Tomorrow

Summary: Everyone said the Sannin had arrived just in time to save Whirlpool. The three of them knew they had come just in time to lose it. Scenes of a war. Complete in five chapters– The Founders and their Heirs. Appearances including but not limited to: Madara, Hashirama, Mito, Tsunade, Orochimaru, Jiraiya and Hiruzen. Focusses on the Founders and the Sannin.

Warning: Fractured. Angsty. Fractured. I was playing with a few ideas here.

Set: Story-unrelated. Same setting but AU (more or less. Could be more. Could be less.)

Disclaimer: Standards apply. Chapter titles from Robert Frost, Reluctance.

A/N: My apologies to Tobirama. I just couldn't make him fit into the story.

heart of man

They get through the summer, just barely. It was the hottest summer it had been for as long as anyone could remember.

"I hate this." Orochimaru's face was hidden behind the black cloth that was Konoha's special ops mask but that served as an entirely different kind of protection these days. A bead of sweat ran down his forehead.

So many things were being used in ways they weren't meant to be these days.

"I thought you liked summer." Jiraiya didn't even pretend to joke. His mane was tied back messily, his face hidden behind the same mask. In his dark uniform, surrounded by the somewhat muted green of the forest, his hair shone like a beacon of white fire.

"It's too hot."

Tsunade could only agree.

The forest was a death trap. She'd never seen it as that until the war began: as a child she had played underneath its shadowy trees. By herself, with her grandfather, with her friends. As a genin, she had trained chakra control by walking up the trunks of the tallest trees, on which generations of genin had marked their progress with cuts that were slowly being incorporated into the tree's bark. Orochimaru, Jiraiya and she had spent many afternoons here. And then the war had come and the forest had become the best protection Hidden Leaf had: because enemies attacking the village had to cross the forest; and nobody knew it better than a Leaf shinobi.

But even underneath the protecting canopy of leaves, it was searingly hot.

Tsunade's danger sense flared. She tensed, straining her hearing and sight. Jiraiya next to her picked up on her tension and signaled Orochimaru. Invisible in the tree tops, quiet as ghosts, they waited-

A twig broke.

Orochimaru's hands blurred as he activated the genjutsu; his eyes closed, his face a mask of concentration. She didn't need to turn to know that much. Jiraiya had unrolled one of his scrolls, his fingers quickly finishing the pre-drawn seals. Tsunade felt for the wakizashi on her back and closed her eyes in a second-by-second prayer to Death. Not today. Jiraiya was directly behind her. When the screams started, she leapt.

It was over within minutes.

…

"Children." Senju Hashirama paced the room like a caged tree lion, his fists opening and closing helplessly. "They're children. Just look at them."

Uchiha Madara was a statue in the corner, his arms crossed over his chest. His face was shadowed and his features only barely visible, but the white streaks in his hair stood out starkly.

"It's war. There are no such beings as children anymore."

"That's my granddaughter out there," Hashirama flew into his face. "And my son-in-law. And your nephews and nieces and so many of your precious clansmen."

"Do you see me breaking down?" Madara asked back coolly. "Uchiha are born to fight."

"Stop bullshitting me! You know we built this village so our clans could live in peace! We didn't want this!"

"But it came onto us, and we had no choice." His friend's attitude could have been mistaken as uncaring and cold. Hashirama knew Madara better. But sometimes it was really hard to keep on believing in the human heart that beat underneath the blood-red armor, the heart that held the same dream Hashirama's did- "We built a village and promised the people to protect them. We have no choice but to go out there and do as we promised. You know that as well as I do. Or, at least your wife knew better."

"Leave Mito out of this or I swear, I will-"

"Hashirama." Madara stood, his imposing figure blocking out the light that came in through the window. "This is what you signed up for when you vowed to do everything in your power to grant your people a peaceful life. Stop whining, for Heaven's sake, and do something useful."

Hashirama clenched his teeth so hard he felt a headache coming. But he knew his friend was right.

"Fine."

Madara left without a word. On his way past Hashirama, he balled a fist and touched the Senju's shoulder. A rare gesture of affection from the man everyone nick-named the Leaf Demon.

Finally alone, Hashirama closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm getting to old for this."

Mito's laughter, in his mind, was soft and sad.

"God, I miss you."

…

Orochimaru and Jiraiya both had offered her to take her responsibility and visit Dan's family for her. Both had given her that look she had come to hate over the course of a few days already. It was pity – bad enough – but mixed with such an amount of love and understanding that she was torn between breaking down weeping and let them hold her or punch their lights out so they would never look at her like that again. She loved them – Gods knew how much, they had been by her side as long as she could remember and she never had or ever would have better friends than them. But it was her who had lost a lover, not them. Tsunade knew she had to do this.

A cousin of Dan's greeted her at the door and led her into the house. Dan's family hadn't been as vast as the Uchiha Clan, but expansive no less. In the sunlit corridors that were filled with sounds – chatting from women in the kitchen, a child wailing, pots and pans clattering merrily as if life still was precious and beautiful – she felt like she was going to drown. Inside Leaf it almost felt as if the war was not taking place, as if everything outside the gates was nothing more than a bad dream. Oh, how she knew better. She also knew it wouldn't stay this way forever. The longer the war dragged out, the more the civilian inhabitants would be affected, as well. She banished the thought almost desperately.

A floor tile creaked under almost nonexistent weight.

Tsunade, battle-field hardened to react to every sound, whirled around and found herself face to face with Dan's youngest niece. The girl was sitting on the uppermost step of the staircase, half-hiding behind the banister, and was glancing down at Tsunade with an expression that made her freeze. It was as if all the hate and accusation that could exist in the world were drawn on the little girl's features. She was barely more than five and yet the blonde woman shivered. She hadn't cried – she had not cried once since Dan had died under her hands. He had smiled like the idiot he was, telling her without a word how much he loved her and how he was sure they were going to win in the end. She'd never been the idealistic one of the two of them – she was the granddaughter of Uzumaki Mito, she knew how often politics got in the way of idealism – but he had been able to make even her believe. In something, if not in him. Now Dan was gone and Shizune was glaring at her as if she had could see Dan's blood still on Tsunade's hands.

(She had spent hours of washing them, until they were raw and her skin stung, and still she could not rid herself of the feeling of his heart stopping under her hands-)

Shizune had every right to hate her.

Numb, Tsunade turned away and towards the room where Dan's mother was waiting.

…

Specter of the Past:

In her life, Uzumaki Mito had met three men that would change the world.

It was ironic, she thought and almost laughed. The laugh turned into a cough, a chest-wracking, painful chough that felt like her lungs were on the verge of tearing apart. It was ironic she was remembering this while she was on the verge of death, and even more so it had been ironic that three men had desired her – desired her, desire was something else than love – and all those three men had had the potential to create great things. She could have used that to her advantage, could have done good with it. But in the end she hadn't accomplished anything.

Perception. It was all a matter of perception.

Perception – and perfection. The eldest daughter of four children, Mito had always felt like she was the one that was expected to do great. She was reasonably intelligent and reasonably pretty, she had a mind for languages and politics and a hand for sealing. She liked many things – like flowers, and geography, even politics. But she never felt like she would be able to achieve something more than average. And while she knew that nobody expected perfection of her it still felt that way. Her father, who kept on lecturing her on how she had to behave and what she had to think of. Her grandparents, who commented on her figure, her hair and her face, and her friends who laughed at her mistakes and made fun of her in a friendly way – there were barbs in each comment, sharp and painful as needles. So what if she wasn't beautiful, so what if she wasn't perfect? So what if she enjoyed reading more than going out, preferred books to people?

Ultimately nothing of that mattered, because she didn't have a choice.

Mito first met Tokugawa Ieyasu on a ball, an event meant to find a new bride for Fire's Daimyo after he had sentenced his main wife to death for treason. At least everyone knew that was the reason but nobody was stupid enough to say it out loud. Mito did not stand out next to her younger sister – Mahiro was tall, slender and beautiful – but something in her must have caught the feudal lord's attention. Maybe he was attracted by her unusual choices on conversational topics, or by her acerbic humor. Maybe it was her plainness, or even the prospect of her status as heiress to the Senju. In the end it did not matter because Imagawa Kagura was not only more beautiful but came with an entire territory to rule. He did order her to become one of his lower wives, though. So, for a time, she lived in Tokugawa Ieyasu's harem. Maybe the feudal lord favored her because she was on par with him when it came to intelligence and strategy, or maybe just because she was the only one to remain cold and distant. For all the lord's wealth and power, he fathomed himself an irresistible man, and her obvious imperviousness to his charms angered and piqued him. Mito was aware of the fact that her refusal to give in to his advances were the only thing that kept her alive but she wouldn't have been able to hold it up for much longer. Fate wanted it she fell ill after five months, unused to the continental climate and the strange food. In a fit of unusual kindness the feudal lord sent her back home, and that was the end of her life as a concubine.

Her intermezzo with the Tokugawa Clan seemed to have shown her father that Mito at least was worth something, because he started to take her with him when he left for diplomatic missions. It was uncommon for women to even be present on political occasions. Mito watched carefully, mostly hidden in the shadows behind her father's diplomatic advisors, and learned. Soon her father realized she had a sharp eye for details and the clear, calm mind it took to make political decisions. That was how she came to meet them. Senju Hashirama, one of the two founders of the new shinobi village of Hidden Leaf, smiled at lot – and stupidly – and had a will as iron as any man she had ever met. In public he seemed to tend to make a fool out of himself while, when it came down to politics in an enclosed room, he negotiated without a thought for the losses. He was kind – and humorous – and taught Mito there was no shame in being herself. His counterpart, Uchiha Madara, seemed his exact opposite on the outside: cold, calm and collected and without a thought for the human lives they had been entrusted. On the inside he was so much more. And it would have been so easy – it was easy – to fall in love with either of them. They took her for what she was, made fun of her but never cruelly, they accepted her and worked with her. Hashirama would make stupid jokes and Madara would set him straight with a face as unmoved as a mountain and Mito wouldn't be able to help herself: she'd laugh. At the kindness she felt, the friendship in their words and the acceptance in their eyes. It was so easy to fall in love when time and circumstances were right. But fate always had found a way to mess with her.

Tokugawa Ieyasu would incite a war.

Senju Hashirama and Uchiha Madara would stand against him.

And Uzumaki Mito would watch from the sidelines as she always had, giving her years, her happiness, her children and her life for the man she had come to love. For the place she had lived in and come to treasure, and for everything she had helped build there. How ironic that she, who never had stood out particularly, would be the one to fight this one fight.

Senju Mito, descendant of the Uzumaki Clan, laughed on her last breath. The kyuubi's scream of fury shook the earth, but it was too late.

…

The casket of Nara Shikamoto was brought before his widow and children in all honors, as befitting the head of the Nara clan. Outside, the leaves turned red and golden as summer faded to fall.

Nara Mitsuki looked calm as she accepted the condolences offered by her husband's former team mates and best friends. Yamanaka Jojiro could barely stand. His head and left arm were completely bandaged, blood soaking through the pristine, white gauze. Akimichi Chihaya seemed to be the one actually holding him upright while big tears rolled down his face. There were no words left to say. Shikaku, Naohito and Miya clung to her, still too stunned to even cry.

"How did he die?"

Chihaya choked back a sob and wiped his eyes. "There were too many of them."

Jojiro glanced down at the children. "Mitsuki…"

Her hands came up protectively, wrapping around the little ones' shoulders. "I want to know. They need to know."

"It was supposed to be an ambush for their supply trains," Jojiro said, every word speaking of the strain he was under and their immeasurable grief. "They were prepared. Must have caught one of our runners. Not even Shikamoto-" His voice cracked – "Could have known. There were too many of them."

Mitsuki's hands were white. Shikaku had to be suffering under her iron grip, but he didn't complain or turn away.

"He held them back until we could retreat."

Silence hung in the air, heavy with a thousand things that would never be said. Shikamoto, Chihaya and Jojiro had been together since before Hidden Leaf had been founded. Together, they had decided to follow the Founder's dream of a village of free shinobi and a peaceful life.

"Thank you for bringing him back."

There was nothing to be brought back. MItsuki knew what most likely had happened to the remains of her husband. She did not want to think about it.

She only broke down when the mourners had left and her children were in bed. In her empty bedroom she cried and cried for her deceased husband while in the next room Shikaku laid awake, listening to his mother's mourning.

…

Whirlpool was the opposite of Leaf.

The sea instead of the forest, sand instead of earth and stone houses instead of wooden ones. Otherwise it was the same as any other village they had traveled through: streets, houses, animals and people.

The streets were covered in ashes.

The houses had been reduced to rubble.

Animals were screaming in the throes of death.

And the people…

The people were dead or dying, wounded or delirious. It was a scene from their worst nightmares.

"Don't hurt her! Don't hurt her!" The boy – barely in his seventh year – didn't even reach up to Jiraiya's hip and yet he was trying to cover the woman behind him with his body. The old lady was coughing weakly. A trickle of blood ran down her chin. It was too late for her and yet Tsunade crouched down at her side, lifting her hands that were crackling with ice-blue chakra. As always, even months after the loss, Dan's image hovered over the woman, smiling on his last breath.

"It will be alright," she whispered tonelessly as she took away the woman's pain.

Then she stood again. Orochimaru, Jiraiya and her shared a look and spread out without another word.

Uzushiogakure was razed that day. Its inhabitants were killed or raped and taken as slaves by pirates and the troupes of the alliance of feudal lords. The fire was hot enough to melt the stone the houses had been built with. It was the greatest genocide in the memory of the Country of Fire.

The only thought that ran through Senju Tsunade's head was that she was glad her grandmother hadn't lived to see her beloved home in ashes.

When Tsunade, Jiraiya and Orochimaru arrived, pirates, slavers, soldiers and mercenaries were still pillaging the village. The feudal lord's troupes had some seventy men on their side, they were only three. What happened that night was the beginning of a legend.

Or rather: three legends.

…

"It will be alright, love."

The voice whispered in her fever-strewn dreams, soft like a summer breeze. The hand on Tsunade's forehead was cool and gentle.

"You'll be better soon."

Restless, she turned, barely conscious. Shadows were chasing her, their claws stretched out for her, threatening and scary. Their screeching voices made her skin crawl and she shivered, compulsively. They were coming for her. Their glowing eyes came closer and closer, drawing her into the icy heat of their darkness. There was no place to escape these nightmares, no one who would save her from the darkness that were her deepest fears-

"I'm here, Tsunade. Everything will be alright. Tomorrow. You'll see."

Under her grandmother's gentle whispers and the cool touch, she relaxed.

She woke up the next morning and could not remember her dream, but her pillow was wet and there were dried tear-tracks on her face. If she had woken Jiraiya and Orochimaru at night none of them mentioned anything, their unusual tact almost a sure sign that they had heard her. Tsunade was almost beyond caring, but it was nice to know they did.

The ghost of the touch of that cool hand followed her through the day.

One year and seventy eight days into the war.