Finally, darkness parts, but the lines that run across his vision remain.

His body is aching all over, but he can open both eyes again. He is awake, and not at all wet, and the lines he sees are wooden bars. Of a cage.

Somebody has put him in a cage.

It's unmistakably wood style. Hashirama then...

With a huff, he gets to his paws. The surface beneath them is soft; somebody's lain a towel into the cage. The goddamn cage! As if that's not bad enough, it reeks of Hashirama. The whole room does. Understandable, since it's his bedroom, but no more acceptable. A bowl of water has been placed into a corner of his cage. Is he expected to drink out of it?

His mouth is sandpaper dry, though, and his thirst beats his pride. Nobody is watching, and if somebody happened to come, they would only see a cat anyway.

Droplets end up on his fur, and he tries to rub them off with his paws, but to no avail. He licks them instead. The action seems to lessen the overwhelming scent of Hashirama, so he continues washing himself. It also gives him an opportunity to inspect the damage on his body: two of his paws and his torso are bandaged and there must be a slash on his snout; the injuries hurt.

He hears the steps before the door opens. Even more of Hashirama's scent enters the room.

"You're awake," the man says with a grin that makes Madara regret he opened his eyes. Hashirama is by the cage in a moment, opening the bars and reaching inside. Without hesitation, Madara swipes at him. The hands withdraw, and Hashirama's smile fades.

"I won't hurt you," he says. As if any normal cat would understand him. "I know somebody was a meanie to you, but there are no such meanies here."

Clearly, he's lying. The Senju lives in the same house.

"Now, now, I mean that. You're safe here. I'm going to take such good care of you. You're such an adorable kitten…"

He hisses. Did he have to be turned into something so tiny?

"I need to see if you're healed. Don't be afraid."

The hands return. His instincts tell him to defend himself, but they are not as strong as before, and he lets himself be lifted. His body is small enough to fit into Hashirama's hands. Fingers probe at his torso, and a pained meow escapes him.

"The wounds seem to be healing, but it'll take a while… You must be hungry. Come. I'll find you something."

Hashirama carries him out. It would be easy enough to guess they're headed for the kitchen even if Madara didn't know the way already. The familiarity of the environment makes it a bit easier to stay still.

Hashirama places him on the counter, and he realizes that higher ground offers him a feeling of safety and control; the room is still larger than he remembers, but the shapes don't loom over him anymore.

The smell of fish reaches his nose. His whiskers twitch and he trots over to where Hashirama is placing pieces of meat onto a plate.

"Anija, really?" Madara freezes. He knows that voice. "On the counter?"

That's the only warning he gets before he's grabbed by the scruff and none-too-gently moved to the floor. Hissing, he glares at the Senju—who is suddenly very tall. Everything is large again, and Madara backs towards the corner. Without taking his glare off the Senju, he starts washing the invasive smell off his fur.

"Tobirama. I was about to feed him."

"Do it on the floor. And how do you know it's a he? Have you checked?"

"No, but he looks like a he."

With a sigh, the Senju stops doing whatever he's doing and walks over. He bends down. Madara dodges the first hand, but doesn't manage to escape the other. He's lifted off the ground, a hissing ball of claws and teeth, but he can't reach the Senju's hand or any other part of him; he hangs there while the Senju grabs his hind paws and lifts them.

It burns inside.

"You were right, it's a he."

He's dropped back down and retreats into the corner to clean himself again, thoroughly humiliated. It irks him that he can't get to the fur underneath the bandages, but whatever happens, he will do his best to not reek of the Senju.

"You're scaring him." Hashirama approaches, places the plate with meat on the floor a few feet away, and retreats to the table.

Madara inches closer to the plate. The smell is inviting even though the situation is not ideal. His body is weak, small, and vulnerable, leaving him at the mercy of others. But he's in a more or less familiar environment, has somebody to supply him with food and water, and sees no immediate threat; even the Senju doesn't seem inclined to hurt him right now. Later, he'll have to make a plan to get back to Nekobaa. For now, sustenance is a priority.

He dips his nose into the meat and eats. When he looks up again, the brothers are at the table, discussing some accounting business. Madara is just about done when the Senju speaks up.

"When are you leaving?"

"Hm?"

"You're going to look for Madara."

It's not a question. For a moment, they are both silent.

"I worry, but... Perhaps I should send somebody. I'm the hokage, and..."

The Senju looks away. "Go. I'll take care of the village."

Hashirama's lips curls into one of his goofy smiles. "Thank you, brother."

"Don't mention it. If I can't sense him, nobody in Konoha can, and you're the only one strong enough to defeat him."

The words are flattering: it's fitting for the Senju to live with the awareness that Madara could crush him anytime.

"There will be no need for that."

"Be that as it may, I'll look after the village."

"And after him." Hashirama looks at Madara. "You'll look after him, too?"

No. No, he is most definitely not staying in the Senju's care.

"Anija... If I had wanted a cat, I would have got myself a cat. I have a village to run; how do you propose I play with a kitten?"

Madara pouts. As if anyone would have to play with him.

"You can take him to the office with you."

"I most certainly cannot take him to the office. Anija, I'll be the representative of the hokage. I can't have a kitten in the office. That would be ridiculous."

It jars Madara to admit it, but for once, he agrees with the Senju. What is Hashirama even thinking?

"Give him to the servants," the Senju adds. He pushes the chair back and gets up, about to leave the table, when Hashirama catches his wrist.

"Tobirama, please. Do me a favour."

The Senju sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "When are you leaving?"

"In the morning."

Another sigh. "Bring his things to me before you go. Did you get him some box to pee in?"

What? He's not peeing in a box!

"Not yet. I thought I'd let him outside for that..."

And he is definitely not peeing outside where anyone could see him!

"...but I think you're right. A box is a better idea."

Madara frowns. It is probably the lesser of two evils. Hashirama is much less likely to watch him while he needs to use the bathroom—or sand. He had better not watch, or Madara still...

He shakes his head to chase the thoughts away. If Hashirama decides to disrespect his privacy, he can deal with it when it happens. For now, he settles for licking his whiskers clean.

"Don't leave him in the kitchen," the Senju says as he finally removes himself from the room. His smell lingers.

Hashirama stares after him for a moment before he squats down in front of Madara. "Come," he says and scoops him up. The plate remains on the floor; Hashirama doesn't seem to notice, and Madara can't point it out.

They end up in Hashirama's bedroom again. "I should name you before I go," the latter says and sets Madara down on the floor. "You're all black… So something with black perhaps. Blackitty?"

If he could, Madara would slap his forehead in exasperation. As it is, he lets out an annoyed meow. Hashirama's naming skills are still underdeveloped.

"You're right, it is unimaginative…" Hashirama starts pulling things out of the drawers and gathering them on the futon. "I'll think of something else by tomorrow. I'm sorry I have to leave you so soon, but my friend is missing. I have to find him. He's important to me, you know."

An echo of warmth spreads through his chest for a moment before Hashirama opens his mouth again and extinguishes it.

"Don't worry, my brother will take care of you in the meantime."

So reassuring. He lets out a sound of protest.

Hashirama laughs. "He can be a bit grumpy sometimes, but he means well. To be honest, some company might do him good."

Madara huffs; it comes out as a mixture of a strange hissing sound and a meow.

"Hopefully, I won't be away for too long. A few weeks... Though it might be too late by then…" Any traces of laughter disappear from his face and his depression takes over, over the top as ever. It's for that reason, and that reason alone, that Madara trudges over and paws at Hashirama's ankle. Light returns to Hashirama's eyes. "Aww, don't worry. Everything will be fine," he says. Hands wrap around Madara again. "You should probably rest. After all, you nearly died yesterday."

火火火

He spends most of the day lounging in the cage, only getting up to eat and drink. Hashirama makes good of his promise to provide him with a toilet—a box filled with sand. It's far from ideal, but Madara is left alone most of the time, which makes it bearable. His body is surprisingly content to rest so long as he is mindful of his injuries and avoids certain positions. Occasionally, he dozes off, but sleep evades him.

When Hashirama returns, the room is already dark. Madara doesn't mind darkness; his vision is almost as good as by day. Hashirama does, though, and the sudden light that floods the space makes Madara snap his eyes closed.

He hears Hashirama walk across the room. After a few moments, Madara's eyes adjust to the light, and he settles for observing the man as he packs. After a while, Hashirama comes to him. Madara huddles in a corner as the man adds fresh water to the bowl, checks the towels and the sand.

"There. I'll feed you again before I go, and then it's off to Tobirama for you and to Sora-ku for me."

His ears perk up. Sora-ku?

That might be his only chance. This form is too small to make it all the way to Sora-ku. If Hashirama carried him, though...

"Maw?" He rubs against Hashirama's hands. The man's scent clings to him, but cleaning is not a priority right now. Turning his eyes up at Hashirama, he meows again.

"Sora-ku? That was your home, wasn't it? I'm sorry." Hashirama scratches him behind the ear; his fingers are a bit too strong. "I can't take you back there. Even if you have any family left, it would be too hard to find them. You'd only get hurt."

He meows again, a high-pitched sound meant to tug at Hashirama's heartstrings. Judging by the expression he gets in return, his attempt is successful.

"I'm sorry." The fingers return, running over his back this time. "I know how it is to lose your family. I only have one brother left. Well. Two, I suppose. I just got one of them back, and I can't lose him again. That's why I have to go." Hashirama sighs. "You'll be all right, little one."

Foolish Senju. Nothing will be all right if doesn't get back to Sora-ku. Madara will remain a cat and, Hashirama might walk around in a permanently depressed mood. Gods know he is an idiot enough to actually mourn Madara's absence.

He meows again, but it only earns him petting and sorrowful looks, so he desists. There must be some other way. Hashirama won't take him to Sora-ku willingly; perhaps he will do it unknowingly.

Madara eyes the satchels prepared by the futon. His body should be small enough to fit in there. The journey would be uncomfortable, but it is by far a better option than walking. He must make sure Hashirama doesn't close him into the cage for the night and then sneak into the biggest satchel during the night.

The plan is simple enough, and Hashirama plays right into it. Madara is free to roam the room as the man gets ready for bed (though he truly didn't need to see Hashirama changing).

"Oi, kitty."

Kitty? He chooses to ignore the call.

"Kitten. Come here." He hears Hashirama pat his futon. "You can sleep here if you want."

Narrowing his eyes, he turns.

No. No, he absolutely does not want to share a bed with Hashirama and possibly get squished to death.

The blanket looks more comfortable than the towel, though.

But he has his pride and he's not a cat to be called over in this manner.

His injuries would welcome the softness…

Hashirama sighs and pulls the blanket over him. "As you wish… Good night, kitten." Then, after a second of silence, "Don't pee on the floor."

Madara huffs. Once Hashirama's breathing has evened out, he curls up at the furthest end of the blanket and waits.

火火火

The air in the satchel is stuffy, his paw going numb from the lack of space, and Hashirama won't cease calling for him. How can someone care for a stray they only picked up two days ago quite that much?

Finally, the satchel gets picked up—and then a hand reaches in. Touches his side. Withdraws. The satchel is placed back down, and light forces its way in as the flap is opened.

Damn.

"Maw?" he tries, blinking. Hashirama stares back for a moment of two, then bursts into laughter.

"This is not your sleeping place, kitty."

Before he can do more than glare, Madara is caught by those huge hands. The glaring turns into a vocal protest and clawing when he realises Hashirama wants to put him into the cage, and he's dropped in rather unceremoniously; a jolt of pain rushes through him. At least Hashirama is nursing a scratch, too, though it ceases to matter when he lifts the cage and carries it down the corridor and to the right.

The door they stop in front of resembles any other one in the compound. Hashirama knocks.

Shuffling comes from the inside. The door opens, and Madara holds back the urge to cough when the Senju's scent assaults his nose. He settles for a hiss.

"Good morning."

"Anija." The Senju moves aside and Hashirama steps past him.

The Senju's room is one of those Madara has never seen before. It's similar to Hashirama's in size, but furnished differently. A futon in the corner; a table covered with papers and a pillow beside it; books stacked in a pile and a basket with scrolls; wardrobes; chests of drawers; a door to what is likely a bathroom; the Senju crest on the wall and Konoha's symbol on the opposite one. And everywhere—his scent.

Hashirama places the cage by the door. "I'll bring the food for him."

The Senju nods, kneels by the table, and proceeds to ignore the world in favour of his papers until Hashirama returns.

"I think we should name him."

The Senju shrugs. "I'll just call him cat."

"You can't keep calling him that."

"He is a cat. What else am I supposed to call him?"

Hashirama opens the cage. "I can't think of anything good. Perhaps Fluffy?"

The only thing that stops Madara from trying to bite Hashirama's hand off is the plate that the said hand lowers into the cage. He starts gulping the meat.

"Anija, stop trying to name things. You have everything ready?"

"I think so. I'll send messages whenever I can. I hope there's no trouble."

"We'll handle it. Just focus on coming home soon."

Madara glances up in time to see Hashirama nod and squeeze the Senju's shoulder. "Don't worry. I will."

They don't say anything anymore, merely exchange a look. Madara can't see their eyes, but he knows their gazes say whatever needs to be said; it's been so long since he'd communicated with someone that way. Even with Hashirama, the occasions are few and far between.

He shakes his head. Other things are more important now. Hashirama is leaving, and Madara needs to follow; perhaps the man will take him to Sora-ku if he sees Madara going after him. Or perhaps Madara can try to get into the satchel again. Either way, this is the only option he has aside from walking all the way to the city on his own, which would likely result in his death.

He gulps down the remaining meat. Hashirama is out of the door already, and the Senju isn't so much as looking at Madara, who lets his eyes travel over the bars of the cage. The spaces between them are fairly narrow, but this body is tiny…

The Senju walks across the room and sits down at the table with a sigh. His eyes turns towards Madara.

Damn.

The gaze lingers on him long enough to become uncomfortable. Everything in him screams to stare back.

He can't. He is a cat now and tries to act as one. Waiting for the Senju to lose interest is the only thing he can do.

Moments drag on. Those red eyes focus on the papers again. Must the Senju be dealing with paperwork now? Even if he isn't looking towards the door, Madara knows the extent of human vision field well enough to tell the Senju would still notice movement in the cage from the corner of his eye.

Moments turn into minutes until finally, finally the Senju gets up and disappears though the other door. Madara is on his paws in an instant. He checks every opening until he manages to get his head through one of them. A hiss escapes him when the bars squeeze the wounds on his torso, but pain is part and parcel of a shinobi's life.

Opening the door is somewhat harder, but nothing he couldn't overcome, and the corridor opens in front of him.

Finding the way is no challenge; he knows the grounds and he finds Hashirama's scent has left a trail this form can track. The opportunity is too good to be wasted.

He runs.

He runs, and his body aches, but by the time he makes it to the woods, Hashirama's scent has grown stronger again. The man must be walking; preserving energy for later, it seems. Madara should be able to catch up in a few minutes.

Good. His body is losing strength rapidly.

Panting, he grits his teeth and pushes forwards. Trees rush past him, roots forcing him to lift his paws higher, bushes making him duck.

Just a bit further… Just a little…

Hashirama's scent grows weaker again. No. Remaining behind is not an option. He will catch up, he will get to Sora-ku, he will have his own body back…

His injured front paw hits a root, and the force sends him flying. He rolls on the ground once, tries to stop the fall, but his paws fail to hold him; the ground rises up to meet him. Why? Pain is something familiar, something to conquer, not something that would keep him down. He wills himself to move, gets to his paws—and they give out on him again. Why? Isn't his will strong enough? He won't be stopped by something so minor, not when he has endured so much worse in the past-

His eyes widen, then narrow again. This isn't his body. It's one of a tiny kitten instead, and no amount of will can create muscles and stamina out of nothing.

He lets out a sound of displeasure and does it again. It comes out as deep, drawn-out meowing that he doesn't want to—can't bring himself to—stop even though he knows he should; a forest is no safe place for his current form. His claws leave gouges in the dirt.

What should he do now? Walking to Sora-ku isn't an option at the moment, nor is returning to the Senju. He needs rest and food and for the pain to stop. Perhaps a shelter first.

Wind ruffles his fur and he pulls his paws and tail closer to his body. The bandage on his front paw is soaked with blood. Damn. He has no way of changing the bandages. Licking the wounds would be the only option, but he would have to get rid of the current bandages first, and he doesn't have the energy for it. Instead, he lies still, pathetic and craving some warmth. Branches form a canopy above him. Grey skies are visible through the spaces between them. The smell of rain hangs in the air, covering Hashirama's scent more and more.

He can't stay here, can't die in a place like this. At least his brothers have died fighting. Izuna… He can't waste Izuna's eyes like this…

Somehow, he gets his limbs under control. His paws tremble, but they hold his weight, and he moves slowly, one step after another, closer and closer to the village.

The first droplets fall a little before he collapses again. By the time he gets up, it's raining in earnest. He grits his teeth and walks. The trees part before him. There. Houses. Some place dry…

When he takes the next step, his right front paw gives way. It's practically numb. He barely catches himself, but the next step brings him to the ground anyway. So close…

He hears voices before he can see anyone. Children, by the sound of it. Three different scents. He doesn't need this right now.

"Hurry!" A girl runs past him, a few feet away. "Mum's gonna be mad."

"We're coming, we're coming—oh. Wait!" Two feet stop in front of him. A boy, smaller than the girl. Another girl stops next to him.

"It's a kitten," she says and pushes strands of brown hair out of her face. "It's dirty."

"It's injured," the boy says quietly. Madara squints up at him. "We should help."

"I don't know… What can we even do? It'll be fine… Mum…"

"We should help it," the smaller girl says. "If we go to the healers, they will know what to do."

"But—"

"We're going," the boy says and squats. His hands wriggle under Madara; compared to Hashirama's, they are tiny and unsure, and hold him as if were made of glass. He meows before he could stop himself because there is pain and then even more pain once the boy starts walking. Damn. He can't even keep quiet anymore…

Keeping his eyes open is hard, but he forces himself to do it; he can't afford to drop his guard in a position such as this. The children—the older girl, too—take him towards the centre of Konoha. They're just passing one of the Sarutobi clan houses when he catches another set of footsteps.

"Wait," a man calls. The rain masks his smell, but it is unmistakably the Senju.


A/N: Please let me know what you thought.

On the matter of Japanese vs English expressions: I went with English ones because there was no reason for me to not use them within an English fanfic. I did, however, keep some Japanese expressions where I though that the meaning or the nuance would get lost if translated (e. g. anija, the suffixes etc.). In contrast, I find that nothing gets lost if I use wood style instead of mokuton, to name one example.