Madara yelped when Izuna yanked too roughly, the abrupt pull of the comb causing him to collapse backwards into Izuna's lap. He directed a glare at the thirteen-year-old, mumbling inaudible profanities even as he returned to his floor cushion, automatically falling into seiza.
"Sorry, 'Dara-ani," Izuna apologized half-heartedly, more focused on having his fingers dig through Madara's monster of a hair for the missing comb.
"If you truly wish to apologize, you will cease and desist this pointless endeavor-" Madara cut himself off to bite the insides of his cheek when Izuna made a sound of triumph and proceeded to try and extract the comb, tangled hair and all, from his mane with all the finesse of a raging Bijuu.
"When was the last time you actually combed? It's full of knots... even if it's floofy - which is completely unfair, by the way - like the fur of a wild Siberian cat! Or maybe a highland cow. Oh, oh! A duster budgie! Yep, definitely that. Both the birds and aniki have three-quarters of the face covered, after all! But then there's the-"
Madara prayed to Sage for endless patience (I will not kill my little brother, I will not kill my little brother, I will not kill my little brother-) as he mentally counted backwards from sixty.
Despite how slowly he went from number to number, Izuna was still trying - and failing, he might add - to detangle his tresses from the teeth of the comb.
And. He. Would. Not. Stop. Comparing. Madara. To. Fluffy. Animals! Which part of him looks anything like them?!
... Maybe the duster budgie, Madara grudgingly admits.
"Well?" Izuna grumped expectantly, his expression a mix of amusement and frustration at his brother's ongoing silence.
Madara's lips parted, ready to snap out an answer... before falling into deep contemplation. When exactly has Madara taken the time to groom his hair? He shuffled through a decade worth of memories, starting from his unanticipated arrival into this second life of his.
When he couldn't find such impressions, he dived deeper into memory lane.
It took a few moments, but his perfect recall helped greatly. Madara had been... about fourteen when he last used a comb on his own. After that, he simply forwent grooming altogether. Even during his old age, he only cut his mane with a kunai when it grew too long and dragged all over the ground.
It used to be Izuna who -
Madara returned back to the present when he felt a finger poke at his cheek. Just in time, too, for he was feeling bittersweet longing at the memories of his past.
"What?" He snapped, feigning annoyance as he batted the offending digit away.
"This might be farfetched, but I'm just gonna assume you've never touched a comb in your life," Izuna stated dryly, sighing as if he had expected as much from him, "In retrospective, I should've known better than to ask you anything about your personal care. Aniki, you're hopeless."
Madara bristled, offended.
What did Izuna mean by hopeless? He made sure he was as healthy as any other shinobi (he meticulously rationed his own food so that he ate the minimum required to stay fit, his brothers needed more than him as they were growing boys)! It wasn't completely his fault his body was constantly tired. And that was due to the age of his soul, and appearance wasn't important to him. He had more urgent matters to attend to than waste time sitting in front of a mirror and fight a futile battle against his wild mane.
"I am not," He ended up saying firmly (he wasn't sulking, really), "We're shinobi - there's no purpose in vanity."
"It's not vanity, aniki. It's self-care. Learn the difference! Alright, you know what? I've decided - we're taking the rest of the day off to pamper ourselves," Izuna announced in mock solemnity, looking ridiculous whilst at it, "Now turn around and sit still so I can tame this bad boy into submission!"
Madara gave a blank look over his shoulder. Izuna returned it with one raised, unimpressed brow. Their stare-off lasted for about a split second before Madara grunted, looking away with a scoff (it wasn't a pout, really, dammit!). It made Izuna smirk in victory.
What a conceited brat, Madara groused inwardly with a harumphed.
Sometimes, he wondered if he was spoiling them rotten. He was always too tolerant of them, and they know to take advantage of that weakness of his. It was also only them that Madara allowed positioned at his back, too mistrustful and insecure to permit anyone else.
It was many hours and broken combs later, with Madara's temper close to snapping and Izuna thoroughly exhausted by the workout, did they finally manage to tame his mane into a high ponytail, the ends still long enough to touch the small of his back.
It made him shiver when his bare neck was caressed by the wind.
"There we go! All done. Now we can all finally see more than a quarter of your face. I almost forgot what you look like, aniki!" Izuna sounded proud and pleased, which in turn made Madara's bad mood disappear. If his brother was happy, Madara was happy.
"Hm? What's this...?"
Madara shuddered and jolted forwards when a finger suddenly traced his nape, where one of his inked seals rested at. It was just his luck that today, of all days, Izuna had guilt-tripped him into grooming his hair whilst he was not wearing his usual high collared mantle.
It had slipped his mind that his long and tangled mess of a hair actually helped cover some of his tattoo seals.
"Aniki..." Izuna's careful voice made Madara wrap his ponytail around his neck in a bashful manner as if it were a scarf, "Is that a tattoo?"
Knowing that it would be pointless to deny, he nodded, "Yes." Technically.
"It's... Nice, I guess...?" Izuna spoke slowly as if his brain had short-circuited, moving to sit in front of Madara so that they could talk face-to-face, "Looks painful."
"It was," He grimaced in remembrance.
It had taken him a whole day to meticulously ink his nape using two mirrors, almost killing his arms with such dreadful positioning. He had no choice but to place the seal there, however. That was the only place, apart from his heart (which he would not be placing any seals on, thank you very much) and throat, that he would guard diligently.
The seal was triangular in shape with intricate lines and circles inside, stretching from the base of his skull to the top of his scapulas. He didn't have an official name for this creation of his since he wasn't all too good at naming anything, but he called it the EBC Seal, short for Energy Balance and Combine Seal.
It was basically a seal that automatically stores, combines, and balances natural energy with his own chakra reserves upon activation. A replacement for one of his past life's skill set.
It allows for Madara to enter Sage Mode whenever he desires - the only downside was that it takes up to five whole years for the natural energy to synchronize enough for him to use it without turning into a statue. Hence, it was more of a last-effort attempt at turning the tables or a limited power-up boost when he battles Dokuzetsu, rather than something casual.
The seal was also extremely dangerous.
The only reason why Madara felt confident enough at having this EBC Seal on his skin was because he knew how to properly employ it without turning to stone; what with having been a Sage with the help of Hashirama's cells once upon a time. Furthermore, any damage on the seal (skin) could potentially bring harm to him once the senjutsu chakra begins to leak out in dystopian spades.
Ultimately, this seal was useless in the hands of both normal shinobi and senjutsu practitioners. Madara didn't even bother to keep a hard copy of it, the soft copy already burnt into his mind's library thanks to his Sharingan's recall ability.
"Huh. Look at that. I'm actually glad you've picked up something else to enjoy without our prompting, anija - even if it's to cover your whole body in ink. You've never actively shown interest in anything outside of training and knitting. And you avoid going outdoors in the daylight, which is why some of the kids call you a vampire," Izuna pointed out rudely as if Madara was a reticent, blood-drinking bastard who was also socially inept.
He denies everything with crossed arms, "Just because I do not broadcast my interests does not mean I have none other. I find crocheting to be just as alluring as knitting."
"Uhm, that kinda makes no difference...?"
"Blasphemy," he sneered, "Do you not see and feel the differences in stitching techniques between your handmade scarves?"
"No," Izuna deadpanned, and when Madara's lips parted to vocalize a passionate lecture about his side-craft, Izuna quickly changed the topic, "What's that on your forehead?"
His little brother blinked deviously innocent large eyes at him. His fingers automatically flew up to align his fringe as a curtain, but awkwardly fell back to his sides when he felt all of his hair already tied neatly behind his head.
"A rhombus," He snarked.
Whilst not his own creation, Madara wasn't unashamed to say that he would, in a heartbeat, steal another person's signature jutsu if it would benefit him in the long run.
The Strength of a Hundred Seal that Hashirama's granddaughter created was a masterpiece. Madara would be a fool to not utilize it to his convenience. Especially with his superb chakra control abilities despite his large reserves.
Tsunade had proven how astonishing this jutsu was during the Fourth Shinobi War. It also came with the bonus of shortening the lifespan of the user if used to heal fatal and extreme wounds. Perfect for someone who did not desire a long life.
... Although the shape did make him feel self-conscious enough to want to keep it hidden at all times. It reminded him too much of Mito. In spite of their similar design, however, he doubted hers functioned similar to his, or if hers were even a seal/iryo jutsu-based ink in the first place. It might just be for beauty purposes.
"Alright, whatever. I know when to take a hint, geez. Let's go to the onsen next! Maybe that can cure your eyebags - even if slightly," Izuna grinned cheekily, always the tactful one between them both. Madara deadpanned.
"No."
"Ehh?! Why not?!" Izuna tugged on Madara's sleeve with a whine, eyes wide and shining with crocodile tears, "Skinship is the key to making friends, aniki!"
Madara, with a blank face, stood up from his cushion and briskly walked out of Izuna's bedchamber, dutifully turning a deaf ear to his brother's guilt-trips - the brat had all but attached himself to Madara's thigh in his haste to act cute. Madara wasn't going to get tortured by his brother's attempts at making him more sociable.
Brotherly bonding in private? Sure. Outings with strangers whilst naked? Fuck no. Without turning to look at Izuna, Madara drawled with noticeably twitching fingers, "Pond?"
His baby brother promptly released him, a hushed 'demonic carps are demonic' leaving Izuna's lips as he bolted back into his bedchamber, shoji doors audibly sliding shut in his haste to be out of Madara's immediate vicinity.
Madara idly wondered if he should pick some blueberries along the way for Tobirama the next time his schedule was open to visit their creek.
"Tobi-nii?"
Tobirama lifted his gaze from the book in his hands to Itama, his youngest brother, who was standing at the entrance of his room-turned-lab.
He had sensed the other Senju standing outside his door long enough for it to be distracting, but due to Tobirama being an awkward teenager who was allergic to feelings in general, he waited for the dual-haired boy to reach out to him first.
"Come in, Itama," he drawled, patiently waiting until his youngest brother had seated himself near him before he continued, "Is there something you need that requires my attention?"
Itama fidgeted, bitting his lower lip in nervousness.
"I... I would like to be a healer," Was said in a whisper, cheeks flushed and radiating intense heat. Tobirama wondered if the boy had caught a fever, the sickness playing with his head.
"That is a women's job," He stated factually, but not unkindly, "Chichi-ue would never approve."
"Then help me convince chichi-ue," Itama latched almost desperately onto Tobirama's wrist, heterochromatic eyes pleading for his help, "Please, Tobi-nii! I, I think my talents lie in being a healer. My chakra reserves are the smallest in our family and I have the necessary control - and if Touka can become a frontliner in our army despite being a girl, I can be a healer even if I'm a boy."
Tobirama fell into a contemplative silence, his mind calculating the odds.
Indeed, if Touka, a woman (frightening, powerful, and more masculine than even Hashirama), could raise through their ranks and become an elite warrior, what say Itama (soft, kind, and too gentle in nature to hurt others)? Tobirama would feel more at ease if his youngest brother was kept out of the clan wars and brutal missions.
Besides, it was true enough that Itama's chakra control was better than even Tobirama's, whose control was almost legendary within their clan despite his young age.
"I am not opposed to the idea of you becoming a healer, Itama. However, it will take more than talent to have chichi-ue's blessing. We have a lot of planning to do..."
Itama beamed, tackled Tobirama into a hug, and giggled almost giddily. The older Senju could only stiffly pat the younger in the back, not knowing how else to react. If this was Hashirama, he would have just thrown his elder brother over his shoulder and be done with it.
But with Kawarama and Itama, he felt uncomfortable to treat them with such obtuseness. Little brothers took delicate maneuvering and finesse, he had come to learn over the years, lest he be the one on the end of yet another prank of theirs - Kawarama, especially.
The last time Tobirama had misjudged a situation and got involved, his hair had shined a putrid shade of neon green for a whole week. He was just glad that Madara had not had the time to visit the creek that month.
Once more, Tobirama could not help but lament his awkwardness in human interaction and social cues. He took note to gather books and scrolls on human psychology the next time he leaves the compound for a mission.
"Thank you, nii-san! I knew I could always count on you! I love you, Tobirama-nii."
Tobirama shrugged, cheeks slightly tinged in pink, and looked away. Such gratitude and love directed at him was yet another matter he was unused to.
His father would only nod in acknowledgment whenever Tobirama handed a new jutsu he had created whilst Hashirama and Kawarama took everything he did in stride (sometimes the former would even compare him to their father, which made Tobirama look away for entirely different reasons he could not truly figure out).
Only Itama would thank Tobirama and say 'i love you' to him at random times. And it would always make his chest flutter, his blood race to his cheeks, and the need to look at anything but Itama more pronounced.
Maybe this was why he was closest to Itama than any of his other family members. If the war lost him Itama, he knew he would do anything in his power to bring the gentle and kind boy back. He hid a shudder at the thought.
Wanting to direct the conversation away from feelings, he stiffly questioned, "What made you choose to become a healer?"
Much too alike to their eldest brother, Itama suddenly slumped, lips jutting out in a pout, a depressed air hung around him. Tobirama could only sigh at his brother's mood changes. Hopefully, Itama would grow out of it and not follow in Hashirama's footsteps.
"I was ambushed by the Fuma clan in my last mission."
Tobirama immediately had his hands on Itama, physically checking for wounds and the likes, heart thudding wildly as fear washed over his person. When he found none, he cupped his youngest brother's cheeks, brows furrowed worriedly.
"Why was I not informed? It has been a week, Itama. You know that they coat their weapons in poison; precautions must be adhered-"
"I met a brusque but kind healer during the snowstorm," Itama cut in hurriedly, face flushed with embarrassment and something else he did not recognize, "he taught me the art of healing while we waited for the storm to pass. Grumpily. He taught me grumpily. Very grumpily."
It made Tobirama frown all the more, his thumbs circling idly over the colored cheeks.
"He? A man as a healer? Peculiar... But you should know better than to interact with other unknown shinobi - an ill-tempered one at that."
"He saved my life, Tobi-nii!"
"An ulterior motive."
"I'm a nobody!"
"You are not a nobody, Senju Itama. You're the clan head's son... and my little brother."
"Dara-san didn't know that-"
"'Dara'-san?!"
The name made Tobirama stutter, fingers tightening their hold on his brother's face. When Itama made a small noise of distress, he quickly softens his grip and rubs apologetically.
"Do you know Dara-san, nii-san?" Itama titled his head to the side as he circled his small hands around Tobirama's wrists, his eyes eager as they shined brightly. Tobirama shifted uncomfortably in place, not knowing whether to deny such a thing or play ignorance.
But he was curious if this person Itama was talking about was Tobirama's friend. The Uchiha did primarily introduce himself as 'Dara' at the creek, after all.
"I... may know of someone with that name. Can you describe his appearance?"
"Mmm... I think he has long hair, but it was in a messy top-knot so I'm not sure. But it's black in color. His eyes are equally black. He's very pale, too, and it seems to be his natural skin tone rather than sickness. He does have lines underneath his eyes - quite deep; like he lacks sleep or is overly stressed.
"Dara-san's body type is slender and looks about Hashi-nii or your age, nii-san. He doesn't have any clan markings or a crest to indicate where he hailed from. Oh! And he also has a small, violet diamond tattoo on the center of his forehead. His features are all sharp... and pretty."
Tobirama nodded, deep in thought as he tried to form the 'Dara-san' Itama described into a picture in his mind. The image overlapped with a crassly smug Uchiha with messy and wild hair, and if Tobirama were to put his friend's hair into a top-knot, it would be a near perfect match.
The only difference would be the tattoo and him being a healer.
But Tobirama's ignorance of the former could be excused due to Madara's curtain of a bird's nest that covered three-quarters of the Uchiha's face. He was used to looking into Madara's left eye at all times, or rather, he has never once seen the Uchiha heir with both his eyes thanks to the way the other shinobi styled his hair (or perhaps Madara simply didn't brush his hair and allowed for it to grow as wild as it wanted).
As for the latter, all smart shinobi kept their skills to themselves. Tobirama himself didn't inform his family or Madara of his aptitude in fuuinjutsu.
He was brought back to the present when he felt a finger poking his forehead. He slapped the annoying digit and scowled at the overly eager Itama, who was impatiently waiting for his answer. He sighed, fighting back the urge to roll his eyes.
"I may be familiar with the person you've described. Although not a hundred percent certain as my 'Dara' did not present to me his skills in healing."
"Nii-san... A simple yes or no, please," Itama whined.
"Yes," This time, he did roll his eyes skyward.
"Really?!" Before Tobirama could respond, Itama whooped and danced around his bedroom-turned-lab before he all but latched onto Tobirama's shoulders, "Please, please, please tell me where I can find Dara-san! I want to learn more iryo-jutsu from him!"
"No."
Itama reeled back, slumped to the ground, and hugged his knees to his chest, an air of depression causing the air to grow heavy around him.
"I know he's pretty and you want to keep him to yourself, but that's unfair, nii-san."
Tobirama spluttered, cheeks staining red as he all but denied such a thing. Sure, Madara's features were not bad looking and Tobirama wouldn't mind staring at the Uchiha for a long duration of time- NO! He was not thinking about Madara, his first ever friend, being a potential life partner.
Firstly, Madara was from the Uchiha clan. Secondly, the older shinobi was aggravating. Thirdly, the crass asshole treated him more like a younger brother than a potential lover.
At the last thought, he pushed the dull aching in his chest into the deepest corner of his mind and took a deep breath to compose himself.
"No; as in his family background is complicated. You'll be taken out before you can reach his clan's compound."
"Then you must meet somewhere else that's safe, right?"
Itama suddenly pushed his face into Tobirama's personal space, their noses brushing. The albino narrowed his red eyes and leaned back as discreetly as possible.
"That's none of your business."
"Please?"
"No."
"Pretty please with a cherry on top?"
"No."
"What if I protect you from Kawarama's pranks in the future?"
"Tempting, but still a no."
"Pleeeeeeasseeeeee, Tobi-nii...! I'll do anything!"
"I'm leaving."
...
..
.
In the end, during Tobirama's next visit to the creek, it was with a tag along. Itama had promised to never tell anyone of their meeting.
When Madara and Itama officially met, the latter all but tackled the former to the ground, which made Tobirama have a clear view of the violet diamond tattoo on the Uchiha's forehead. He dutifully ignored the ache in his chest when Madara fondly ruffled his youngest brother's hair and laughed when Itama's bubbly chatter became a spluttered mess, cheeks colored red as freshly plucked tomatoes.
He looked away, staring blankly into the waters, not knowing what to make of the mess of swirling emotions he was currently experiencing. He decided not to think too much about it, lest he came up with an answer he disliked.
It was only when Madara brushed gentle fingers against his bicep did he feel the tension in his muscles loosen. The Uchiha smirked, mouthing a challenge at him. Tobirama could only chuckle at the other's childishness, finally joining the dark-haired shinobi in teasing the embarrassed Itama by telling Madara about the youngest's childhood mishaps.
A/N: Hoped you guys enjoyed the sneak peek into Tobirama's head! That was added in last minute due to popular demand.
Judging by some of the reviews, I know that the time skips between chapters get confusing at times. I just want to clarify and explain the reason for it.
This was originally meant to be a one-shot, thus I have already written a complete draft of it. All that is left is to edit and finalize them before uploading (although sometimes I do add-on a few mini-stories in between when I get inspired). So basically, what I meant to say is... They're time-skips to reach MadaTobi pairing at an appropriate and legal age ASAP whilst getting to know the now-Madara and how his childhood defines him into the man he would be in the future.
Sometimes the skips are random; weeks, months or even years in between one chapter and the next, mostly because I'm trying to age them at a pace that is meant for quick short stories than long connected ones. The worldbuilding and background info dump got a little out of hand, though, I must admit. As you can see from this chapter... there was more unnecessary worldbuilding despite how I wanted to make it a filler and brotherly bonding experience.
I hope this clears up some things.