R eunited Souls
“Please don’t!” Hashirama exclaims, his voice cracking with desperation. “I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding!”
“A misunderstanding?” Madara’s voice drops to a dangerous growl, his chakra swirling with cold fury. “Your elders kidnapped a child—my nephew—to manipulate your brother. They nearly cost me my own brother’s life in the process. Tell me, Hashirama, which part of that is a ‘misunderstanding’?”
Hashirama opens his mouth, but before he can reply, Mito elbows him sharply in the ribs. The blow makes him groan, and Madara feels a flicker of satisfaction at the sight. At least one person in the Senju clan grasps the seriousness of this situation.
While the Daimyo mostly keeps out of shinobi matters, and likely wouldn’t punish the Senju severely, or at all, he’d be honor-bond to hold a trial. A trial every shinobi in the capital would be permitted to attend. Once word gets out that the Senju broke a contract sealed in chakra within a week of signing it, all their alliances and contracts will crumble into pieces.
“I don’t care if your elders acted without your consent,” Madara snarls, his gaze boring into Hashirama. “As clan head, you are responsible for their actions, you stupid tree. They attacked my family. If you doubt me, question your elders yourself.”
Madara’s voice grows colder, each word a hammer blow. “They took Haruto hostage to force Tobirama to kill Izuna. Izuna nearly died. If Tobirama hadn’t arrived in time to heal him...” He trails off, his glare speaking volumes about how the story would have ended.
“But—” Hashirama begins weakly, only for Mito to elbow him again.
Mito steps forward, her expression hard as stone. “I see,” she says coolly, her gaze sweeping over the assembled Senju. Some cringe under her scrutiny, while others refuse to meet her eyes.
Then, her tone softens slightly, though it remains devoid of warmth. “May I inquire about the policy to receive permission to speak with my brother-in-law?”
Madara’s lips curl into something that is not a smile. “He won’t meet with you,” he says flatly.
Hashirama looks at him, wounded, as if Madara has personally betrayed him. “Why? Madara, he’s my little brother. You can’t just—”
“I believe I just did,” Madara interrupts, his voice cutting like ice. “If you wanted visitation rights, you should have included them in the contract.”
Mito regards him with an unreadable expression, her chakra a tightly controlled storm. She says nothing, simply nodding once in acknowledgment of his words.
“But—!” Hashirama cries out, his voice rising in desperation. “What about our dream? Our promise?”
Madara regards him with cold disdain, his expression a mask of indifference. “The war is over,” he replies matter-of-factly. “You have your peace.”
Hashirama stammers, his chakra fluctuating wildly with confusion and distress. “B-but the village?”
Madara’s glare sharpens, his Sharingan glinting dangerously. “I will not endanger my clan by bringing them into close proximity to people who abuse my omegas,” he snaps, his voice low but dripping with venom. The possessiveness in his tone is unmistakable, but he doesn’t care. As clan head, it is his duty to protect his people, and he will not apologize for it.
“Besides,” he continues, his voice cold and cutting, “you no longer have any need for that village. Or have you already forgotten why we wanted it in the first place?”
Hashirama stares at him, his mouth agape and his chakra quivering with confusion. “What? No, I-”
Madara steps closer, his rage barely contained. “Don’t play innocent!” he hisses, his chakra flaring like a storm. “How blind or stupid do you think I am? Did you honestly believe I wouldn’t notice how you’ve been abusing Tobirama—for years? He’s on the verge of fading, and you have the audacity to expect me to let you near any other omegas? Over my dead body!”
The dam holding back Madara’s fury breaks. He grabs Hashirama by the collar with a vice-like grip, his Sharingan spinning furiously. Before anyone can intervene, he delivers a brutal punch to the Senju’s face. The sickening crack of Hashirama’s nose breaking reverberates through the air, but it does little to quell the Uchiha’s wrath.
“Your brother!” Madara roars, his voice filled with righteous fury. “You sick bastard! How could you do this to your own brother?!”
Hashirama staggers back, clutching his face as blood drips between his fingers. His chakra flickers with pain and confusion, but Madara isn’t finished.
He raises his fist again, fully prepared to drive home his anger with another strike, when movement at the edge of his vision catches his attention. The returning Senju approaches, leading a small child. The boy can’t be older than four, his wide eyes flicking between the adults with a mix of curiosity and fear.
Madara forces himself to rein in his rage, his gaze softening as he focuses on the child. He releases Hashirama with a shove and turns to Mito, his tone sharp but quieter. “I take it he’s my nephew?”
Mito nods, stepping forward to take the boy from the Senju. She kneels and gently places him on the ground in front of Madara. “Meet your uncle, Haruto,” she says softly.
Madara crouches to the child’s level, his intimidating demeanor melting into something gentler. He studies Haruto, taking in the boy’s delicate features—he must have gotten them from his mother, because there are very few similarities to Tobirama—and the flickers of chakra that feel familiar, yet still young and untrained.
“Hello, Haruto,” Madara says, his voice warm but firm. “I’m Madara. Tobirama is marrying my little brother, Izuna, so I’m your uncle now.”
The boy hesitates for a moment, his fear giving way to curiosity. Slowly, Haruto steps closer, his tiny hands reaching out to tug at Madara’s sleeve. “Where’s tou-chan?” Haruto asks, his voice small and hesitant.
Madara’s expression softens further, and his voice takes on a gentler tone. “He’s at home, with Izuna. Do you want to go see him?”
Haruto blinks up at him, then raises his arms in a clear gesture to be picked up.
Madara chuckles softly, unable to suppress the genuine smile that tugs at his lips. He lifts Haruto into his arms, cradling the boy close. Haruto wraps his small arms around Madara’s neck, holding tightly as if he already trusts him.
In that moment, with the child’s warmth against him and the innocent trust in Haruto’s chakra, Madara feels some of the tension in his chest ease. For a brief instant, the weight of war, betrayal, and clan politics fades, leaving only the quiet determination to protect his family—no matter what it takes.
***
Haruto falls asleep halfway back to the Uchiha compound, his small arms limp around Madara's neck and his head nestled against his shoulder. Madara adjusts his grip slightly to ensure the boy is comfortable, his sharp gaze sweeping the path ahead. Despite the serene sight of his sleeping nephew, his mind churns with a mix of satisfaction and lingering anger over the day’s events.
By the time he reaches Izuna’s room, the adrenaline from earlier has faded, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness. He steps inside quietly, careful not to disturb the peaceful silence. However, his sharp eyes immediately notice Tobirama’s futon is empty.
Panic flickers in his chest, his chakra spiking momentarily before he notices movement. His gaze zeroes in, and he sees Tobirama curled on Izuna’s futon. Izuna has one arm loosely wrapped around the albino, his dark eyes fixed on his soulmate with a soft, contemplative expression.
“You’re awake,” Madara says, relief slipping into his tone as he steps further into the room. “You had me worried for a moment.” He shifts Haruto slightly, cradling the child closer. “You’re lucky your soulmate is insane enough to sneak into our compound, skilled enough to treat your wounds, and stubborn enough to go through with it. Otherwise, you’d be dead.”
Izuna’s lips twitch into a faint smile. “I know,” he murmurs, his voice soft and filled with gratitude. “He’s the best.”
His gaze shifts to Haruto, who stirs slightly in Madara’s arms but doesn’t wake. “Is that…?”
Madara smirks, a rare moment of levity breaking through. “Congratulations, it’s a boy,” he says, his tone quiet but teasing. Balancing Haruto with one arm, he picks up Tobirama’s discarded futon and spreads it beside Izuna’s. Gently, he lowers the sleeping child onto it, tucking the blanket snugly around him.
Izuna rolls his eyes at the quip but doesn’t retort. Instead, his gaze softens as he looks at Haruto. “How did you get him?”
Madara leans back, folding his arms as a sly grin spreads across his face. “Tobirama brought the marriage contract. It already had Hashirama’s signature, so I signed it and delivered their copy in person.” His tone turns smug. “I might have threatened to involve the daimyo if they didn’t immediately hand over my nephew. You should have seen their faces—Mito and Touka looked ready to lynch Hashirama.”
Izuna lets out a quiet snort, his gaze turning steely for a moment. “Serves him right,” he mutters.
Madara hums in agreement, his attention briefly shifting to Tobirama. The albino is still asleep, his breathing steady and deep. The way Izuna holds him so carefully, as if he might break, tugs at something deep within Madara.
“You should rest,” Madara says softly. “Both of you need it.”
Izuna nods but doesn’t take his eyes off Tobirama. “Thank you,” he whispers.
Madara inclines his head, his expression softening as he looks at the small family before him. He turns toward the door, but not before casting one last glance at Haruto, Tobirama, and Izuna.
A quiet sense of triumph settles over him as he steps out. For now, they are safe. His family is safe. And Madara will ensure it stays that way, no matter the cost.