A.N: Here's my first (official) Naruto fanfiction. Reviews and CC are greatly appreciated. Enjoy!
He had never been afraid of death. Raised in a time of war, he had witnessed death more frequently than life. Through firsthand experience, or by watching others suffer; he was no longer fazed when he saw the dark shadow following behind the person to go next. He himself had experienced death, not once, but twice. Once in the form of Hashirama, and once in the form of his ancestor's brother, and neither of them did the honour of finishing him off face to face. Even now, as he edged towards his third, and hopefully final death, he still felt no fear. He lay on cold dirt ground, staring up at a blank, blue sky hoping to whatever heavenly being will listen that it will all just END, so he doesn't have to keep feeling shame. He felt shame for the fact that he died on the ground, hated and dishonoured, rather than on his feet fighting for what he believed in; like how his father and brothers went.
This embarrassment rotted him down to his core, and even as he heard the sound of someone approaching towards him, he made no move to open his eyes. He felt it was better to pretend to be dead, rather than look up into the eyes of the people who had destroyed him. He kept listening, and it was only when the sound stopped, and no blade pierced through him, that his interest began to peak.
"Hashirama…?" he whispered.
Madara wanted him, in fact he YEARNED for him. Hashirama was the only man he could bear to look up at.
"Yeah," came a soft reply.
He opened his eyes slightly to look at his once friend, and felt his stomach twist. Hashirama looked back down at him, his expression a mixture of pity and sorrow. Madara opened his mouth slightly, and with a gentle tone, began to speak.
"We both have things we wanted so badly… but never seemed to get…"
His thoughts turned quickly to Izuna, to his brothers, his clan, and above all Hashirama's respect.
"No one said it was easy!" Hashirama cried. "There's a limit to how much we can do when we're alive. That's why we leave it to the next generation. They'll do it for us."
Madara couldn't help but feel his lips twitch up into a weak smile. Hashirama always thought of the bright side, while he himself only saw the negative. Maybe that's why they got along so well for a while; they balanced out perfectly.
"You're still… so naïve…" He let out a watery chuckle, and felt his chest twinge in pain. "Well… you always were the… optimistic one…" This is why Madara cared for him. He needed, he craved, that brightness that Hashirama had.
"Maybe… I should've…gone that way too…" He felt his time was running out. Already the edges of his vision were getting dark and for once in his life:
He felt true fear.
"My dream… Is coming… to an end…"
It was true, and he had to acknowledge it. Madara turned his gaze back to the sky to spare himself his once-friends expression.
"But yours…. Hasn't yet…" His stomach felt like lead, and the lump in his throat was threatening to break and allow the tears he was trying to hold back to come through.
"…You were in such a rush. It was fine even if our dreams didn't come true." Hashirama's voice broke his concentration, and forced Madara to return his gaze to the familiar warm face.
"The most important thing was to make sure we brought up a generation that would help us fulfil it." Hashirama finished off.
Madara noted the darkness on the edge of his gaze grew, and each breath was becoming more and more laboured. It wouldn't be long now, so he had to act fast.
"…Then it might have been impossible for me from the start…. I hated having… someone… follow me from… behind…"
For every death he had, it had been behind. Every clan member had followed him from behind, every brother had followed from behind. He had finally lost Hashirama the night he was stabbed from behind, and he was SICK of it. Through the clouded fog of self-loathing he was experiencing, he noticed a smile had made its way to Hashirama's face.
"Remember back when we were children, you once said "Ninja's never know when they die.", and if there ever were a way for immortality that we'd share no matter what… We'd have to exchange our cups and become brothers…" Hashirama mused. Madara's concentration was wavering, his mind beginning to turn fuzzy and his mouth going dry. He felt so, so, tired….
"But we're both dying now." Hashirama whispered. Madara closed his eyes, the fear beginning to lift from him. "The only thing we can do now, is exchange our cups as comrades."
He didn't want just comrades; he wanted to be the friend, the brother, he wanted to be the lover, and he wanted to be everything to Hashirama.
The need for sleep became stronger, and Madara slowly closed his eyes.
"Comrades… huh… well… if… that's… how… it is… I… won't…" He never finished. Madara allowed that eternal sleep to overcome him, and the sounds of the outside world faded as the comforting black he had grown so familiar with overcame him. All senses became dull, and the last thing he thought of before he lost himself completely, was Hashirama's smile.
A.N: Thanks once again for reading!