Madara could safely admit he'd been overjoyed when his daughter had been born. She was a tiny thing – though apparently he wasn't allowed to call her a thing – and she'd screamed like no tomorrow. She had a good set of lungs on her, as had been proven for the first two weeks or so of her being home. Good for fire jutsu, his mind had supplied, though he'd admit he was reluctant to allow her on the path to becoming a shinobi. She was his daughter, his first daughter, and he could safely admit he was in love.

There was only one problem – that love wasn't reciprocated in the slightest.

When he'd held her for the first time, he'd lost his hearing for a good few hours after the sheer volume of her cries. The only thing that stung was that she'd immediately stopped crying when handed back to her mother, and no, he didn't go and sulk in his room for the rest of the day. When giving her meals to her, he had to have his sharingan activated and his feet ready, unless he wanted to spend the day with mushy peas or other vegetables in his wonderful hair. As soon as she'd learnt to walk, the first thing she did was walk away from him. When her older brother oversaw her shuriken and kunai throwing he always had to remain out of the way – lest a few accidentally soar in his direction with perfect accuracy towards his vital spots. Really, her accuracy was oddly unnerving, and it made pride boil in his chest, despite the numerous times she seemed to have attempted to maim him.

It was probably just something about her being an Uchiha that made it seem like she wanted to kill him. They all had their odd quirks, including him and his strange fondness for all things small, cute, and fluffy.

Oddly enough, his daughter fit right into that category, with her miniature version of his hairstyle and her tiny limbs. He just wished she'd stop trying to injure him every time he tried to hug her or carry her someplace or just generally attempted to express some form of affection.

Hashirama beamed down at his second son, cooing at the gummy smile that was given to him as he made silly faces at his youngest. He was bright, rather self-aware for a child, and oddly similar to him in terms of temperament, compared to his eldest – who seemed to get along with his uncle far better than he did with him.

He had two sons now, and Mito was happy with having another – though if he were honest, he knew she wanted a daughter to spoil. Madara had been oddly protective of his and refused to let them see her. Something about not allowing him to infect his youngest. Hashirama didn't know what he was talking about – him, infectious? He was the healthiest person alive, despite the stress and long hours that came with being Hokage.

A demanding tug on his sleeve drew his attention back to his youngest, his hand ruffling in the silky brown locks which grew longer by the day. His son looked just like him, unlike his eldest who'd inherited Mito's bright red hair.

"Anija?" Tobirama stuck his head around the door, walking into the room moments later, carrying a small spiky-haired toddler to meet his own. "I'm not sure this is the greatest idea…"

"Oh it'll be fine, Tobi! They're cousins," he said, grinning at the white duck butt of a hairstyle his nephew had.

"And Sasuke's first words were 'I'm going to murder Naruto'," Tobirama muttered drily. "He's certainly looked like he's been plotting murder too."

Hashirama chuckled. "That's probably just the face he's inherited from you."

Tobirama's eye twitched. "Well…" he said, looking over at the baby Hashirama. "Naruto-chan, meet Sasuke," he spoke, setting his son down, smirking as his son crawled over to where Naruto sat before proceeding to pinch his cousin's cheeks. He was smiling manically too – something he'd no doubt picked up from the Uchiha side of the family. "I'll leave you to supervise, anija," he said, reaching down to pat his son on the head. "Give him hell for me, Sasu-chan…"

Sasuke's answering smile was Madara-worthy.

"It's about damned time Madara introduced us to his cute daughter," Hashirama gushed, pacing around the entranceway. "It's been three years! Three!"

Tobirama rolled his eyes. "Wait. Aren't you supposed to be keeping an eye on the kids?"

"Mito's looking after them."

"Good."

A knock at the door interrupted the pair of them, and Hashirama opened it, grinning as he spotted his friend – small miniature female version of him in his arms. They were practically identical, from the outfits, to the matching scowls. "Madara! You came!"

"Obviously," the Uchiha grumbled. "I said I would. Now where are your two brats so I can introduce them and tell them not to mess with my precious little darling," he said, cooing down at his daughter who oddly enough looked exceedingly exasperated with the turn of events. Or maybe that was just the default Uchiha expression, Tobirama mused.

"They're through the back. Mito's watching them."

"Right. I'll introduce you later," Madara said, brushing by him as quickly as possible, ignoring his pouting as he carried his daughter towards their sons. "Oh, and she doesn't like it when anybody makes stupid faces at her – Hashirama, I'm talking to you here."

Tobirama scoffed. "Obviously."

Sakura stared at the two boys in front of her, waiting for them to introduce themselves, silently swearing she'd pay Naruto back a thousand times for the indignity she'd been forced to suffer through for the past few years.

The mini Hashirama grinned. "I'm Naruto. Nice to meetcha!"

Sakura blinked.

"Sasuke." The baby duck butt Tobirama nodded… and oh…

Her lips curled into a bloodthirsty grin. "Sakura."

Naruto paled.

Sasuke smirked.

Sakura noticed her father's conveniently placed gunbai.

Hashirama blinked as Sasuke came and sat with them. "Sasuke-chan… where are the other two?"

The white-haired toddler only smirked, sipping at a cup of tea, neatly positioned by the open doors leading to the engawa. "Hn," he grunted, smile only widening as he heard the clatter of feet.

"What on earth…?" Mito trailed off, confusion marring her face as Naruto all but sprinted past.

Heavier footsteps followed. "Get back here you little coward!" the high-pitched voice roared, and the owner of said voice soon ran past, giant gunbai lifted over her head, ready to swing. "Take your punishment like a man!"

Hashirama blinked.

Madara smirked.

Mito sipped her tea.

Tobirama tilted his head inquiringly. "Should… should we go and stop them?"

"Nah." Sasuke waved his hand dismissively. "This way I won't be implicit, so just leave them to it."

One beaten and bruised Naruto later, and Sakura was almost content in her revenge… but that was the keyword… Almost.

Naruto had been taken up to bed, and Sakura had been subjected to a pouting Hashirama who asked why she'd injured his son. He'd absolutely deserved everything she'd given to him, and more.

Sighing, she wandered into the room where her newfound father was, stubbornly ignoring the way his eyes lit up when he spotted her. Instead, she made right for Tobirama, elbowing her way into his lap with chakra reinforced strength, concealing the bubble of glee welling up inside her.

"Sakura, what are you doing in his lap?" her father snarled, bristling like a cat, glaring daggers at Tobirama. She still avoided him like the plague.

"Hn." She shrugged. "Sitting with my future father in law," she spoke primly, hands coming to cup at her cheeks, pinching to keep the wicked smile off her lips as Madara stiffened.

"What?" his voice was a whisper, shaking with rage.

She tilted her head as innocently as possible. "Sasuke-kun said he wanted to marry me."

Madara stood slowly, eyes swirling into red, three tomoe spinning. "That brat…" He stormed out of the room. "I'm going to have words with him…" he muttered, spinning around, and Sakura caught a glimpse of his eternal Mangekyou flashing.

Evidently Tobirama did too, hence why Sakura found herself pushed off of his lap. "Don't you dare lay a hand on my son, Uchiha!" he hissed, chasing after the irate man, leaving only her and Hashirama in the room.

Sakura merely smirked, taking Madara's seat at the table, sipping at the hot chocolate provided for her. Her eyes sparkled with a hint of malice, an expression so similar to that of her father's that Hashirama shuddered.

The little brat had knocked her out and left her out in the cold before running off with a paedophile of a snake and had then joined up with the organisation hunting their teammate. He deserved everything that was coming for him.

Her smile widened, teeth showing. "Revenge is a dish best served cold," she mumbled, sipping at her hot chocolate, uncaring as the sugary foam stuck to her face.

Hashirama whimpered in the corner.

What in god's name had Madara unleashed on the world?