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 new 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?
The explosion stunned him. Deafened and practically blinded him to the world, leaving him a disoriented heap on the ground as he tried to understand what was wrong and why the world was spinning around him. His only grounding anchor to consciousness and sense was what he knew to be Tobirama and he swore the other said something to him but then he lurched to the side and nearly vomited his breakfast and lunch when the other disappeared, leaving him to deal with this strange motion sickness on his own.
Distantly, he wondered if he was experiencing shock or if it was a concussion. Both were likely possibilities, given what had transpired just moments ago, but his head didn't hurt and no cold set in his body, not as sweat and not as dread. Yes, the world was spinning in front of his eyes but that could very well be from banging his head a little when Tobirama had tackled him. The shinobi had been careful to shield all of him from the blast so he wasn't even injured and Tobirama's hand had cradled his head, too, so there went that theory.
And yet Madara still felt as though he was floating, as though he could not ground himself in the hear and now.
(Explosions were nothing new, a part of his mind whispered gleefully. Your life was full of them. You liked causing them. Fire is in your blood, embrace it!)
People were screaming and wailing and coughing and calling out for help or offering it all around him. There was no one in his immediate sight, which he found as some sort of relief as his vision finally settled, the world no longer spinning around. He almost wished it hadn't, because he now had a perfectly clear view of Tobirama fighting two monstrosities (His instincts screamed at him that they were dangerous and that he should either fight or flee) just outside the large hole those two assholes had blown in the theftshop he had brought Tobirama to in order to find him some cheap clothes. Madara had relied on this very shop for necessities since he had moved out of his parents' house. He had known he'd find something for his friend. He had known the owner and the employees.
(Hisaka-san was dead, wasn't she? She had no shinobi to protect her from the blast.)
A part of his almost daily life was gone. And it was those bastards fault and now they were going after Tobirama, his very first friend!
(Protect, another part of his mind whispered as gleefully as the first one had. Blood and honor. Protect and love. It is in your blood, in your soul. Don't deny your nature. Protect!)
He tried to stand up but could barely sit up without his head spinning. The clash of steel on steel rang in his ears almost like a familiar symphony he had had no idea where he had heard. Grunts and sounds of impact of skin against skin, gasps of pain or surprise, the tearing of flesh ... It was all familiar. Blood in his nose, ash on his tongue, fire in his soul, dirt on his face, wind in his hair, his hands were dauntingly empty, as though something should be there but wasn't. He felt off balance. The world felt skewed, or perhaps it was his place in it or his perception of it that no longer felt correct.
A sound reached his ear that had no place in the battle before him. The different sense of familiarity from it broke him enough out of his daze to search through the wreckage until he uncovered his phone, blinking at it uncomprehendingly. The ID flashing at him told him it was his mother calling him and that, too, felt like it made no sense.
The song and the words almost didn't register but as soon as they did, he felt like he was completely lost to this world.
There's a fire burning inside of me
Cold steel calls out my name
I'm tempted to give into the rage
Torn apart by this affliction
Locked up inside myself
This life is much too young to fade
I ran away from the pain
Always breaking down inside
Incomplete, but now I see
This won't be the end of me
He knew the song, of course, it was one of his favorites even. End of me by Ashes Remain. He'd heard it a thousand times before and yet it had never shaken his world quite this much. He felt like he was hearing it for the first time. It was just a ringtone. He heard the same lyrics every time someone called him, even if he literally had only a handful of numbers saved in his phone book. Something had always drawn him to the song, he knew that much, but never before had he felt like it was written specifically for him, never had it felt like it was about him.
Images flashed before his mind's eye, images he didn't know what to make of.
A battlefield. Two sides. swords clashing. Fire from his side and yet he felt no fear, no danger from it. Safe. Familiar. Home. There was a sword in his hand, made specifically for him judging by the size, weight and balance. It, too, was familiar, an extension of his arm. His grip was sure, gentle, elegant. Familiar. He breathed flames at his enemies and the opposite side burned.
The weapon before him was an honor. It has been passed down from generation to generation, from clan head to clan heir almost for as long as the clan had existed. It was presented always to the clan's protector. The weight was new and foreign when he took it in hand and yet it felt more natural to hold this weapon, the great gunbai, than any other weapon he had ever handled. This weapon felt like it was made with him in mind even if it was dozens of times older than he was. A stranger-but-not gazed down at him with red eyes, approval and pride shinning through though there was no reaction on the man's face. Something shifted.
Red. All he could see was red. Everything was red. It was as though his world was colored in blood. Details, large and smaller than small. Movements, almost frozen in a moment as he absorbed and saw each one of them like in slow motion. He could predict where the blade will land. The swell in that man's chakra told him something big was coming. He would die here, he knew. It did not matter. His world was destroyed, he had no reason to live, his brother was dead! He fought, new power, new limits - all still not yet learned. His eyes stung. They had yet to heal, settle properly. None of that mattered in comparison to the emptiness in his heart. The only thing he felt was grief and rage.
His dream stood before him. His friend, now his opponent once more, face intent and determined. He felt relief. He had left - he never should have. Something found him in his grief. Offered him things he knew were impossible. Denying it had only bound him, his heart, his will. He had no choice. He could not even call out for help. His words were not his own, spoken by his voice but not by his heart. He had left for the dream to continue, to enable it to survive the scrutiny and uncertainty. He was not welcome. Giants clashed. The being beneath his feet was just as trapped. He owed it to the other, if nothing else, to set them free. Only he could control the other but that thing was controlling him. They tried to fight it. Only death will free them.
'So be it,' he thought, setting things into motion. He would not be anyone's puppet. No matter the pain of being incomplete without his family, his clan, his dream, his friend. No matter how many times he had to break himself to set himself free, he will not be a puppet.
He felt it, the exact second the other attempted his trick. He hid a smirk in his tall, wide collar and his wild hair. The sting of steel was a relief.
'Why had you gone for the back, my friend?' A part of him sneered but he mostly just felt relief. He was so tired. He had no energy to feel angry. Instead, he let himself fade, relying on his last attempt to save himself to be effective. He might be tired but his soul cried in outrage and grief. There would be no rest, no peace for him in the Pure Lands like this. He had known that the moment he realized his own clan feared him.
'So be it,' he thought, letting death take him. Empty. Cold. Just as he had thought it to be. He enjoyed the moment. Solitude was something he was used to even in a room full of people. He wished he could have said goodbye to the two left in this world that still cared for him, but he could not give them the opportunity. The thing will try to take him soon.
He gave it no chance.
Fire burned through him, brighter than ever before as all of his being lit up in flames. He was dead, so he felt no pain as he turned to ashes.
And like a phoenix, he drew breath again, he opened his eyes again to find the world red and see Tobirama taking off in the direction of his house, those two brutes taking off after him, yelling taunts and death threats. The world flickered between red and its normal colors but Madara paid it no heed as he found his feet pounding the pavement as he ran after the three fighting shinobi. Something told him Tobirama stood no chance against those two, against their weapons. He needed help and the only one who knew this was Madara. So he ran, cellphone and wallet forgotten, danger forgotten, he ran, blood soaring through his veins like it had never done before. The only thing even remotely similar to this sensation had been when he had been competing in martial arts tournaments, where skill, control and quick thinking was the difference between victory and defeat. He found himself running faster than he ever had before. The world blurred in his peripheral vision and yet stayed impossibly sharp every time his vision burned red.
He was still too late, he realized as soon as he heard the explosions and shouts and clashing of steel on steel silence. He pushed himself faster and faster until he finally came upon a scene that truly made his vision stay red. He felt like it was embedding itself in his brain, carving itself into his memory, something he will never be able to forget, to unsee. Tobirama, his friend, the first person he cared for besides his mother since he quit marial arts. Tobirama, the first person to treat him with any sort of kindness in years other than the woman who had given birth to him, the first one to encourage him in his passions, to help him and keep him company. Tobirama, a person he cared for perhaps more than he should, sprawled on the ground, on his stomach, one ankle swollen and at a slightly unnatural angle, a kunai in his opposite calf and thigh, his own beautiful katana stabbed through his hands.
Tobirama, bloodied and beaten and bruised, hair disheveled and clothing a mess, armor scratched and eyes glazed in pain, a strange blade (dangerdangerdangerpoweroldlegenddangerancientdanger!) hanging over his head, an executioner's blade.
His eyes stung, something inside of him burst and Madara was moving before he even realized what was happening. The two behemoths of men were sent flying with a single kick from him, landing several meters away from where he gracefully landed in front of his friend. His house was half ruined, no roof on the walls and something was on fire, but he couldn't give a fuck about any of that. His neighbors were watching from a not safe at all distance but he couldn't focus on that, either. His eyes never left the two dazed, surprised men as they staggered to their feet and stared at him in the most flabbergasted way the teen had ever seen before. He clenched his fists and bared his teeth.
"Do not touch him," he said in a dangerously quiet tone, the noise around him becoming muffled as the very air around them seemed to become thick, suffocating. His neighbors fell to their knees, the two behemoths seemed to momentarily waver on their own feet and Tobirama made a grunt behind him.
"Don't," Tobirama said in a strained voice but Madara ignored him. "Run, damn it."
"Shut up, idiot Senju." That, at least, seemed to stun the man enough for him to stay quiet. Pleased, he turned his full attention back to the two bigger men in front of him.
"Who the fuck are you?" The one with the blond hair that almost looked like old, dirty gold asked, face contorting in a very unflattering way, the whisker marks on his cheeks only completing the picture of a demon-like appearance along with the red bubbling chakra in the vague shape of a fox. "Another little bug for us to squash?"
"Brother, look at his eyes!" The other, with silver hair, hissed in something like awe and fear and eagerness and trepidation. Madara could not help but snort at the idiot. No one looked him in the eyes unless they desired death and madness. Not even the bravest of men had ever dared. Only an utter, suicidal fool would look him in the eyes.
(He had no idea why he was so sure of this notion but he knew it to be true. Down to his very soul, he knew it to be true.)
"Let me see you try. You won't like the consequences," he answered the taunt back with one of his own, sneering at his opponents and their arrogance.
"Why, you!" The blond brother growled, hand tightening on his weapon and Madara fell into a stance not at all like any he had learned in the dojo and yet it felt more familiar than breathing.
"Madara, don't," Tobirama tried to say, only to cough up a bubble of blood and Madara felt his anger rising even higher at the gurgle it came out with. Without looking back behind him, his arm still found the sword with perfect ease and carefully pulled it out in one swift motion without further widening the wound.
"Madara?" He heard the silver haired one mutter under his breath but paid him no more attention than to keep him in sight as his target.
"Heal your wounds, Tobirama. Leave these weaklings to me."
That seemed to be enough for the gold haired one to snap, rage coloring his face. "Die, bastard!" With a burst of chakra and speed, he launched himself at the teen, only to falter when Madara easily met his strange looking blade with Tobirama's sword. The pause was more than enough for Madara to push back and spin around, pivoting on one foot so he can slam the other in the idiot's side, sending him flying with a grunt again. The other one jumped into action to help his sibling, but he appeared apprehensive as he came to stand in front of the much shorter, dark haired fighter. He attempted to swat at him with the big fan he was holding but Madara ducked, went under his guard, emerged on the other side and stabbed his borrowed sword straight through the other's back, severing his spine and spinal cord.
He wasn't sure how he knew that the other will recover relatively quickly, but this will keep him down long enough for him to deal with the other brother adequately enough. He needed to keep them both occupied at all times so they don't think of getting to the injured Senju and finishing off the job or using him to distract Madara.
The gold haired one was back, muttering some incantation that lit up the strange rope he had wrapped around his arm and Madara saw the exact patterns of the sealing chakra on the thing. He leapt to the side and again into the air when his opponent started whipping it in his direction. He escaped the first few slashes but then the aura around the rope spouted additional ropes and Madara cursed under his breath as they came right at him from all side, a wider range, leaving him with less room to maneuver. He knew nothing good would happen if those things caught him. Still, despite this range and the speed of the incoming attacks, Madara saw an opening and was fast enough to take it. He slid right behind the gold haired brother, making a deep cut in his thigh since he was already there, but his true goal was behind the brute.
It was big, it was a horrid orange and it had a stylized kanji for lightning on it, a big white rope around its throat and a bid cork like lid. The big, flat based pithos was radiating as much power and danger as the sword and while he was unsure of how he knew this was exactly what he needed, Madara knew that overthinking things in a fight will cost him damage and in this fight, it's more than just tournament points. So he just followed his instincts or whatever it was that was telling him to go for the pot.
"Yo, jackass! Not so though when facing your better, are you!"
"Why you little-!" The other cut off, horror filling his face when he saw what his much smaller opponent was holding and Madara grinned even as he felt a bit light headed when suddenly a large portion of his energy was drained out of him. It was nowhere near enough to make him stumble and he recovered quickly enough to watch the weapon work its magic, sucking one of his opponents right in. He closed the pithos and took a few deep, ragged breaths before he felt himself return to normal, his energy distributing itself back to normal.
"Ginkaku!" The silver one called out when he realized what had happened to his partner. Madara felt no fear when he saw the horror morph into fear before the just barely healed remaining brother charged at him. He avoided, taking the pithos with him in case the other tried to use it against him in a similar fashion. The silver haired one just paused long enough to pick up his brother's fallen sword and came at Madara again with a bolt of lightning hurled in his direction. Reacting without much thought on his part, as though his body already instinctively knew what it had to do, he dropped the pot beside him and felt his hand go through a series of movements he thought he'd seen Tobirama make, if not in this order. Regardless, when he was finished, he felt his chakra rising to the surface and a great gust of wind blew from him, countering the lightning and rendering it useless.
"Is that all you got?" He called out to the other and in his rage, the silver brother fell for the same tactic - Madara always had been good at sarcasm and taunting people - shouting curses at him, only to realize what he had done. He had answered his call and the pot reacted, opening up and sucking him in. Madara braved the draining of chakra, though a bead of sweat made it down his forehead this time, but he didn't so much as sway. The pot closed and he sighed in relief, tension draining out of his body in waves. It was over.
Silence dominated his street, no one daring to speak or make any sort of sound, the only thing that could be heard were his own panting breaths.
"Madara?" He heard the wonder in the familiar voice and turned around, almost immediately falling on his knees in front of Tobirama, who had pulled out the weapons from his legs and had healed his hands and more serious stab wounds. His ankle still looked twisted and there were plenty of other things that needed healing. He still looked mostly okay, though the breathless way he said his name had the teen worried.
"Are you bleeding out again? Should I get bandages or do I honestly need to bring you to the hospital this time? Did you hit your head? Does anything hurt more than everything else?" He would have probably continued asking questions long into the night with the worry gnawing at his gut, but he was startled into stunned silence when a pale, dirty hand came up to cup his face almost reverently, a thumb brushing gently just under his right eye. "Tobirama?"
In the distance, he could hear sirens. The authorities will be here soon and he had no idea what to tell them. None of this had exactly been subtle, after all.
"Madara," the other breathed again, voice heavy in disbelief and something akin to both relief and sorrow. "You've woken your Sharingan."
"... What?"