A/N - Reposting…

Note: Iga-ryu was an actual historical group of ninja which you can look up any time you please on Wikapedia. In this version of the Naruto-verse, they are a settlement of ninja who do not believe in using jutsu, are very Spartan, and disdain the ninja who do use jutsu.

Disclaimer - I do not own Naruto. For once, I am absolutely reconciled to this fact, because I do own a pumpkin which I turned into a Danzo jack-o-lantern freehand. Best. Jack-o-lantern. Ever.

Run away

o

I sought my soul, but my soul I could not see. I sought my God, but my God eluded me. I sought my brother and I found all three.

- Anonymous

o

After the deaths of his father and mother, Madara developed a protective streak concerning the last member of his immediate family that he felt was completely justifiable. After all, while Izuna was brilliant, if in a quieter way than his older brother, and there was no doubt that he could take care of himself - to a certain extent, but that didn't mean that he wasn't still in danger, that something still couldn't happen to him. They lived in a dangerous world, and after the father he'd idolized had passed away so suddenly, Madara had come to realize that nobody was safe. Not even him. Not even his brother. And just loving somebody was no protection.

When you looked at it that way, getting up twenty times a night to check on Izuna's side of the tent was only common sense.

Izuna allowed himself to be fussed over with a silence and tolerance that should have warned Madara that something was brewing in his mind. But the days since the loss of their parents had been hard and bitter for them both - for the entire Clan - and there were many memories that Madara had tucked away for safe-keeping in places where he could not reach them, and among them were the times that his mother had gone thoughtfully quiet for long periods of time, acquiescing amiably enough to anything their father asked of her, and then suddenly produced the happy result of some dangerous scheme that would certainly have been voted down by the rest of the Clan if they had known about it.

Izuna was like their mother in many things.

He listened sympathetically when Madara stormed up and down their tent, hissing virulent adjectives about the direction the Clan was headed in at this rate, without any decent leaders; he encouraged him and wrapped his hands in cool bandages when they bled from training too hard with their father's war fan, which was still too heavy for him, and the kusarigama, which was not; he took over their mother's collection of poisons, practiced his archery daily as he always had. Sometimes Madara would catch him frowning abstractedly over some thought that he refused to speak to him of, but the fits of introspection never lasted long.

One year passed. Two years. Three years, Izuna was thirteen and understandingly silent when Madara snapped out to him one evening that if leading the Clan himself to keep it safe was what it took, then that is what he would do. He would make the other Uchiha see that he was the leader they needed.

After Madara had finished ranting he stood up, walked over to where his older brother had sunk into a glaring kind of silence, and dropped a hand lightly onto his shoulder. I know you can do it, oniisan, he said softly.

He gave no sign that he himself was planning anything out of the ordinary.

Which is why it gave Madara such a nasty shock to retreat to their room one night, in the stronghold where the Uchiha had holed up for the winter, and find Izuna gone with no words, no explanation but a note which said simply: I will return when I can be of use to you.

The sky outside was white with snow and there was no use in attempting to follow his brother, but Madara did anyway, swallowing down all the furious words he wanted to shout at him because he wouldn't shout, wouldn't scold, he'd be as gentle and understanding as Izuna himself if he could only find him again, if only…

He returned with empty hands and a terrible rage that lasted for two weeks. Then he threw himself into his work, desperately and spitefully, the way another man might have thrown himself off a cliff, or onto a bottle of sake. He would make good on the ambition that he had told Izuna of before he left, or die trying.

A year passed. Two years.

Then two young men stood facing each other in a sweeping tumble of snow that came up over their knees.

Hello, oniisan, Izuna said finally.

The first words that wrenched themselves out of Madara's throat, unplanned and unbidden, were, Where did you get that godsawful accent?

A slight smirk crossed his younger brother's face and he shrugged. Iga-ryu.

Then he found himself moving without conscious thought, reaching out to grab hold of Izuna and crush him against his chest, feel the warm, real solidity of his body against his own, because even if he was older and thinner and a little taller, even if he now tied his hair back instead of letting it fall loose, this was his brother, and he was back again, even after Madara himself had begun to lose hope.

And maybe, just maybe, love was some kind of a protection after all.

I had to leave, Izuna said, the sound muffled between the leather and cloth, between his tears and Madara's. I had to learn, and you would barely let me out of your sight. I couldn't allow you to be gentle with me.

Madara held him at arm's length, checking to make sure he seemed to still have all his limbs and vital organs. But - Iga-ryu? he said, incredulous. They despise outsiders. And possessing a kekkei genkai is as good as a certificate of death and a free grave.

Izuna shrugged again, and said, It was interesting. Do you know, I have begun to think that our Clan's reliance on the Sharingan cripples us in some ways? He pulled away from his older brother and began to dust snow off his cloak. I will have quite a few things to discuss with you when we get back to camp…

Madara caught his arm. And are you going to stay this time? Are you satisfied that you can be of use to me? he demanded.

Izuna looked up at him with a wicked glint in his eyes and then dropped his lashes demurely, shielding it from the world. Why, yes, oniisan, I believe I can.

It was the same devilish light that had danced in their mother's eyes as she stood and watched a man cough out his life on the ground before her. He'd been foolish enough to threaten her husband's life, and to believe the fact that she'd drunk from the cup herself before handing it to him guaranteed his safety.

Their mother had never been one to suffer fools gladly.

Madara believed him.

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