Time Heals All Wounds
Summary: The day Tobirama died happens earlier, during Hashirama's time as Hokage when they are at war with almost every mew village but years after Madara's death. Only he didn't die. He somehow ended up in a time not his own and met a familiar face he though gone forever. Can he get back? And what of his new friend?
It was a perfectly normal day. The sun was shinning, people were going about their way, the schools had just let out and that cranky lady from down the street had yelled at him again, which was all indeed perfectly normal. She has been yelling at him ever since he moved into his house. But he didn't give a damn. She can yell her old heart out for all he cared, he wasn't going to listen to her rants, he wasn't obliged to. Which was why he had his earphones in his ears, listening to his favorite songs that he usually reserved for shit days like these.
You'd think a nice day like this would affect his mood a little and make him smile, wouldn't you?
Well, he had never had much luck or sunny days in his life.
In truth, his life sucked. He wasn't sure why but he was bullied in his high school. He'd never actually done anything to anyone to offend them or to come off as a jerk or even as a nerd. Sure, he had a higher average than was, well, average but he had never gloated and he had never turned down someone who might need his help, only people who had demanded he do all their work for them. He was a firm believer that you should do your own work so you can learn but most people in his school apparently didn't appreciate this line of thinking and called him a teacher's pet. Not that any of the teaching staff liked him, either, other than perhaps his gym teacher since he was apparently one of the most fit students he had ever had the pleasure of teaching but even he had a bone to pick with him since he refused to participate in sporting events and competitions, much to the man's disappointment.
Well, it wasn't like he wasn't used to being a disappointment. For pretty much everyone.
He had never cared before and he knew he will never care in this life no matter what might happen. He was who he was and if he didn't damn want to compete, then he won't and no one can make him.
Still, his rather prickly attitude and sharp tongue that never stayed still when someone tried pushing or mocking him had often gotten him in quite some trouble. It pretty much isolated him from everyone at school, since he didn't take anyone's bullshit and he hated fake friends more than anything. His father had always looked on at him with disappointment, mostly because he refused to show off whatever things he was good at - a list that had kept growing and piling up since he learned to read when he was three and that he never did anything 'useful' with it - and earn his prideful father bragging rights. Born as the fourth oldest of eight siblings - the true middle child in every meaning of the word, as a lack of luck would have it - he never really got on all that well with any of his siblings either, all of them of the impression that their father paid him too much attention and that he was unfairly mother's favorite, as though it was his fault for always offering to help her with cooking or chores when they were little. Honestly, he was fine with his younger siblings up until he showed a talent for martial arts and their parents broke their vow to never let their children engage in anything dangerous or aggressive for him. As any young child of their generation would want, his little siblings wanted to be ninjas but weren't allowed to and they hated him for it.
Never mind that none of them could pass the short psychological evaluation for it before they can be accepted in any proper dojo. No one wanted to teach potentially aggressive and cruel people the means to better torture unsuspecting victims and least of all his Sensei, who was always so proud of him for being such a pacifist at heart, despite his fiery temper. He yelled, he huffed and he puffed but he was respectful and he never caused harm to his opponents, no matter which belt he had. After years of training, he had become one of her very best students but he had stopped training and competing and doing martial arts altogether unless he needed the cash to pay rent for that month. It sucked to be self-sufficient at the age of sixteen but he would rather work five jobs than ever return to his father's house, where he might as well be a punching bag for anything his family might need, be it emotional, psychological or physical frustration. He was pretty sure one of his elder sisters had once even insinuated she wanted something that should never happen between siblings from him though that might have been because she'd been drunk enough at their uncle's Christmas party last year that she hadn't known her own name let alone whom she was propositioning.
The only thing he missed about his old life was his mother and he still made sure to go to the grocery shop at least once a month at the exact same time as she did so he could have some private time with her. He'd never miss his father and he had never managed to truly become close with his siblings - for all his family all lived in the same street, practically house to house, they've never been the sort to form strong family bonds between them - but his mother had always been his light at the end of the tunnel. He was used to it by now and he never questioned - not anymore - why the older siblings that had used to tease and play with him had suddenly turned a cold shoulder towards him when he was eight. When he gathered enough money from odd jobs and yard sales, he bought himself a shed of a house that he loved more than he ever had his father's much bigger dwelling and he had never returned there since. It was small and it was rough but the independency was very much appreciated. It was just a good thing that he had a near perfect average and that he was getting some sort of scholarship to help him cover the bills. He wasn't all that sure how he managed to make so many ends meet while maintaining his grades but he had never been a quitter and he had always worked hard so it wasn't too big of a hardship.
If only the other kids at school would stop being such dicks to him.
He sighed and upped the volume of his music when one of his favorite songs, War of Change by Thousand Foot Crutch, blared from his headphones, letting himself close his eyes as he walked the familiar path towards his little home. He had nothing to fear from this little, quiet neighborhood. Only nice old ladies and smiling grandpas lived here with two houses with little boys and one house with a little girl lived here with him and they all knew him and liked him fairly well - well, except that cranky old lady but there was always a rotten apple somewhere in there. And any idiots who might come pass here to make trouble knew better than to disturb or make trouble for anyone because they had tried that a few times since he had moved in and had learned the hard way that he wasn't above kicking their asses if they disturb his nice neighbors who sometimes bought him fruit when he didn't have enough money to but more than instant noodles for his meals. It was always such a nice place to just sit on your front lawn and stare up at the clouds when its sunny or read a book until dusk.
Which is why he was surprised to suddenly find his hair standing on edge and he nearly faltered in his steps. It was ... odd, for him to feel like there was an unknown pair of eyes watching him. He wasn't sure how but ever since he was a kid, he had always been overly aware of other people's presence and position around him, of the exact moment their attention shifted to him. It had often saved him from any teachers figuring out he was doodling in class or reading something else instead of paying attention but it had also saved him of those tugs that had at first thought they could make him submit because he was outnumbered and considerably smaller than them. It had not stopped him from kicking their asses even if it had resulted in a broken nose, both black eyes and a sprained ankle. He had never regretted it.
But this ... This feeling was different. There was someone there, rather close by and yet when he subtly looked around he could find no one, which of course didn't necessarily mean there was no one there, just that they were hiding in his blind spot. And he hated feeling like there was something hiding in his blind spot. He sat at the back of his class so no one could come up behind him. He didn't know why but he often dreamt of a searing pain from his back through his heart to his front and the haunting feeling never left him through his life. His father had often said he was paranoid but he showed no other signs of anxiety or anything of the like so he was never diagnosed with anything but lousy sleep. Medication didn't change anything so he didn't take any. It only dulled his senses and made the sensation stronger when he was awake as though something truly had stabbed him through in the night and he had somehow miraculously survived to deal with the pain.
For some reason, this feeling was similar, familiar in the same way that that pain was. It shouldn't be and yet it was. There was a presence nearby that he should find familiar and yet he couldn't figure out why. Nonetheless, it unnerved him and he had no intention to find out whether he really was just paranoid or if he'll actually get stabbed in the back.
He hurried on down the road, figuring he can take a detour through one of the allies between the rare three story buildings so if someone was following him, they won't know where he lives if he plays his cards right, but he didn't take into account that his trailer might come from above.
He didn't even get to yelp when a man literally jumped down from who knows where, landing right in front of him with some sort of blade in hand. He was dressed weird, in some sort of samurai-like getup but not quite, all blue and black with some white fur around his neck and blue sandals that somehow looked more practical than the sneakers he was wearing. The face guard he had on had some sort of symbol that looked like a leaf and he had some sort of satchel or something strapped to his hips and to his thigh. His eyes were red, his hair white like snow and he had some strange tattoos on his face. He was familiar but not but he still set all the alarm bells in his head ringing. Yet he couldn't turn to run, too stunned to properly react to this development.
"You," the strange man spoke, voice deep, rumbling and confident in a way that sent shivers racing down his spine. The tone, though, was filled with disbelief. "Madara again?"
'What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck!?' Was all that was running through the teens head and he did yelp when the man at least lowered his weapon but was suddenly practically in his face. This was so not a normal day for him!
"Hmm ... You are Uchiha Madara, are you not?"
Afraid of what might happen to him if he were to lie and be caught doing it, Madara nodded his head, if a bit hesitantly. "I- yes. Yes I am. What-?" He immediately shut up when the clearly a professional assassin or a hallucination or whatever this man was moved his knife-like weapon back to his throat.
"What trickery is this, Madara? Have you caught me in a genjutsu? How are you even alive? Where are we? I demand that you take me back to Konoha! I need to help Anija-" The man's words were cut off when he suddenly doubled over and coughed up blood, holding onto his middle with first only his free hand and then dropping his weapon to try and stem the blood flow from a clearly open wound with both. Madara caught him when he pitched forward, forgetting the man's threatening demeanor from moment ago in worry.
"Whoa, easy there, mister! Whoa, that's a lot of blood," he tried not to panic at his own observation, grunting under the man's weight. "Okay, wow, you're really heavy, mister. Can you ease up a bit?" No reply, making Madara almost swallow his own tongue at the thought that the man had only gotten worse. "Mister? Can you hear me?" Still no reply. "Oh shit." He tried to shuffle the man around a bit so he can bring up a hand to touch his neck and feel for a pulse. He nearly sagged in relief when he found one but it was all very short lived when he felt the heat radiating off of pale skin. This guy was running a high fever, no doubt due to the wound, and his skin was clammy to the touch with cold sweat. "You're in serious need of medical attention," he murmured more to himself than the man he was holding up. The teen shifted his weight and took a deep breath, preparing himself to haul a man more than a head taller than himself to the nearest place where he can get some help. Madara knew that if he dropped the guy, there was no way he'll be able to pick him back up. He may be fit but he was no strongman bodybuilder and this guy was nearly twice his weight, whether from his own body mass or the armor he was wearing is yet to be seen.
'How do things like this always happen to me?' He wondered before he started hauling the albino out of the little alley and onto the main street again. At least his neighbors will just assume he had found him like this and was dragging him off to get him help.
The bastard better be grateful when he wakes up.