Madara felt his pupils dilate, his breathing hitched ever so slightly when he finally saw Hashirama, the bowl cut somehow a sight for sore eyes.

The man (teenager, not yet a man) stood to his father's right whilst his younger brother was to Butsuma's left, the both of them wearing fitted yet bulky green plated armor. The metal coverings ate at their scrawny stature, providing them with excellent protection against stray projectiles and blades.

Hashirama has on an expression of sombreness; lips pursed, brows furrowed, and chocolate brown eyes determined.

It made Madara feel bittersweet nostalgia; a tsunami of regrets and self-disappointment at having that look directed at him. He saw that countenance one too many times during their clan wars back then, the man too stubborn and optimistic to take Madara's no for an answer.

("Madara, please!" Hashirama stretched out a hand, palm upwards as he pleaded for Madara to consider his offer of a ceasefire, "An alliance between Hi no Kuni's two strongest clans will bring forth a new era of peace for us. Think about our future children, old friend - our clans' union has only benefits!"

The Uchiha clan head bit the inside of his cheek, heart thumping loudly in his chest as he considered his options. Madara has always dreamt of peace; where his little brother, as well as all his clan's children, would be safe and protected. The Senju clan head must have seen his indecision, for Hashirama suddenly beamed, reminding the wild-haired man about their time spent together as children.

He took half a step forward but was stopped by an almost painful grip on his bicep. Izuna leaned against his side, eyes shadowed by his fringe as his lips thinned into a straight line.

"Don't be fooled, aniki. We can't trust them. What if this is all a ploy to loosen our guard? This Hashirama is not your friend, aniki. He's our enemy; the Senju clan head - the clan that slaughtered Ryouta in cold blood."

At those words, Madara violently recalled the body of his second younger brother; desecrated and in pieces, the Senju symbol engraved arrogantly onto the decapitated forehead. He retreated two steps back, activated his Sharingan, and brought up his gunbai.

He saw Hashirama's smile falter, but he blocked the tsunami of emotions he was experiencing to the back of his mind and cooly stared at his former friend. The silence seemed to last for an eternity before Madara roared for his men to charge. The Senju clan head had his shoulders drooped in disappointment, but his eyes were blazing with determination. It made Madara tremble, whether it be with expectation or dread, he felt no desire to figure out.

Then-Madara never did see the disturbing smile playing on Izuna's lips. Only when this memory was replayed by now-Madara in his earlier years did he notice.

Thus it got him thinking; when had Izuna been possessed? Had Madara been manipulated his entire life? How many deaths had Dokuzetsu orchestrated? Had all his little brothers' passing been Madara's fault? If Dokuzetsu had done it once, what stopped it from doing so again without Madara noticing a thing?

The never-ending questions only brought a sense of foreboding and unease upon him.)

He shook his head and focused on the present. He shouldn't be distracted during such a time. After all, a momentary mistake could lead to fatal outcomes.

The Senju were tensed and ready on the other side of the grassy field, close enough to engage in a glaring contest, yet far enough to defend or attack, whichever action more appropriate. His friend - Tobirama, not Hashirama, his mind sullenly reminded him - stared impassively at him, frosty red orbs not once moving away from his visage.

Madara bent his head slightly in a greeting, smiling slightly when his greeting was returned by the icy Senju, albeit more stiffly.

His body felt oddly warm at Tobirama's uncomplicated acceptance of Madara's background, which in turn made Madara frown. If he were to get sick now, it would be most unfortunate. Leaving the fate of his health to mother nature, he pushed those useless observations aside to ponder on other more important matters.

Knowing about Madara's bloodstained horror stories and seeing it live were two entirely different concepts. Madara was a war genius, his battlefield persona more heinous than the average shinobi. The Uchiha did not accept that side of him, what say Tobirama, an overly cautious Senju who was also too young - malleable by outside forces?

With his head tilted slightly forward, his fringe ominously shadowed his features as he idly fingered the handle of his gunbai uchiwa. He needed to stop thinking too much. This was, again, hardly a good time to ponder on such issues. Sighing inaudibly, he propped his weapon of choice on his shoulder, the weight of his gunbai reassuring.

He knew he made for a ridiculous picture, however; a thirteen-year-old wielding an oversized fan that was as large as he was tall, if not larger. He hadn't had the chance to use his favorite weapon this early in the timeline before, even Tajima had looked at him weirdly when he brought a gunbai with him to this skirmish.

Izuna stood at Madara's left, wearing only their standard mantle without armored protection (Madara strongly wished Tajima would gather more clients and fix their financial situation already), an impressive scowl engraved on his cherubic features and dual-wielding two unsheathed tanto swords.

Madara's hand fell on his tensed, slender shoulder, squeezing it gently in comfort. His little brother's muscles relaxed, albeit slightly, at the assurance that Madara would look after him.

This would be Izuna's first time fighting against an army in one of their wars. It was also Madara's first time seeing both Hashirama and Tobirama on the opposite side of the battlefield despite the many times he has crossed blades against the Senju army - most of the time engaged with Butsuma's second-in-command.

It was a little amusing that the three were virgins in the Uchiha vs Senju war despite how skilled they were. But Madara should not compare himself to them. It would be otherwise unfair. Everyone else would only enter the major clan wars when conditions were met to avoid useless deaths. Hence, Madara knew the Senju's elites by face alone as their clans always clashed, and vice versa, almost always resulting in a stalemate.

He had been drafted into this playing field as soon as Tajima saw his fully matured Sharingan; which was at the tender age of seven when he had been careless. His first time had been hectic and messy, with many Senju twice his size trying to cut down the 'tiny and vulnerable' baby Uchiha. They were probably rolling in their graves with regret right now.

Madara had done his best to keep his little brothers out of any major clan battles, and it had worked, most of the time Izuna and Ryouta would coincidentally be out on mission runs when they were preparing a strike force. Until now, that was.

There was no more delaying for Izuna since he has awakened his Sharingan a few months back. Madara did his best to train his eldest baby brother in mastering his one-comma Sharingan with the limited time given in order to prepare him for the worst.

And his predictions always came true as of late. Izuna was drafted into their army by the clan elders.

"It seems Butsuma has brought his two eldest sons with him this time," Tajima stated the obvious, voice an imposing baritone, "Madara, they are your targets. I expect for you to bring me their heads. Failure is not an option. Izuna, you are to remain close to Hikaku and assist whenever required."

Both Izuna and Hikaku - a teen older than Madara's physical body by a good few years - gave a verbal affirmative whilst Madara simply nodded, his mane bouncing at his movement. He has never once spoken out loud to his father in this life, and he would continue to uphold his silence whenever in the man's presence.

Then, as if there was an invisible signal, both clan heads raised their right arm in complete sync, glaring at one another with venom in their eyes, before slashing their hand forward. The two armies ran, battle cries taking over the grassy field as blades clashed, shuriken flew, and jutsus run wild.

Madara kept his senses open, constantly aware of Izuna's movements even as he ducked the incoming projectiles and swung his gunbai, producing a huge gust that blew back a portion of the Senju forces as if they were mere paper dolls. Their surprised exclamations made his ego swell.

When one overly eager Senju shinobi he has never seen before blocked his way, Madara didn't stop in his tracks. He raised his gunbai and slammed it into the Senju's side, batting the man away like a fly with a strength that did not proportionate to his young body.

The shinobi went flying, some of his ribs probably broken, only for another unfamiliar face to step forward in his place. The newcomer, however, was too near for Madara to swing his gunbai in a wide arc. At the gall, Madara could only sigh, knowing that he was yet again being underestimated due to his body's young age. It grew tiring after a while.

He dodged the soldier's enthusiastic thrust and grabbed ahold of the man's front armor. Seeing that he was shorter, he swiftly tugged, his unexpected action having caused the Senju to stumble down to his height. Madara reckons his opponent was only chuunin in skill just by that alone.

As soon as they were on eye level, his dark eyes turned crimson. His opponent did not have any time to react as he was instantly pulled into a genjutsu. Madara released his hold on the armor and sidestepped the frothing man as he fell to his knees.

Making his way through downed bodies and trained killers was a headache.

It was only half an hour later - after he had been thoroughly soaked in the blood of his foes u and his own wounds - did he reach one of his two intended targets. He had done his best to disable, but when fighting for one's life, the easier option was always to kill. A moment of hesitation would, in turn, bring his downfall.

Madara self-consciously wiped his cheek with one billowing sleeve when Tobirama paused to take in the state of him, not noticing how it had just increased the mess on his face due to how soiled and singed his clothes were. He was sure he looked messier than he felt, with blood soaking through his mantle and hair, and his gunbai stained almost completely red.

He frowned unhappily when he saw the wounds inflicted on his friend, the grip on his gunbai's handle tightening. Knowing that he could not do anything about it, he angrily exhaled from his nose and raised his weapon. That made Tobirama wary, his muscles bunching up in preparation to dodge.

After a few moments of deliberation, he thought better of it. He strapped his gunbai to his back and engaged Tobirama in a taijutsu battle as the albino somehow seemed to have lost his sword. Newbies would only learn to keep their weapons close after they have gained more experience (if they were still breathing).

His lips quirked upwards, his smile hidden by the high collar of his mantle when he noticed the improvement in Tobirama's form. His strikes were precise and his footsteps steady. Madara's lessons seemed to stick, but he had expected no less from the Senju genius.

"Outstanding muscle memory, Tobira," he whispered his praise, startling the albino slightly, "Your dance has improved tremendously. I'm glad."

To show how happy he was with Tobirama's progress, he planted a foot into the younger male's solar plexus, causing the albino to gag as he fell to his knees, hands on his abdomen. Not even thinking of stopping his advances, Madara grabbed the Senju by his white strands and mercilessly tugged on it, forcing the tween to bare his neck.

The coercion of the Sharingan, when mixed with his skills in genjutsu, was a fearsome combination. Even then-Tobirama would have done everything to avoid it. This younger and more inexperienced Tobirama, however, reacted one second too late.

Of course, Madara would not hurt his friend too badly. The petulant brat would nag his ears off otherwise.

"Demonic Illusion: Hell Viewing Technique," he murmured, his Sharingan spinning in a hypnotic manner.

Tobirama's red eyes glazed over and his face turned slack, a trail of saliva leaking down his chin. However, just as Madara was pulling out a kunai to temporarily disable Tobirama - a few non-serious wounds that would leave him debilitated for a month or two - he was knocked skywards by thick, wooden branches that sprouted from the earth.

He grunted as he landed in a safety roll, a hand on his bruised abdomen and an annoyed glare at the Mokuton user who had foiled his plans at keeping Tobirama temporarily safe and away from the brutal war.

"Tobirama!" Hashirama yelled in panic as he cradled his younger brother's limp form to his chest, "Stay with me, Tobi! W-What did you do to him?!"

Before he could decide on his next course of action... or rather, whilst he had been thoroughly distracted by Hashirama's distressful agitation, Butsuma's second-in-command appeared next to him, a slash aimed at his eyes and killing intent leaking from the man in spades.

If Madara had actually been a thirteen-year-old kid, his body would've undoubtedly started to tremble uncontrollably due to the heavy pressure exerted by the Senju. It would've been the prime opportunity to forever blind the Uchiha heir and give his clan a moral down.

Alas, Madara was decades older in mind and had faced down Bijuus in his spare time.

He performed an awkward back handspring just in the nick of time - the sword had cut an ugly gash under his right eye - and used the momentum in his hands to push himself off of the ground rather than going along with the retreating motion, a foot aimed at the elder shinobi's wrist.

Crack.

To have his ankle cleanly broken in half with a portion of his tibia sticking out of his skin hadn't been his intention. It was a miscalculation on his part to have not added his lighter body weight into account.

The sword went flying, indeed, but Butsuma's second-in-command was uncaring to that fact, more eager to slow Madara's speed than anything else. He allowed Madara's foot to connect to his wrist, releasing his weapon without worries, and captured the Uchiha's ankle in his hands. It took less than a second for Madara to realize the error of his judgment (he should've retreated), and that split second had cost him.

Madara didn't react to the pain. He had endured worse than just a useless foot to stand on. Using the tight muscles of his core, he curled his upper body upwards whilst taking a deep breath in, his fingers locked in a tiger hand seal.

The man, with alarm in his eyes, released Madara's ankle hurriedly, but it was far too late.

"Katon: Phoenix Sage Fire Technique," he exhaled directly into the man's face before landing on a handstand, cartwheeling away towards the direction of the closest Uchiha signature until he was all but leaning against one of his kin, his breathes coming out in puffs, chest heaving for oxygen.

Madara felt relief when he looked up and saw it was Hikaku. The other teen was neutral, he neither likes nor dislikes Madara. Hikaku looked bruised and beaten, but he still kept an arm wrapped protectively around Madara's waist, expression contemplating; as if he was debating if he should lift Madara altogether.

"Izuna?" Madara panted, not up to talking in full sentence just yet, and winced slightly when his ribs were jolted by their high-speed movements.

"With Tajima-sama."

Dizzy as he was from the blood loss and fatigue, Madara almost demanded Hikaku to rush him to their clan head. He did not trust Tajima to keep Izuna safe at all. Before Madara could do so, however, a loud shout was heard.

"Retreat!"

With blood and adrenaline pounding in his ears, he didn't know who was the one who actually called for a retreat, but retreat they all did. Both the Senju and Uchiha rushed back to their respective sides, picking up injured, unconscious, or dead comrades along the way.

The first thing Madara did when he saw Izuna was to head directly to his younger brother, his gloved hands immediately flying to pat Izuna's body. At the moment, he ignored how blank Izuna's expression was - more keen on searching for any life-threatening wounds - and sighed in relief when they were at most superficial.

He then nodded at Hikaku, showing his gratitude for protecting Izuna and supporting Madara, and mentally taking note of their interactions for future purposes. The teen smiled grimly in return, head bowed slightly in a show of respect to their clan's heir.

"A... Aniki," Izuna whispered, too pale, too expressionless, too lost. It caused an ache in his chest, dread and protectiveness pooling in his gut.

Without caring that they were still on the battlefield, he pulled his little brother (young, still so young, too young) into a hug.

Izuna, unlike how he often yells in embarrassment at being treated like a kid, did nothing to stop him. Skinny arms wrapped themselves around Madara as trembling fingers dug bruises into his back, hiccoughs and hitched breathing being smothered against Madara's chest.

"S-Satoshi-san d-d-died. Akinari-san. Hi-Hideo-s-s-san. All. T-they're all-"

[The metallic and rusty smell of both fresh and flaking blood on aniki was thick, clashing horribly with his more soothing scent of pine needles and ashes. But it was the better alternative to the stench of burnt meat, piss, and shit. More horrendous than any abattoir and made him violently ill from just a whiff.

Izuna wanted nothing but to flee and never look back at such carnage ever again, no matter how unrealistic that may be thanks to the recall ability of the Sharingan and his duties to his clan. He knew he was already part of their army - and only in old age, permanent disability, or death will he be allowed out.

When he had been younger, the prospect of being selected would've made him a very happy child. Izuna has envied aniki (and he felt disgusted by his own feelings. How could he betray the one who protects him by allowing such things to fester inside him?) for his older brother's talent.

But... This?

This... Madness. Insanity.

Death, more death, a never-ending plague-

Never before has Izuna felt such dismay and sadness for his aniki, all feelings of envy having left him as soon as he had been flanked by the bulkier and taller Senju warriors. If not for Hikaku, Izuna would've been a goner. And this was aniki's day to day life. It scared Izuna.

What if Madara-ani was KIA one day?

What if Madara-ani had been KIA when he was younger?

It chilled Izuna to the bone.

He had been such a foolish child. How could he have once upon a time envied Madara-ani for such a brutal life? He would do anything to remain ignorant of this war of theirs with the Senju - the hatred in their enemies' eyes were intense, and it burnt.

He could feel resentfulness build up inside of him, all directed at his father, elders, Senju, whoever else he didn't know - the ones who had once upon a time forced a seven-year-old Madara-ani (from the whispers he heard from his clansmen, much to his horror) to this type of madness one too many times, causing his aniki to become so desensitized to human life that he even disregards his own.

He was not blind to his older brother's faults and weaknesses.

Izuna tightened his hold on his brother, not wanting to let go in fear that his brother would lose the last of his rationality and end it.

Had it been Izuna in aniki's shoes, he knew he would not have survived such inhumanity and madness shoved at him from such an age. Now he understood why aniki did not want him on the front lines - he feared for Izuna's safety. Even Izuna feared for his own safety. But what other options did he have?

Were they born to die at the hands of Senju, and vice versa? So many of his uncles and cousins have already perished just now-

No, he shouldn't think about it. Or else he would vomit all over aniki and infected wounds were the last thing he wanted Madara-ani to have.

How aniki can still remain kind and gentle after experiencing such monstrous things, he did not know. But he knew he would have to grow stronger so that he could protect his aniki in return from now on (protect aniki from himself, even). And he wouldn't care if aniki continues to smother him with overprotective affection anymore - he needed all the comfort he could get after this devastating experience.]

"-they're all dead. What if Hikaku-san had been a second slower? I would've also-" Izuna keened.

"Izuna, hey. I'm here. Aniki is here. Listen, we can't stay here any longer. I'm going to carry you. Everything's going to be-" Madara bit his own tongue to physically halt his next choice of words. 'Fine' didn't seem to be applicable nor appropriate at this circumstance, "You'll cope with this, I promise."

Knowing that this was not a safe place for Madara to continue reassuring his brother nor permit Izuna a breakdown just yet, he bodily lifted and repositioned Izuna until the little one has his arms over Madara's shoulders and legs wrapped around his hips.

He whispered for the younger Uchiha to hold onto tightly before he shot off towards his fellow clansmen, purposefully ignoring the way his body protested with every painful step he took, his ankle making awful crunching sounds.

Unlike the Senju, Uchiha medics weren't permitted onto the battlefield by the elders' and clan head's law - or to even leave their compound. They were too few in numbers. The Uchiha, after all, were literally born for aggressive assaults, not healing.

For even a stubborn bastard like Madara, it had taken him almost all of his lifespan to master it. Hence, those few gifted Uchiha medic-nins were cherished, never to be left without someone to guard them. And Madara would rather die than remain a prisoner in his own home - which was why he omitted many of his capabilities.

(If Madara had not the aptitude for perfecting whatever he learns, be they fuuinjutsu, iryō jutsu, or rock skipping, Obito - someone who had had half their head and upper body smashed into mush - would've undoubtedly died before Madara could successfully implement Hashirama's cells into him. It wasn't luck that kept the boy alive. And it wasn't by chance that the younger Uchiha was barely able to lift a finger without feeling pure agony, neither crippled or lively, just debilitated and compliant until Madara's words were able to seep deeply into his head and -)

Madara tightened his grip on Izuna and entered the center of the protective formation of his clansmen, running alongside those that were too injured to defend themselves from outside forces. His fellow veterans politely turned away to give Izuna and the other new recruits a semblance of privacy even as they continued to retreat.

Everyone here knew exactly what a new recruit was going through. They had, after all, been in the exact same shoe once upon a time; when all of them were still far too young to be brought into the frontier - now damaged and jaded despite only being in their late teens to early twenties. Not many exceeded the age of thirty in these violent times.

Mental breakdowns were painfully common for first-time youngsters that fought in one of their major battles. Some vomited immediately upon reaching the compound, some couldn't sleep for days to come, some would hide in their rooms to cry for their dead relatives and friends, completely traumatized by the event, and others came back in body bags.

Child soldiers were pitiful little things, fighting for reasons unknown whilst their leaders continued to draft more and more of them into the army. Madara, despite not an actual child, felt that adults were silly in their conquest for peace (he had been silly). Seeking amity whilst at the same time spilling blood... It was antithetical yet factual. Two sides of the same coin.

They had lost so many good men to it. Their fallen kin, many of them currently being carried back to the compound for a bonfire funeral, perished due to their ancestor's feud. Tajima's second-in-command would then go around to inform their parents or spouse or children that they have fallen in battle.

It made him wonder if anyone had given him a proper, traditional Uchiha funeral after the Fourth Shinobi World War had ended. Ah, probably not. There were no Uchiha but Sasuke left alive, after all.

As soon as they reached the compound, Izuna was violently snatched from his protesting arms and thrown to Hikaku, before Tajima all but dragged Madara to the clan head's office by his hair. When he finally came out an hour later, it was with twice the bruisings he had already gotten from the battle.

Punishment for failure, his father had intoned, striking Madara again and again and again and again until he finally lost all rage and barked for Madara to leave his sight.

Izuna, with tears running down his reddish cheeks, rushed to Madara's side the second he enters his bedchamber. His younger brother bandaged and stitched what he could, then began soothing the fresh bruises with gentle head pats and peppered kisses, imitating what Madara had done when Izuna had been younger and more prone to accidental falls.

It helped ease the fatigue away.

A/N:

Hoped you guys enjoyed this chapter (ღ˘⌣˘ღ). Please tell me your thoughts~

P.S. Ho ho ho! I'm going on a camping trip tomorrow for my birthday so I won't be updating for a while (⋟﹏⋞)...