the bloodied wrappings. His torso looks spotless, no injury, not even a scar. Damn, he really does possess immense healing abilities. Madara himself probably would have died only hours after ingesting the poison and earning such an injury.

“Stop showing off, Hashirama, we need to go home now,” Tobirama says, not looking impressed.

“You’re no fun, Tobi! At least let me say my goodbyes and thanks,” Hashirama says, crossing his arms. Tobirama looks as if he had swallowed a lemon but otherwise stayed silent.

Izuna speaks first though, raising up a hand, “Don’t thank me, nor shall I thank you,” and as he finishes up, he goes to Tobriama and drags him out of the room. Tobirama looks beyond reluctant but follows after Hashirama gives him a nod. He wants privacy, and though Tobirama can’t understand why, he doesn’t make too much of a fuss.

“I’ll make this quick because Tobirama hates to be kept waiting, but after what has happened, my new position amongst my clan has changed. Knowing that, we can do much more than simply save each other, we can go beyond that,” Hashirama says, before giving Madara a hug. The Uchiha sighs, wrapping his arm around the other, knowing he’s right. Next time, he wants to enjoy a drink with Hashirama without having to worry about being ambushed. To feel safe in a village that was their own. When Hashirama pulls away, he gives Madara a wet smile before gasping as Madara kisses him. They melt back into each other’s arms, only pulling apart when they hear a knock.

“Stay alive, wait until I become clan leader, then we can further discuss our village,” are Madara’s parting words as he leaves a flustered Hashirama behind.