Madara and Hashirama: A Parent's Disapproval

“Madara!  Why are you still incapable of executing the Great Fireball Jutsu?  You’re already five, and you should be ready for the battlefield next year!  Or were the medics correct when they told me you would grow up to be a sickly, weak child?  It would have been better if you did die if this is how you’re going to be!” Madara winced at his father’s painful words.

It wasn’t as though this weren’t par for the course, though.  Madara would have been surprised if his father approved of anything he did.  Madara heard the sound of another child laughing in the background.  Setsuna, that bastard, he thought angrily.  The grating voice eventually managed to form words.  Unfortunately, as Madara had been hoping Setsuna would choke on his own laughter.  “Aaand once again, the failure child of the Clan Head once again fails to produce more than a candle flame.  Guess we all just have to hope that your baby brothers are worthy heirs!”

Another child added, “You know how they say children born in battle are the strongest, right?”

Setsuna immediately latched onto this train of thought.  “Yeah! But look at what the stresses of battle on an unborn child did to worthless Madara!  Because his mother almost died in battle before he was born, he was born early, so he’s weak and useless!”

A door slammed open.  Naori stormed in, followed closely by Hikaku, her best friend.  All the children gasped in awe, “It’s Naori!”

Naori Uchiha had invented a very dangerous and powerful jutsu when she was only fifteen.  One of her eyes was permanently milky and blind because of this jutsu, called the Izanami, created to counteract the Izanagi.  Not only that, but she’d quickly become one of the most powerful shinobi in the known world. The other clans feared her, and no one dared to question her nine times out of ten.  It was said that she’d once fought Butsuma Senju into such a corner he had to call for help. Her loud, deep voice rang out across the room, “Children. If you don’t quit bullying others, you’ll become nothing but entitled, weak brats who die in their first battle, thinking they’re superior to everyone else.  So why don’t you focus on your own training and accept that not everyone gains power at the same time. For all you know, Madara could become stronger than all of you one day.”

Hikaku nodded, leaning on the doorframe, content to let Naori do the talking.  However, Tajima, being the Clan Head, was one of the few who would question Naori.  “But how are weaker children to learn if their weakness is accepted? Besides, what are the chances Madara will become strong, particularly if he can’t survive his first battle?”

Naori huffed.  “Why bother sending children who are so likely to die onto the battlefield?  Better to wait until their talents bloom, then see what they can do. Our methods evidently aren’t working if so many children die in vain during their first battle.  You should also have faith in your own son.”

Tajima huffed right back at Naori.  “Class dismissed. Everyone practice their Katon before we have class again.”

As he left, Tajima dragged Madara along with him.  He had to pass Naori and Hikaku on his way out, so the two of them shot Madara a look behind Tajima’s back that said he could go to them if he needed to.  When they were out of everyone’s earshot, Tajima threw Madara down on the ground. “Why will you never learn? If you faced a Senju your age right now, any Senju, you would die!  Understand? So if you want to be a useful member of this clan, you need to sort out your issues with jutsu!”

Madara had mastered the art of properly addressing and acknowledging his father.  He said in a monotone, “Yes, otou-sama.”

That was the first time Tajima hit Madara.  His hand would leave a bruise on Madara’s shoulder.  “Let this be your lesson.”

Then Tajima walked away, leaving Madara to go home while his father went somewhere Madara wasn’t sure of.  Madara walked into his family’s house somewhat reluctantly. His mother wasn’t any better than his father when it came to attitude, or anything else really.  It didn’t matter that she had a five year old(Madara), a two year old(Izuna), a one year old(Kazuma), and was pregnant with twins. She was as fierce as the day she made the truly terrible decision to fight Butsuma Senju while five months pregnant.  The moment Madara set foot in that house, he was given away by two year old Izuna, who squealed, “Madara nii-chan!”

Madara winced, despite the fact that his mother Rei would have noticed him very quickly anyways.  Izuna, you traitor, Madara thought to himself, why did you have to go and do this now of all times?  Rei stalked over.  “Why are you back so soon?  Did your father end class early because of your incompetence again?”

Madara hung his head in shame.  Every Uchiha could do the Great Fireball Jutsu by age five, so why couldn’t he?  “Yes, okaa-sama.”

Rei activated her Mangekyou, staring menacingly into Madara’s still-powerless eyes.  “Go train. Now.”

“Yes.”

Just then, Izuna shakily stumbled over.  “Nii-chan!”

Madara couldn’t help but pay attention to his little brother.  He crouched down to Izuna’s level, encouraging him. “You’re doing great!  One day, you’ll probably be stronger than otou-sama!”

When Izuna tried to walk a little too quickly, he fell, and Madara helped him back up again.  Rei’s disapproving voice came from across the room. “Madara, don’t be so soft. You shouldn’t praise even young children for something so simple.  And if you help him up when he falls, he’ll never learn. Go train, and stop playing with Izuna.”

Izuna scowled, the look rather comical on his round face in conjunction with the typical childish manner of speaking young children possessed.  “No. Play with Izuna, nii-chan!”

Rei didn’t spare the brothers a glance.  “Izuna, keep an eye on Kazuma. You don’t have time to play.  You’ll start training when you turn three, and keeping watch is good practice.  Madara doesn’t have time to waste playing if he wants to get stronger.”

Luckily, that seemed to mollify Izuna.  “I’ll play guard duty then! Kazu isn’t gonna get away on my watch!”

Those were bold words for someone who promptly face planted two seconds later in his haste to find the baby.  Madara had to laugh at his silly otouto. But even this was apparently unacceptable. “Madara, stop procrastinating!”

Scowling, Madara made his way outside without protest.  He walked into the forest to find a clearing where he could practice Katon jutsu and not risk setting a fire he couldn’t put out, though the likelihood that he was capable of setting a fire was rather low.  Once there, he continued to attempt a Katon jutsu. As usual, every attempt failed to produce more than a small flame barely big enough to light a proper campfire. Though, Madara thought, it might be enough to stand a chance against other young children from weak clans.

Madara practiced in that clearing until long after the sun had gone down.  He knew his parents wouldn’t be angry if he was home late, or even not until morning.  In fact, they’d likely be angered if he were to go home with his pitiful amount of progress.  With this thought in mind, Madara continued to weave the hand signs with increasing accuracy, speed, and chakra control on each try.  That is, until he began to tire. At some undefinable point, Madara’s chakra level reached a point at which most shinobi would call it a day.  His eyesight began to blur, objects seeming to suddenly clone themselves, once, twice, three times. The world seemed to tilt, spin, lurch under his feet.  Despite this, Madara continued to weave hand signs, though his motions were now slower, his hands shaking with exhaustion, struggling to form the seals. Eventually, the world began to go dark, tilted, and Madara slammed into the ground on his side.  As his eyesight went completely dark, and consciousness faded, Madara thought, I failed.  I’ve barely made any progress, and I’m already done?  Little did he know, with the way he’d fallen on a hill, he was going to end up in the river, which could be very dangerous for an unconscious five year old.

—————

Hashirama loved sparring and learning new jutsu.  What he didn’t yet understand were the implications of what he would be using the training to do.  It wasn’t like he didn’t know that he would be killing people, Uchiha mostly, but he hadn’t grasped what death or killing were yet, beyond the theoretical.  There was also one thing he didn’t like about sparring, and didn’t understand.  Hashirama didn’t want to hurt members of his own clan while training, and it made no sense to him why spars should ever go that far.  These thoughts flew through his head again as he knocked down a slightly older child, six years old to his five. He had disobeyed again, using just the right amount of force in his taijutsu move to stun the girl so he could keep her trapped with his foot to win the match.  And, as usual, his father’s exasperated voice came right on cue. “Hashirama, how many times must I tell you to stop going easy on your sparring partners? The Uchiha won’t go easy on you even if you go easy on them. They’ll torture you to death with their Sharingan if you don’t go all out.”

Hashirama stepped off of his sparring partner, letting her up, as his father’s scolding was also an indication that the match was over.  “But, chichi-ue, there’s no point in hurting your sparring partner, of course I would never go easy on the~”.

Butsuma interrupted, “Hashirama, if you go easy on your sparring partner, they’ll never learn, never get stronger, and neither will you.  Therefore, going easy could get both of you killed by the Uchiha.”

The girl Hashirama had beaten in the spar, Touka, stood up, agreeing with Butsuma, “Hashirama, it does none of us any good if you go easy on me or anyone else.  Just avoid a fatal or permanently crippling blow, and we’ll all be fine.”

From somewhere else in the room, Hashirama could hear exasperating three year old Tobirama’s voice as well.  He was only three, but he was already so unnerving sometimes, and also really full of it on occasion. “Nii-chan, they’re right.  How would you feel if you found out that cousin Touka died because your sparring matches didn’t help her improve enough?”

Tobirama had a point, but Hashirama could beat a three year old’s argument easily.  “But what if I hurt someone in a sparring match and that caused them to die on the battlefield?”

Of course, Tobirama, being three, couldn’t find a proper counter argument.  So he shut his mouth. The rest of the room, however, seemed to be in agreement with Butsuma, Touka, and Tobirama.  Hashirama looked around. He didn’t find a single approving face. In a fit of emotion, he left, hurt, and didn’t stop until he was deep in the woods.  Forests had always been a source of joy for him. For some reason, they were like his anchor in a sea of chaos, when Tobirama wasn’t enough to keep him from being swept away by it.