Chapter Text
Day 20: Tetsu no Kuni, Cannibalism, Amnesia AU
Following the trail of blood and the mangled corpses of unknown shinobi, Madara had not been entirely sure what he would find. Standing outside the cave, smelling the metallic scent of blood, he expected it to be bad. And he was right. However, what he had not expected was just who it was who had left the trail of carnage—Senju Tobirama.
It was obvious the Senju had tried to mend his own injuries, but it was equally obvious that he had not succeeded. The man had always been pale, but now… His skin looked white as paper, and had a sheen of sweat where it was not smudged with blood.
Madara initially thought the man was dead, but then his Sharingan caught the minute lifting and lowering of that broad chest. Still alive then. But for how long? Would it be better to just end it—A mercy kill? The thought sat heavy and uncomfortable in Madara’s guts. Hashirama needed never know, but… Madara would know. And for some reason, that held him back.
Telling himself that it made perfect sense to bring the Senju back to the Uchiha settlement, to use him as a hostage, Madara tied off a few tourniquets and straightened the leg, splinting it. Then he lifted the young man in his arms, hurrying back home so the healers there could get to work.
⁂
Regaining consciousness was a slow process. The first few times he came to, it was only for a moment each time, not even enough for him to open his eyes, just hearing noises around him, and feeling pain. But eventually he managed to stay awake long enough to open his eyes. The room had a dark wooden ceiling, like the wood had been treated with fire. It smelled faintly of ashes as well.
A noise had him attempt to turn his head, but his body didn’t obey him, feeling heavy and sluggish. Like he was drugged. Was he? How would he know? He should know, shouldn’t he?
He heard a door slide open, and suddenly someone leaned over him, frowning. Such a pretty face shouldn’t frown. He told the man as much, only for those lovely red eyes with the spinning dots to go wide in surprise. Then the man held up two fingers, and asked how many they were. He made an effort at lifting his hand, to poke at the fingers, but… His arm was too heavy. With a small pout, he answered. “Two.”
Then the man moved those fingers back and forth, watching his face… No, his eyes. Something niggled at his mind. He knew why the man did that, didn’t he? He just couldn’t remember. In fact, there were a lot of things he couldn’t remember. Like, “Who are you?”
The man blinked his eyes in surprise. “You don’t remember?”
He tried to shake his head, but it came across more as his head rolling from side to side. “No. Sorry. I don’t... I don’t even remember who I am.”
⁂
If it wasn’t for the fact that he had the Sharingan active, and Tobirama gave absolutely no signs that he was lying—nor any signs that he feared Madara in the least—Madara would have thought this was an act. An attempt at making the Uchiha lower their guard. But no, Tobirama looked far too trusting, far too calm, despite his situation.
Pulling the chair over, Madara sat down, thinking. Tobirama’s head lolled to the side, revealing that he was still pretty high on painkillers. In theory the amnesia could be a reaction to them, but… It was not a reaction Madara had ever encountered before, and he had been in and out of the healing house often enough, visiting relatives or even getting his own injuries treated once or twice. No, he was inclined to think that the cause of Tobirama’s amnesia lay with the head-wound he had sustained.
Though, what did this mean for his plans? If he traded Tobirama back to Hashirama for a bunch of concessions, Hashirama might think that Madara was the cause of Tobirama’s injuries, and his memory-loss. However, if Madara held on to Tobirama until he had healed more, and possibly regained his memories—if he ever did—then Hashirama would hopefully learn the truth. Well, unless the White Demon lied to his brother. Which was not out of the question.
Still, his best option was to keep Tobirama here. As a hostage. To curb any Senju aggression. Just… What to tell him?
The slightly slurred voice of the Senju Demon had Madara focus back on him. “You’re really pretty, but you shu’dn’t frown. It mak’s your… um… forehead wrinkly.”
Those red eyes slipped shut, and Madara realized that the Senju had fallen unconscious again. After calling Madara pretty. For the second time. He ran a hand over his face. What he was contemplating was immoral. But then, he was a shinobi. And it might serve to make Tobirama pliant and easy to deal with.
The next time Tobirama woke up, when it was obvious that he still didn’t have his memories back, Madara told him that they were boyfriends, but that they came from different clans, and had to keep it a secret. Tobirama seemed delighted at that, and promised to keep hush about it to the various healers and caretakers that might enter his room. Then he had slowly moved his hand across the blanket. It took a moment for Madara to realize what he was aiming for, but then he hesitantly took that pale slim hand in his broad one. Tobirama’s grip was lax, and his hand slightly cool to the touch, but it seemed that the simple contact made him content. They sat like that until Tobirama slipped into sleep again some ten minutes later.
Madara stared down at their hands. The way he could feel the callouses on Tobirama’s palm and fingers. The way that hand had been placed in his, so trustingly. He could have crushed the hand. Broken every finger, making it impossible for Tobirama to ever make any hand-seals again. But he hadn’t. It felt wrong to even think about doing it.
With a frown, Madara placed Tobirama’s hand underneath the blanket, to warm it up. Then he reached over and did the same to the other hand, before leaving the room. He had a lot to think about. Had a lot of work to do, if he was honest. But the thought of that soft look Tobirama had given him, and the way that hand had felt in his, it followed him through the evening.
⁂
His boyfriend was there when he woke up again. And the man looked like he had hardly slept. It made him concerned. He was about to say so when he realized something crucial—He did not know his name. Nor did he know his own name for that matter. Had his boyfriend told him? Memories from the past days were hazy. Like viewed through fog. He might have been told, and just forgotten again. Still, his boyfriend was kind. Surely he would not mind having to say it again?
“What’s your name?”
A brief pause, then “Madara. Uchiha Madara.”
“And mine?”
“Senju Tobirama.”
Neither name stirred any memories. “Madara and Tobirama.” He tasted the names. They sounded good together. Strong names. Then he thought of Senju and Uchiha. Two different clans. Though… Why was he here if he didn’t belong to the Uchiha clan? Not that he objected, but… “How did I get here?”
Madara leaned on the edge of his bed, resting his head on his clasped hands, eyeing Tobirama carefully. “I found you. You had been in a fight, and you were badly hurt. For a moment I was not sure if you lived still.”
Tobirama stilled, searching Madara’s eyes, but his boyfriend masked his emotions well. Still, it could not have been easy for him to find Tobirama like that. Slowly he pushed his hand across the blanket, feeling a tiny bit stronger today, and a little bit clearer in the head. Madara’s eyes fell to the hand, watching it for a moment, then he reached down with one of his and grasped it, holding it in his warm palm. It felt soothing, and Tobirama brushed his thumb over the skin there, feeling tiny scars and imperfections, mapping them out.
He held on to Madara’s hand until sleep claimed him again.
⁂
Staring down at the pale hand in his grasp, Madara felt like a fraud. Tobirama was nothing like he had expected. No, for the short moments he had had with the man, the White Demon was really not that demonic at all. Instead he appeared calm, kind hearted, and strangely tactile, given how eager he was to hold Madara’s hand. Such an innocent thing, and yet… Madara almost always wore gloves, but he had been banned from using them in the infirmary. Too much dirt and… things he would rather not think about. So his hands were bare.
And could feel every little motion Tobirama’s hands did. The brushing of the thumb over his hand… Was it meant to soothe him? To calm him? The thought was almost ridiculous, except for all the ways it wasn’t. The look Tobirama had given him when he admitted that he had not been sure if Tobirama lived… That had been sympathy, he was sure of it. Tobirama had felt sorry that Madara had found him like that. Had assumed Madara had been wracked with grief and anguish.
Yeah, Madara felt like a fraud. Which was perhaps the reason he sought out Tobirama again the next time he felt his chakra stir. And the next time after that. Before he knew it, it had become a habit, going to check on Tobirama in the morning, and in the evening, telling himself that he needed to know if Tobirama regained his memories. He even took to bringing his paperwork, having a desk brought in there so he could sit there and work. Tobirama was quiet company. Most of the time he just slept, still healing, but when he was awake, he would ask innocuous questions. What was the weather like? What had Madara had to eat that day? How had he slept? It didn’t take Madara long to realize that the one thing most of the questions had in common was that they displayed care for Madara, and how he was doing. It was… humbling.
Clearly everything he had thought about Senju Tobirama, everything their spies had been able to dig out, had been based on a persona the man adopted whenever he left the Senju settlement. And this, the persona Madara got to experience now, was the true, unfiltered persona. This caring, kind, quietly unobtrusive man… Suddenly peace didn’t seem like such a distant dream after all. If the one Senju they had been so sure was against peace, could be so kind and caring…
He looked up from the scroll he had been reading… Well, staring at… and found Tobirama asleep again, a soft smile on his lips.
They had lowered the dosage of painkillers as his various injuries healed. At this point the swelling around the head-wound was completely gone, leaving just a line of shaved hair and stitches. Tobirama had appeared completely unbothered by that, saying the hair would grow out soon enough. And Madara supposed it would. With such short hair it wouldn’t take that long.
He almost wished he could have asked Tobirama why he didn’t let his hair grow like Hashirama had done, but of course the younger man wouldn’t remember now. Would he ever? What if his memories were gone for good? The thought made Madara feel torn. On one hand, yes, it would be a serious blow for Hashirama, but on the other… If Madara could keep Tobirama here, like this… It was a foolish thought.
Quickly he looked back down at the scroll again.
⁂
Madara looked tired again. Tobirama had heard yelling outside, and from the little he had picked up, he had gathered that Madara’s brother had returned from a mission and was very unhappy with Tobirama’s presence there. He had not caught exactly why said brother was upset about it, but it did paint a picture of the relationship between their clans not being as amicable as Madara’s previous tone and disinterest in elaborating had implied. Which in turn explained very well why Madara wanted to keep their relationship secret.
It made Tobirama feel a little bad. If his presence there was causing a rift between the brothers…
He wanted to do something for Madara, but was limited by the fact that he couldn’t even leave the bed yet. Had to have help for every little thing. It was fortunate that he had gotten over his shame and body-shyness almost as soon as it presented itself. He was injured. There was nothing he could do about it, and getting help was far preferable to wallowing in his own filth. It also helped that the people doing those jobs were utterly professional about it.
Abandoning that train of thought, Tobirama focused back on Madara. His boyfriend was bent over the small desk, focusing on a scroll, but he was squinting, as if he had a headache. When was the last time he rested?
There was not much Tobirama could do, but perhaps there was one thing? “Madara? Can you come here for a moment?”
Madara looked up, confusion evident for a brief moment. Then he stood and hurried over. “What is it?”
Tobirama reached over, taking his hand, glad that he had recovered enough to at least be able to do such small gestures. Carefully brushing his thumb over the soft skin on top of Madara’s hand, he pulled lightly on it. “When was the last time you took a break? Lie down with me and just breathe for a while. I promise you it will make you feel better.”
⁂
Madara had tensed up at the suggestion, and quickly, to cover up his reaction, he blurted out “But… your injuries?!”
Tobirama just shook his head. “They are mostly healed, and the leg is securely padded. If you lie on this side, then I’ll be fine.”
Was he really going to do this? But if he didn’t, would Tobirama guess that something was off with his story? Despite his amnesia, the pale Senju was still extremely intelligent, and Madara had been worried that Tobirama would grow bored, trapped in bed as he was, but so far that had not appeared to happen. The young man had to have an incredible inner life, to not get restless like that. Madara knew from experience that he himself felt like climbing the walls after less than a day trapped in bed. Still, how difficult could it be to just lie down and stay still for a while? To soothe Tobirama’s worries. Which… He was worried for Madara. Not of, but for. The thought was so surreal.
Making up his mind, Madara helped Tobirama scoot over, to give him room. Then he carefully climbed onto the bed, making himself comfortable. It took them a few false tries until they found a position where they both could relax.
Tobirama lying on his back in deference to his injuries, letting Madara trap one of his arms between them… It was ridiculous, the level of trust. But at the same time, Madara could not deny that he himself felt incredibly comfortable like this. When was the last time he just held someone? Had physical contact that was not for the sake of sparring? Just let himself enjoy the closeness? He couldn’t remember.
The warmth of that broad chest under the palm of his hand, only separated from the skin by a thin yukata. The warmth of the length of Tobirama’s body against the front of Madara’s own… He closed his eyes, resting his chin against Tobirama’s shoulder. A few hairs tickled his nose for a moment, but he just tilted his head further into the pillow. It smelled clean, with a hint of sea-salt, and something else… With a small shiver down his spine he realized that that smell was Tobirama. He inhaled discreetly, trying to figure out the smell. Then he caught himself. Fuck, was he sniffing the Senju?!
Scrunching his eyes shut, Madara focused on his breathing, in and out, slowly, to calm his racing heart. It worked.
It had worked too well. Consciousness snapped back into him, and his training made him remain lax with his eyes closed until he had analyzed where he was and what had woken him up. A small clank in the distance, as if of a ladle against a pot, gave him the clue he needed. It had to be close to dinner time, and someone could enter the room at any moment.
To find him cuddling Senju Tobirama. Extricating himself quickly, Madara was relieved to find that Tobirama was asleep as well. The man just made a displeased noise, but calmed when Madara arranged the blankets over him, flattening out the indent in the mattress where he himself had lain just moments earlier. Then he eyed the scene. Crap, he would have to wake up Tobirama, to move him to the middle of the bed, just to be sure.
He reached over and nudged Tobirama’s shoulder lightly. “Hey, wake up. It’s almost time for dinner.”
Rolling his head over on the side, those red eyes blinked open. Then they focused on him, and a look of pure adoration settled on Tobirama’s face. It left Madara dumbstruck. Like this, Tobirama was breathtaking. Oh… Oh fuck! He was in trouble.