Gift fic for blishhed on tumblr as part of the HashiMada gift exchange. The request prompt was "winter". As a heads-up, this is not angsty, despite the title! This is probably the closest to fluff I will ever do for these guys.

A/N - I considered leaving the second half out because recently there has been a massive influx in stories similar to it but the fic seemed uneven when I initially deleted it, so it remains. It's also been my headcanon for four years so I feel weird ignoring it now… All in all, this was a surprisingly hard fic to write (fluff? What is fluff?), and I can't say I'm thrilled with the outcome, but I hope blish likes it!

A Winter Betrayal

By PikaCheeka

It was a cold fall that year, the first frost and shattered dew coming only weeks into the season. Hashirama's father warned him that it would be a hard winter, and that the clan was depending on him to grow enough food to keep everyone alive. He had said it only the day before his 16th birthday, and while Hashirama cared little birthdays, he disliked how his father believed that further responsibility was the ideal gift. The Senju were not a wealthy clan, but thanks to Butsuma's high position and Hashirama's abilities, his mother always found enough to give his brother something every winter. Tobirama never questioned it, believed that it was nothing but pity that made their mother extend her hand. But Hashirama; Hashirama was the elder son, the one to carry on the clan's name, the one who should receive nothing but responsibility from anyone and be grateful for it.

The first snow fell the next day, bringing an edge of despair to the people. Mercenary clans inevitably struggled through the winters, when there were fewer wars to wage, the daimyos too fat and comfortable to consider the rest of the world, not even for personal gain, when it was cold outside.

To make matters even more difficult for the clan, they and the Uchiha found themselves holed up in the same city until the snow died away. It was the largest in Fire country, known for its bustling harbors and never-ending supply of goods for the hard winter to come. It also profited heartily from trade routes through Lightning, a country that saw significantly warmer winters than most of the world, and because of these routes it was a place that many clans congregated at when the first snows fell.

Hashirama had snuck away from the clan late in the morning, eager for a break from his increasingly anxious mother; evidently when it was his birthday, he was significantly closer to death than he had been the day before. He wove his way through their temporary compound and into the city, angling for a teashop he had spotted nearby the day before. Their sign boasted of being open in all weather, but it was surprisingly empty.

He passed it by, uncomfortable at the thought of eating alone with only an eager elderly couple, as those were who often owned such shops, giving him an abnormal amount of attention. He wandered the streets instead, walking with no purpose, when suddenly he felt a presence behind him. His hand dropped to his sword and he turned slowly. Mokuton would bring too much attention to him here.

"Idiot," someone suddenly spoke directly behind him and he jumped, unwittingly sparking mokuton. But he recognized the voice before he turned around and sighed.

"Madara…you're out in this weather, too?" He knew that he should attack him, or at the very least run, but in his heart he still considered him a friend, if not more than that. Madara could never know of that though; there was no need to destroy what fragile thread kept the Uchiha receptive to his smile.

"Clearly."

"How did you get behind me?"

"I saw you earlier, though you were too distracted by that shop to notice. I used genjutsu, made you think I was behind you."

"You can make people hear things, too?"

Madara just stared at him. His hair was longer than last Hashirama had seen him several months ago, the last time the clans had clashed, but his eyes were as vacantly grey and cold as ever. Whatever had once been there died long ago, and Hashirama found himself bitterly wishing that their blood did not force them to hate one another so as to see that light again. The younger man interrupted his thoughts then, "I need to talk to you. I went to your compound and some foolish child told me that you had run off." He hesitated. "I didn't damage their mind too badly."

Hashirama couldn't tell if he was kidding or not, but was distracted by an oblong package that he noticed Madara was holding by his side.

"What's that?"

His smug attitude suddenly gone, Madara shifted uncomfortably, his irritation and nervousness all too apparent. It was times like this when Hashirama wondered how he had survived so long as a shinobi. He was not to learn for years to come that Madara only ever behaved as such around him. "It's your birthday."

"How do you know?"

"You told me five years ago," he snapped in return. "I don't care about these things but…" As he said it, he shoved the object against Hashirama's chest, startling him into reaching out to grab it. He knew instinctively what it was without unwrapping it from its heft, the balance in his hands, but his mind was unable to accept it.

Why would a mortal enemy give him a sword for a gift? Unless, he thought dully, remembering what Madara had just said about damaging a child, it was poisoned. He would not be so cruel, would be?

He knew that he shouldn't take it. Madara may have been a friend once, but he was also an assassin, an emotionally volatile one who had personal feelings for him, at that. "Why?" was all he was able to say.

"Because you need a new one. Yours is…pathetic." He said it coldly, in all his brutally honest nature.

"What if I kill you with it?"

Madara only smiled, lifting his chin slightly, and Hashirama noticed then that finally, finally he had now gained some height over the Uchiha. "I'd like to see you try." At that moment he blinked rapidly, the snow falling sticking to his lashes, and Hashirama was struck by the way he looked in that moment. He couldn't let himself feel it though, couldn't be attracted to this ethereal creature.

Better to focus on hat he held. The older boy hesitated a moment before unwrapping the oilcloth, and what he saw made his gut drop in panic. Madara had to have stolen it, killed someone for it perhaps. He could never have bought such a thing; even a boy as ignorant of swordsmithing as he knew what an expensive, what a rare, weapon lay across his hands now. Rayskin. Perfect for poison. But he could no longer even bring himself to consider it. He would not die because of this, and he would never give this up. "Where did you get this?"

"I bought it."

"You c-" he caught himself before he said he couldn't have. The Uchiha, with nobody like Hashirama in their clan to keep them alive during the winter, regularly lost more bodies than they cared to admit. They had to buy their food, to work for it, and here Madara was casually giving him a gift that could have kept his clan going for an entire month.

"You think badly of me, don't you?" He smiled as he said it, but the smile did not reach his eyes; instead he looked sad. "You think I should have used that money to save my own people instead of giving you something you can kill me with."

"I wouldn't kill you."

"You're an idiot, Hashirama. Keep it with you, always. You don't know when you might….need it."

Hashirama ignored the threat in his voice. He knew Madara better than that. Or, at least, he had thought he knew Madara, but this was unexpected, a side of Madara he had never seen. More than once he himself had considered giving the Uchiha a gift, but it had never even occurred to him that Madara may give him one, much less initiate the tradition. Because Hashirama would not let this go unreciprocated.

"Thank you," he said. He felt the overwhelming urge to grab his hand, but it passed quickly, receding back into that dark corner of his mind that longed for Madara's touch, and so much more. He was at that age now, and he was finding the Uchiha taking up more and more of his thoughts in ways he had not considered possible. It made him uneasy, but at the same time it made every meeting with him, on and off the battlefield, all the more exhilarating. And here Madara had given him something, betraying himself, showing that he still cared. It was enough for now.

ooo

The next time Hashirama passed a smithy, he ducked inside, hoping that the swordsmith would be able to determine who had made the blade. Whoever had made it was clearly an expert, likely well-renowned amongst those who made them, and likely even among fellow warriors. But he had always avoided letting his father look too closely, lest he question where it came from. As it was, he believed it was merely a cheap sword his son had bought with a bit of money.

When the first swordsmith proved to be too rudimentary in his skill to know the best, he directed Hashirama to another in town who could perhaps help him. That time he was lucky. The man who made it, one Sarutobi Takuan, lived in Fire Country, where the clan happened to be at the time and did much of their work for, but the village far away. Hashirama was unable to find an excuse to take a week's journey north, and he bided his time until a month later, his father mentioned that he needed an errand run in that general area and Hashirama jumped at the opportunity. He all but begged Butsuma, and the end was allowed to go provided he take a small entourage with him.

He went, and when his work was done he was able to sneak away for a day, long enough to hunt down the swordsmith while there was still daylight. The old man. remembered the blade, smiling fondly as he turned it in his hands and saw no dints or stains yet. "You're not the boy who ordered this," he said finally.

"No, sir." He felt strangely small and informal next to this man.

"I trust you did not kill him. No honorable man would steal a dead man's sword."

"He gave it to me."

The smith looked at him. "He didn't seem the sort to be kind to people."

"He can be. Sometimes." He then went on; "I was wondering how he paid for it. I am concerned that he spent too much for it, and would like to repay him." He didn't know why he said it. He knew that Madara was more likely to stab him in the gut than accept money from him.

"Ahh. So that's it. Unfortunately, you will have no luck there. He worked for it, in the stables, for as long as he could before his clan moved on. I took pity on him, for he clearly was desperate, even offering me his most prized falcon when he said he would only have time to work for me for less than four months spread over two years. I let him have it in the end. I did not expect him to be humble enough to accept such a gift, but he surprised me."

Hashirama was startled. He had difficulty believing that Madara had found the money without stealing it, but it had never occurred to him that he might have worked for the sword. And to offer a falcon… "Do you need any money for it now?"

"No, no," he waved his hand lazily. "He was good to my horses; they are my second income, and his work with them brought in more than he could possibly have known."

Hashirama suspected that he was lying, but decided not to press the elderly man. He seemed kind enough, and if Madara deemed him worthy of being civil to, there was no reason to cause him trouble. He thanked him profusely, apologized for the interruption, and turned to leave. At the door, he was stopped by a few soft words.

"You're not an Uchiha."

"No, sir."

"Why did an Uchiha give an enemy such a gift?"

Enemy? He caught himself before he was able to say it though. "I don't know, sir."

ooo

He spent the next few days in a haze of anxiety, desperately wanting to give Madara something and all too aware that his birthday was rapidly approaching. He was also on the other side of the country, last he knew, but that didn't concern him as much, as he tended to become irrational when it came to the Uchiha. He didn't even know if it was really Madara's birthday; he had harassed him until he gave in and mumbled a date, but it could have been anything. Hashirama wondered suddenly if he would give him something only to have Madara not understand why, as it would be months off.

But that didn't matter. He needed something, and he needed it soon.

ooo

When Hashirama had finally chosen a gift, he then turned to finding Madara. There was no point in hoping to find him on the appointed day; he'd be lucky enough to see him at all over the winter, as it had set in fast and cold. There was word of the Senju being hired for a battle soon, which made him uneasy. The Uchiha were sure to be hired against them. He didn't want to have to give this to him on the battlefield, not unless he could lure him away one night when the fighting broke. But that was a thought he broke off quickly. Something about it made him uneasy in the pit of his stomach.

Luckily the time came before any battle, for by a sheer twist of fate both of their clans found themselves in the same corner of Fire again in late January. It was hardly a surprise, as they both worked for Fire more often than other countries, and they were bound to cross paths in times of peace for it.

Even at sixteen, Madara had reached a point where his clan both revered and feared him. As he preferred to be alone, or with Izuna at best, he tended to stay alone. His brother was fortunately at an age when other things distracted him, and Madara had the freedom of a civilian, as if he were not one of the deadliest men in Fire. An ambush would appear easy, but the Senju knew better. A shinobi did not have to be a sensor to feel the malignant chakra that had swarmed around him ever since his eyes had changed.

Despite the fact that Madara was by then more powerful than the ever-absent gods and demons the people still prayed to before a battle, he was one of the rare few who still frequented shrines to leave offerings. He had once told Hashirama that his mother had been a priestess, and her ghost haunted him still.

And that was where Hashirama found him, at the foot of the steps leading up to the Tiangou shrine.

ooo

Madara looked at him quizzically. It had only been three months, but his hair had grown longer, his face more gaunt and the shadows beneath his eyes even deeper than before. "Are you stupid?"

It was always best to ignore those comments. "You gave me something."

"Ah. So you felt obligated to return the favor." He still didn't take the package.

Hashirama's patience was already thin, and this was not helping. Madara had ignored him at first, instead calmly walking up the several hundred steps to the shrine and leaving an offering before turning to Hashirama, who had doggedly followed him. The Senju was relieved at being able to be alone with him, as no one was likely to find them here and wonder at their meeting, but he disliked being ignored just as much as he disliked shrine stairs, always too shallow for a proper gait. And now Madara was being rude. "I wanted to give you one for years, but I didn't want you to react badly. It seems you will no matter what though…" he started to withdraw his hand, but Madara lunged at him, snatching it away. Hashirama had to laugh. As unpredictable as his friend was, Madara's hatred for being tricked would never leave him.

Now that he had it, he seemed uncomfortable. Still, he opened it quickly enough. The look on his face was pure confusion, for the first time at a loss for words.

"I wanted to get you something-" Hashirama almost said "personal" but caught himself. What Madara had gotten him was quite personal, but in such a different way.

"I couldn't use as a weapon against you." Madara finished for him, instead.

"No. Do you need help putting it on?" It was best if he change the subject at this point.

The Uchiha rubbed the thin crystal absently, ignoring him. The necklace had cost Hashirama a small fortune, as well as no small amount of pain when he attempted to modify it on his own before Tobirama stepped in. Tobirama thankfully never asked questions. It was an exchange, for Hashirama never asked why he knew such horrible, dangerous, and esoteric jutsu even at twelve.

"It's filled with your chakra," he finally said, mystified.

Hashirama shrugged, taking it from his strangely complacent hands; something about how receptive Madara had become made him nervous. He noted then the whiteness of his wrists between the gloves and sleeves, so rarely seen. He had seen it last time they met, when Madara had tossed the sword at him, and had felt strangely uncomfortable at the sight, as if he were looking on something forbidden. Now it only seemed an open invitation, as if Madara allowing him to do this wasn't enough of one already.

Madara stiffened when he carefully reached around his neck, careful to avoid touching his skin, not so much for Madara's sake but for his own. That was not a fire he wanted kindled now. The chain was solid, so tightly woven as to appear like cord, and with a spark of chakra he was able to seal it shut so that only a sword could cut it free. He knew it was cruel to do, with Madara so unknowing, but he felt he had to, felt that this was binding the other to him in such a way that he could never leave.

He felt the fingers wrap around his own throat before he had even seen Madara move. "Don't," the Uchiha hissed, shoving him back, but not before the jutsu completed itself.

The older boy froze, uncertain. He knew that Madara was unlikely to kill him. He also knew that Madara was hardly predictable, and this behavior was only becoming more apparent as time went on. His fingers twitched, chakra ready, but the moment passed. The pressure on his neck increased momentarily before relaxing as Madara leaned forward.

Lips pressed hesitantly against his own startled him again, and when he realized what was happening he impulsively reached out to grab Madara around the waist, to pull him in. Because he had wanted this for far too long, and feared the moment would pass…the fingers tightened sharply around his neck again, jerking him back a second time and bringing a moment of panic as he realized just how hard Madara was crushing his throat. But just as before, he released him quickly.

When Hashirama was able to focus his vision again he was met with a scowl. "My terms." He fingered his necklace as he said it, a new habit already forming in his frustration, and it was only when he saw this that Hashirama realized the full import of his words. Another act of self-betrayal. He smiled faintly, causing Madara to make an indignant huffing sound.

The Uchiha turned from him then, on a single heel as he had done ever since he was a child, and pointedly walked away. His open back showed not trust but defiance, a dare that Hashirama knew better than to take. Madara didn't look back when he said it, his words so soft that Hashirama wondered for a moment if he had imagined them, recalling Madara's words about genjutsu and sound. But no. The momentary pause in his step, the tension in his shoulders, was proof enough of his words.

Thank you.

It was enough for now.