A Naruto Crackfic
A/N: The concept for this fic was inspired by a really old (as in, posted in 2004) and really funny Naruto oneshot called Dear Foolish Little Brother by one solderini. Also, a couple of the events referenced within are references to the fics of one Lucillia, one of the more prolific fanficcers I've seen, whose fics are remarkable not only for the sheer amount of internal continuity and in-house references, but also for how creative their plots can be and how smoothly she can adapt them to new revelations from canon. Her style is perhaps not the most refined (like I'm one to talk), but it is quite distinctive, and she's got a right powerful imagination to go with that shows through the unique twists and turns she can put on even the most thoroughly-trodden paths.
What I'm saying is, if you haven't already read any of her works, then go do so as soon you finish reading this.
Warning: A couple instances of strong language, and my overly-long author's notes have returned in full force, but otherwise there's not much too warn against here.
In a time before the hidden villages, when the Uchiha and Senju clans were still openly enemies and the Tailed Beasts still roamed free, after a fashion, a rising star of the Uchiha clan, one Madara Uchiha, returned home from a mission only to have a letter shoved into his hands by a visibly nervous courier.
His mission accomplished, the boy–who now that Madara took a closer at him, almost looked like a member of the Senju clan–hurriedly darted off, hoofing it in the opposite direction of the Uchiha encampment at a speed that nearly breached the sound barrier.
Frowning in confusion and feeling mildly intrigued, he unfurled the scroll and started skimming his eyes over its contents, idly reading it as he walked into the most recent encampment of his clan, the present location of which had been chosen due to the presence of some very wealthy minor nobles nearby who currently had a great number of odd jobs and assassinations for the largely nomadic mercenary shinobi of the Uchiha.
Enough of this fighting. We Senju and Uchiha are kin, however distant that relation may be. Let us set aside our differences and work together to create a new world, a better world free of war and hatred. If you and I combine our strengths, surely there will be no foe, no obstacle, that we cannot overcome!
Let us forget the grudges of the ancient past and forge ahead into a better future, as Senju and Uchiha. What say you, O eternal rival?
When he finished reading the letter, Madara rolled his eyes at his most hated rival's latest attempt at diplomacy.
And since his sharingan happened to have activated at some point while reading, this gesture caused a flock of ducks that had happened to be flying overhead at that moment to all at once lose consciousness and plummet to the ground. This was not an uncommon occurrence for Madara, as the exceptionally potent powers of his particular manifestation of the famed Uchiha dōjutsu were prone to acting up with even the slightest twitch of his eyeballs when he wasn't paying attention. And, for his part, he didn't even flinch when the flock of ducks was subsequently met in midair by a veritable flying wall of razor sharp shuriken, kunai, and even a few senbon thrown by a number of variously hungry and opportunistic clan members.
Continuing on his way, ignoring the ruckus as his relatives began fighting over the newly slain half a score of unlucky waterfowl, Madara casually walked in the general direction of his tent. Absentmindedly, he stepped over a couldn't-be-deader duck the fresh carcass of which was bristling with a wickedly gleaming assortment of well polished throwing weapons as he idly read through the letter one last time, memorizing its contents with his sharingan for later reference before snorting derisively. Feeling spiteful after the events of the raging shitstorm that had been his most recent mission, he balled up the scroll, ornate wooden casing and all, and tossed it over his shoulder with considerably more force than was strictly necessary, braining an unfortunate junior clansman who had rushed out to retrieve some of the freshly slaughtered duck before it was all snatched up.
The fact that this particular young man happened be the same person who had accidentally spoiled some of Madara's inarizushi while experimenting with a few exceptionally nasty poisons the last time the celebrated prodigy had stayed at the camp a few weeks ago, when the explosion of a faulty paper bomb that had detonated when a critically unfortunate cat–a pet of one of the weapon suppliers who followed the Uchiha clan as part of a supply caravan large enough to found a small city–got into an open crate and darted off with the defective tag snagged onto one of its claws caused him to give a start as he was in the process of mixing up a lethally effective diuretic, knocking the small glass vial out of his hands and onto Madara's dinner... well, that was just a happy coincidence.
But when the balled up scroll ignited into flames on contact with the younger man's head, causing his hair to catch on fire? That was Madara meeting opportunity at the door.
Early in the morning the next day, a good distance away from the Uchiha encampment, a certain charismatic mokuton using leader of the Senju sat on a mat before a small, low table as he broke the nightly fast with a humble meal of rice, miso, and sake in a simple, single-story wooden house.
The building, and the numerous others like it that were scattered throughout the clan's camp, was the product of some childhood experimentation with his wood style ninjutsu that he had taken up when he had first joined the ranks of the Senju clan's able-bodied ninja in the endless wandering in search of paying clients in order to support those who were too young, too old, too unskilled, or even simply too mutilated to work themselves.
He had, like most young clansman before him, frequently complained early on about the lack of a real roof over his head. Unlike the others who came before him, however, when one of the older Senju had finally lost patience with his childish whining and smacked on the back of his head and told him to deal with it, he did not interpret the statement as "This is just how it is, and nothing is going to change it, so suck it up and act like a real shinobi." No, he heard it as a challenge, an unspoken dare for him to fix the perceived problem himself.
And like any boy of five years old, even if said boy was a ninja and thus effectively an adult in the eyes of the clan, Hashirama Senju was not one to back down from a dare. So after six weeks of experimenting every day and training himself to exhaustion every night, Hashirama finally managed to accomplish the challenge he'd believed to be have been posed to him and create a livable, if somewhat tiny, house using nothing but a few handseals and some chakra.
As a result, the shinobi of the Senju were now, along with the Uzumaki whose seals let them bring virtually anything anywhere, one of the only shinobi clans whose members could have basically all the comforts of home they desired no matter where they went, and Hashirama had resultantly experienced a meteoric rise in popularity among his fellow clansmen and shinobi that was only bolstered by his charisma, generosity, and combat prowess. Indeed, the pleasant, idealistic young man was so well-liked that more than a few of his comrades would sooner spit on their own mothers than see him defamed.
This, of course, meant that they were frequently at odds with one Madara Uchiha who, besides being an Uchiha and therefore automatically an enemy of the Senju, was one of the only men of any background in the loosely united smattering of fiefs that made up what was colloquially known as the Land of Fire to have the unmitigated gall to dismiss their future clan head, purportedly going so far as to call him "a softhearted pacifist playing ninja with a pack of weakling brats". No red-blooded Senju would ever even THINK of That Man as anything but a violent, hateful maniac who wanted nothing more than to see them destroyed. And they were honestly not that far off the mark.
Madara did not play nice with others.
So naturally, when the early risers who were currently milling about the camp going about their business saw the distinctive silhouette of Madara's personal messenger hawk swooping in overhead, a panic ran through their numbers as some of the less courageous clan members started running in circles like decapitated chickens and screaming themselves hoarse.
Thankfully, their beloved kinsman and champion, Hashirama, was quick to respond to the panicked cries and, upon learning what caused them, quickly calmed the more frantic individuals with the simple action of body flickering to the center of the encampment and growing a tree beneath his feet to raise him high enough that his figure, illuminated in the light of the rising sun, was visible to all the shinobi and kunoichi in the cap who were nervously preparing for a possible battle. It wouldn't have been the first time Madara had used his messenger hawk–which was not only more than nimble enough to weave through or wheel around damn near anything thrown at it but as a summoned creature also capable of performing ninjutsu, such as a reverse summoning to transfer an entire enemy army into the middle of a trap or get a strike force of Uchiha elites into a vulnerable location past any defenses–in a strategic attack.
Still, as long as Hashirama was there, the Senju would be safe... At least, as safe as one could ever be when dealing with the Uchiha, which honestly wasn't very. But it was a testament to their unwavering trust in Hashirama that not one ninja in the Senju clan's camp showed any sign of fear or confusion, even when their honorable captain and brother held out his arm for the mean-eyed raptor to alight upon and proceeded to untie a small scroll from its leg before giving the massive bird of prey a sizable piece of grilled meat snatched from his younger brother's exceedingly hearty breakfast and bidding the summoned creature a respectful farewell.
In a puff of white smoke, the hawk vanished, having returned to its home, and Hashirama body-flickered back his house to read Madara's reply.
And behind him, rumors quickly spread through the camp like brush fires as his fellow Senju theorized over what had just happened, with whispers of duels to the death and torrid affairs and forbidden romance proving that even seasoned ninja of high noble clans were not above celebrity gossip.
Once back inside his temporary house and well away from the prying eyes of his family, Hashirama unfurled the scroll. This was far from the first time he and Madara had exchanged correspondence, though the subjects of their letters had rarely strayed from Hashirama's futile attempts at diplomacy and Madara's increasingly puerile rebuffs, the latter of which were usually sprinkled liberally with threats of death and declarations of war.
Hashirama had mixed feelings over the fact that Madara's delivery of his reply was so public this time, mainly because he was not certain whether this was good news or bad news. Madara was usually more subtle with sending his replies, though not so much in making known his distaste for the Senju's repeated attempts at extending an olive branch. This latest development either mean that Madara was coming around to the idea of peace, or that he was fed up and ready to declare actual, full-scale war on the Senju.
Nonetheless, Hashirama was convinced he was making progress. After all, Madara had finally stopped attaching his replies to dismembered animals and leaving them in his bed (the Uchiha had demonstrated a particular fondness for using horse heads, though where he got them or even why he used horses of all things since shinobi rarely if ever had anything to do with the beasts, aside from through merchants and nobles who generally used either those or oxen to pull their wagons and carriages).
Shrugging off those thoughts, he focused his attention on the contents of the scroll and began to read.
Not on your life, loser. How many times do I have to tell you that I'd sooner gouge my own eyes out with a rusty kunai.'
Past that, the contents letter quickly devolved into the usual obscenities and death threats. Sighing, Hashirama skimmed over the hate-filled ranting that his eternal rival's brother had dutifully transcribed with exacting accuracy, if the appearance of a certain verbal tic at the end of some of the more vehemently furious curses and threats, a verbal tic that Madara did his college damnedest to avoid using in any circumstances and only let slip through when he was seriously pissed, was anything to go by.
Idly, Hashirama wondered what had the man so mad. He had not seen or heard some of those more creative swears since back when he had first proposed a peaceful alliance between their two clans the first time he had met the Uchiha prodigy in person during a mission and Madara had flown into such an blind rage that, by the time the man had calmed down, everything within a three mile radius had been reduced to ashes.
As if in answer to his question, Hashirama's eyes alighted upon a rather revealing passage.
'...And Izuna is not a whore, no matter what that crazy Uzumaki bitch or her brothers say! If anyone is the whore, it's him! That brother of yours has more bastards than he does shuriken!'
Hashirama sighed. Of course. Tobirama. His little brother's antics could drive a saint to murder, and if there was one thing Tobirama loved, it was spreading wildly vicious rumors about the rival clan, and the two golden children of the Uchiha were his favorite targets.
Sighing, once more, Hashirama absentmindedly disarmed the light sensitive explosive note attached to the scroll underneath Madara's signature, chuckling lightly to himself as he read the last line.
'People tell me I have an explosive temper, but they don't know the meaning of the word.
With all of my Hate,
Later that evening, Madara was in the middle of sparring with one his cousins, a sensor nin and sealing specialist named Sakuya Uchiha who was one of the few halfway competent female ninja he had ever met. It probably helped that, due to certain circumstances, she was one of the few kunoichi who did NOT lose all semblance of rational thought the second Madara walked into view. And the fact that Sakuya could still put up something vaguely resembling a fight against her far stronger cousin despite having been completely blind since her youth, when she had attempted an advanced katon jutsu well beyond her skill level and it had backfired on her rather spectacularly and burned her eyeballs right out of their sockets, only did her further credit in Madara's eyes.
Easily sidestepping another attempt by his cousin at planting a paralyzing shock tag onto his armor, Madara retaliated with a single straight right to the woman's chest, knocking the air out of her lungs and sending her flying back several feet. She landed on her feet, skidding through the grass, before she lunged forward once more, nimbly circling Madara in an attempt to disorient him before going in for a blow.
Before they could meet again, however, they were interrupted by a skinny sapling erupting out of the ground between them, its branches unfolding to reveal a scroll with a wax seal bearing the crest of the Senju of the Forest.
Sighing in exasperation to himself, Madara spared a quick glance for his cousin, who seemed to be trying to figure out what the hell kind of attack that had been that she had just sensed. Bluntly, he dismissed her, saying that their spar was finished and telling her to go to one of the clan medics and have them take a look a look at her ribs, because he had probably crushed at least a few of them with that last attack.
Leaving the sparring ground, Madara opened the scroll and read the message within it.
Really, now. There was no call for that sort of language. I mean, honestly, just because my brother happened to bring up that... incident... between your brother and that Uzumaki woman, you decide to declare war on us? Again? ...For the seventh time this month?
Tobirama is right. You really DO need help.
Madara rolled his eyes, causing a few crows to fall out of a nearby tree and a snake in the grass to have a near fatal seizure.
The next day at noon, after spending most of the morning coordinating plans for a raid on a suspected Kaguya clan outpost outside an allied village a few miles to the south, Hashirama returned to his clan's camp to find a sizable crowd gathered in the center of the encampment, standing around the tree he had created the previous morning. Curious, he walked up to the crowd, the grass looking a little greener and standing a little taller where he passed.
His presence was noticed almost immediately, and the crowd soon parted respectfully to give him a clear view of whatever it was that everyone seemed to find so fascinating.
When he saw the tantō that was stabbed into one of the roots at the base of the tree (obviously one from Madara's personal armaments, judging by the make and quality of the blade), and the dark blue scroll case adorned with the red and white uchiwa kamōn of the Uchiha clan that was tightly bound to the weapon's hilt, Hashirama had forcibly restrain an exasperated sigh. If there was one thing Madara was good at, it was dramatic displays like this.
He walked up to the dagger. Undoing the bindings that that tied the scroll case to the hilt, he put the message in an empty scroll pouch and yanked the blade out of the root with practiced ease, the hole in the wood closing up in seconds. With that done, he gave his fellow clan members his regards before body flickering off to the location of his house.
'To the tree-hugging retard with the glorified gardening tool,
That Uzumaki was no woman. Women do not chase people halfway across the continent while howling like banshees and shrieking death threats at one of the most powerful shinobi alive. Half the things that... that howling witch threatened weren't even physically possible! And I should know–I've personally tried most of them at one point or another.
And it's hardly my fault that I've had to declare war on you Senju bastards so many times. If you all would just drop dead already, then I wouldn't need to.
Hoping you rot in Hell,
Madara looked from the scroll, to Izuna, to the scroll again.
"The hell?" he uttered eloquently.
Izuna shrugged. "He said he'd put in a good word for me with that one blonde cousin of his. You know, the one whose boobs are bigger than her head?"
Madara sighed, shaking his head as he took the offered scroll.
Opening it up, he read it.
And then he laughed.
Izuna, curious, read the letter over his brother's shoulder. Then he grinned wickedly.
"I told you it was a brilliant idea!" he laughed along with his older brother.
I like to think of myself as a fairly patient, reasonable man, but your continued hostility wears my patience thin. I understand that there is a long, bloody history of hatred and enmity between our two clans. I can respect your tenacity in clinging to your own beliefs, no matter how... dated... they may be. I can even understand why you would kill your closest friend to attain a power transcending even the highest level of the sharingan (if certain rumors floating around my clan's camp are to be believed) just to get an edge over me in battle, however much I may disagree with such actions.
But your latest actions go beyond any sort of belligerence and warmongering. I honestly don't know how you did it, or even why you thought it would be a good idea, but PUT MY HOUSE BACK, POSTHASTE.
Awaiting your response,
You clearly underestimate the perversely indomitable determination of an Uzumaki scorned. Whatever threats she may have made against your brother, I can assure that no matter how impossible they may have been, she doubtless had plenty motivation and ingenuity to make them possible. Mito, for instance... Well, I'd really rather not talk about it. She'd probably some very painful things to me if I did.
... Whatever happened to that woman, anyways?
While rifling through his brother's mail, Tobirama came across a scroll of a fashion that was quickly becoming familiar to the Senju.
An Uchiha scroll.
Grinning from ear to ear, he opened it up and read it, committing its contents to memory before rolling it back up an redoing the seal.
This was gold! Pure gold!
What I do to get strong enough to wipe you hippie bastards off the map is my own damn business. And he was totally asking for it, anyways. "Let's give peace a chance!" indeed. Bah. He was a worthless fool, but at least I got a mangekyō sharingan out of killing him.
And there's no way in HELL that Izuna and I are going to return your house just like that. First unwritten rule of shinobi supply, bitch. If you want it back, you'll have to fight me for it.
...that is, if you're not too afraid that I'll kick your ass with my awesome new powers.
Flipping you off behind your back,
t(','tF ~ "Fuck you."
... ... ... I'd rather not talk about it.'
Izuna made a face as he read the letter.
"What is it?" Madara asked, curious.
Izuna, looking at his brother, turned an interesting shade of red and darted off, leaving the scroll behind.
Frowning curiously, Madara picked up the scroll.
He then saw red.
Oh, but do tell~ This sounds ultra juicy. Like, even more amusing than the time you got suplexed by that Akimichi girl for calling her a fat, ugly cow.
Fun times, eh Spottie?
A few days later, just as a fuming Madara was about to declare a war on the Senju–for real, this time–he was interrupted by a harried-looking courier ninja.
"I have a letter for a mister Madara Uchiha," the man said, sounding like he wanted nothing more than to just go home and be done with this.
"I'm Madara Uchiha," Madara growled, swiping the proffered scroll out of the man's hand and sending him scurrying with a baleful, bone-chilling glare from his simply wonderful mangekyō sharingan.
Tearing the scroll open with far more force than was advisable, he impatiently flicked red and black kaleidoscope eyes over the message.
After a moment, he blinked, uncertain of he had just read. Frowning slightly, he went back and read it more carefully, something almost like a smile gradually finding its way onto his face as he did so.
Please disregard any communiques you may have received from my brother. He is an immature idiot, and he speaks for neither me nor the clan. Also, he was most likely incredibly drunk at the time, so he probably didn't even really mean what he wrote.
... ... ... With that said, I must admit that dying his hair white in retaliation was one of the better pranks I've seen in a long time.
And speaking of things you've done lately that have actually managed to impress me, I have to say, that doodle of yourself you put after your signature, while crude and offensive, was really rather cute. I never knew you had such an artistic side to you.
And I can understand why you would be unwilling to talk about it. Mito-chan, the Sage bless her heart, terrifies me more than anything else under the sun when she is angry, and the rest of her relatives are honestly not much better.
And is there some trick to getting that dye to wash out? Tobirama has been throwing a royal hissy fit over the loss of his "gorgeous raven locks", and he has tried just about everything to change it back.'
Later that day, an exceedingly harried Hashirama walked into his brother's house only to find said brother glaring sourly at one of Madara's message scrolls. Glancing at the seal, he saw that it was actually untouched, and not simply made to look like it was untouched. Either that, or his brother was getting considerably better at replacing those things.
Tobirama, sensing his brother's presence, shot him a baleful look. The narrowed red eyes, along with the shaggy, still-white hair against his comparatively pale skin, combined with the slender tapered red markings on his chin and cheeks, all combined to give the younger shinobi a rather intimidating appearance.
Hashirama felt an amused smile curl the corners of his mouth upwards. He chuckled in spite of himself, his mood lightening.
How cute. Ickle Tobi-chan was trying to act like a big tough shinobi.
Tobirama narrowed his eyes even further, glaring icily. "It's for you," he spat, indicating the scroll that was resting before him on the table.
Resisting the urge to tousle his younger brother's hair, Hashirama opened the letter and began perusing it.
A sweat-drop then formed on the side of his head as he finished reading.
Thanks. It was Izuna's idea (the prank that is–the drawing was all me). He may be a bit soft for an Uchiha elite, but he has a wicked streak a mile wide when it comes to pranks. If it wasn't for the fact that he has black hair and is my blood brother, and the knowledge that he and I have an impeccable Uchiha pedigree stretching back to the days of the Two Brothers, I would swear that he had some Uzumaki in him.
And, uhhh... I'm not sure about the dye. That blonde guy with the whisker marks who we bought it from said the dye should come out easily enough with a bit of water after a couple of days. Has he tried that?
Yawning and stretching, Madara walked out of his tent the next morning. He was still tired, but the smell of roasting meat drew him out of bed. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he opened up the scroll that had been lying next to his bedroll when he'd awoken.
Bleary onyx eyes scanned over the smoothly flowing calligraphy.
His blood ran cold.
Swearing, he body flickered back to his tent, retrieving a blank scroll, a brush, and some ink.
I do not know what that snake oil salesman told you, but that dye most definitely does NOT come out in water. My brother has doused himself with enough suiton jutsu to combat an entire platoon of Uchiha fire users, and his hair is still as white as ever.
Perhaps you may want to find the person who sold you that dye? ... I don't mean to panic you, but Tobirama has made a disturbing amount of headway in developing that impure world resurrection thing of his ever since you and your brother dyed his hair (and I'm not talking about some other jutsu–I do mean THAT experimental jutsu, the one for raising the dead as perfectly obedient, unkillable soldiers like I told you about that one time we went drinking together a while back, after you decided to try and sneak away early from those clan truce negotiations that ultimately ended up devolving into a massive riot).
I... think he may intend to, uh, "wipe those fan-swinging, power hungry sons of bitches so far out of existence that they'll wind up ass-backwards a thousand fucking years in the future" (his words, not mine). So, er, yeah, you might want to watch out for that.
With all due regards,
Shit, seriously? You're not pulling my leg? Damn, that's... that's some pretty bad news.
Izuna and I used what was left over of that dye to color our father's hair white as a joke. ...If it doesn't come out...
The old man's gonna kill us.
A/N: I think I like how Madara turned out for this. He's an asshole with an ego the size of the goddamn moon, sure, but he's not a COMPLETE dick. Just mostly one, and it's primarily towards the Senju, anyways. It helps take the edge off the whole ultra-serious, overly dramatic borderline-nihilist aspects of his character to imagine him acting back in his heyday like he does in this fic. It also helps that he ended up getting some of the best lines. He's just such a card~ :D
Also, I'm kinda really proud of that emote I used to represent Madara's chibi doodle. It's a variation of one I've seen here and there [ t('.'t) ] that I modified to give a more Uchiha-ish look. I had a heck of a time trying to decide what to use for the back of his head, since I wanted the emote to show a noticeable resemblance to his distinctive profile, but eventually I decide to go with a capital F since that's the closest thing I could get to his spiky duckbutt mullet. Also, I really like how the comma gives the effect of an open mouth, making the word bubble dealie rather apropos. [edit: Though it would seem that effect only works if you're using the middle font for FF dot net, the one that I think might be Times New Roman, which is incidentally one of the fonts I prefer to use in WordPad along with Georgia and a couple others because the default font for WordPad, Calibri, disgusts me]
Tobirama's bits sorta came out of nowhere while I was writing the fic. I don't know what I was thinking with them, but I like how they turned out.
... Man, looking at my A/N after writing it up, it's pretty easy to tell that I'm the sort of person who sincerely enjoys stuff like creator commentary and "behind the making of"-type specials on DVDs. Heck, if I didn't think it would seem ridiculously lazy and incredibly self-involved to my readers, I'd probably jump at the idea of doing something like MST-format commentaries on my own fics.
... Not that I've ever thought of doing something like that, no siree. *Shifty-eyes*
Also, as one last interesting note for the road, this fic was originally JUST the letters, but I needed a good way to frame them so they wouldn't be be running into each other in a big ugly mess, and as a result I ended up tripling this fic's length. XD
TTFN and R&R!