A/N: Firstly, I'd like to sincerely apologize for this chapter coming out a week or so later than planned. I hope none of you were worried that this fic was abandoned, because i definitely have no intention of doing that! There are two legitimate reasons (besides me being lazy) as to why it was late, and that is a. I got distracted by my new rp hashirama blog on tumblr and b. I'm not so good at writing action scenes and wanted to take this slow to make sure it came out alright! Which leads me to my next point that I'd really love some criticism on how the fight scenes went. Anything, good or bad c:

Secondly, I'd like to dedicate this chapter not only to everyone who reviewed and messaged me, but my friend Jortee who constantly encouraged me to write.

And last, but not least.. enjoy!

Weeks passed by as they often did — in a blur. Between the constant training his father was pushing him into and the free time he spent with his brothers, Hashirama never found the opportunity to go searching for Madara. While this was disappointing, the truth was that this training was necessary. Rudimentary basics were not the most interesting thing to practice, but relearning them was the best way to readjust to this body. His mokuton and other high level jutsu could not be used by this weaker body so he would have to rely on, above all else, taijutsu.

It was early morning, the yellow of the sun peaking out through the horizon, and both of his brothers were still sleeping peacefully in their respective beds. Hashirama, however, was wide awake. He could not even dream of rest as apprehension choked him like a thick, suffocating fog. Even if he maintained his typically optimistic thoughts, what he knew would come next was not something he could overlook. This was serious.

"Hashirama, Tobirama, Itama, wake up and prepare for battle!" the furious voice of their father echoed throughout the household at ten minutes past daybreak, anger dripping off of each syllable and shaking the beams that supported the house.

Hashirama was already dressed in his usual battle attire, properly equipped with shuriken and kunai, and out of his room before Butsuma had the chance to come barging in and toss him out. "What is it?" he asked softly, dreading the answer he knew would come.

"The bastard Uchiha are approaching."

"And we are to..?"

"Assist in the battle, what else!?"

Tobirama and Itama scurried out nearly instantaneously, mixmatched hair paired with baggy eyes and the other's narrowed and focused.

"They thought it would be so easy to ambush us.." Tobirama drifted off, shaking his head in disbelief. "Alright, lets go, Hashirama."

"Itama as well!" their father ordered sharply, catching the younger two by surprise. It took a moment for his words to reach Itama, but when they did there was apparent fear, but also determination, in his eyes.

"Father, usually you place him at the—" Tobirama intervened.

"I said, Itama as well! Dare you question me at a time like this!?

"Reconsider! We don't need Itama on the battlefield, if he dies he'll be nothing but wasted potential!" Hashirama interrupted, daring to defy Butsuma's wrath at a time like this, while he was boiling and seething with anger.

"You little shit! Are none of you shinobi!?"

"Itama is still a child" Tobirama explained softly, refusing to downcast his eyes as they met with irate dark ones.

"I cannot believe even you, Tobirama, are stupid enough to have this argument now."

"Hey..I can do this guys..really!" Itama stated with an attempt of confidence.

"We can't let you take that risk..not you too. Not after what happened with Kawarama."

Hashirama barely got the words out of his mouth before a sharp pain shot through his jaw. Butsuma had put all of his fury into that punch; a common occurrence when he was disobeyed.

"You are spouting absolute nonsense! You are men and will die as such if need be!"

Tobirama usually had more sense then to openly agree with Hashirama in front of their father, for defiance only made the situation worse, but the fear for his brother's life left him with no choice.

"Please..father..Hashirama and I would rather not see another sibling die."

Now both brothers stood tall, awaiting whatever punishment the red-faced man decided to give out. But whatever he was going to do next, whether it be scream, beat them, or order them around, was interrupted.

"I'd be happy to fight, really. They'll get what's coming to them!"

Everyone turned towards the youngest in the room, the one who had only spoken up only once on the matter as he had been overshadowed by the louder and more determined of the group. Itama was clearly nervous because it would be his first real battle. But aside from that, he truly appeared sure of himself. If his brothers could handle it then surely he would be able to.

"Hmph," their father finally muttered under his breath, turning away from them, "Lets go."

"No!"

Butsuma did not so much as glance in Hashirama's direction.

"Don't worry, brother." Tobirama said softly, noticing the way his hand was clenched and shaking. "We will protect one another."

Hashirama didn't calm down right away, however he realized that there was no possibility of keeping his youngest brother from the battlefield. His father was too stern, too stubborn and stuck in the past to ever see that it was the children, not the war, that was the future. This senseless fighting was only a piece of the past, a speck of dust compared to the vast amounts of time ahead of them. Itama's death would put a hindrance on the glory of the future. So, if he could not prevent his brother from seeing death, he would prevent him from becoming it. Not just he, but Tobirama as well, would protect their last brother. They would not let him out of their sight.

"Alright."

Their silent, skillful footsteps managed to keep their location relatively hidden as they bolted from the house to join the bloody battlefield, following not their father but the smoldering forest and the puffs of smoke vanishing into the morning sky. Their father hurried towards the front of the mass, eager to slay his enemies, while the children headed for the smaller scaled fights and deeper into the shadows.

If they turned to the left, the situation would be even worse. Not because of any current threat, because as far as Hashirama could tell there was none, but because that was where his youngest brother had been ambushed and murdered by several of the Uchiha in this very battle. His nostrils remembered the strong stench of stagnant, potent blood staining the earth while the air had been stale and the atmosphere thick with dread. It was not a scene he wanted to remember, and even less did he want to see it again.

Logistically speaking, they should turn more to the right because Hashirama could easily sense the power fluctuating in the distance, pure hatred taking form of chakra . As men of war, it was their duty to try and take out that threat. But as children, and as an older brother, Hashirama felt more of an obligation to protect his siblings. So there was only one place they could go: straight ahead.

"We have to stay together, alright?" Hashirama questioned, however there was no room for disagreement. This time, they would not be splitting up as they had been taught to. There was nobody in the direct vicinity, however clashes became audible as they ventured further into the abyss of blood lust.

Each tree above shielded the boys from the bright rays of sunlight; its leaves fluttered around and danced with them as pressured steps built on its branches. As each traveling foot pressed into the chipping bark, that which protected them — the safety of their territory — chipped away rapidly. Hundreds of chakra presences flickered throughout the battlefield like dust did across the globe. It was only a matter of time until they encountered one, because they were entering the area where battles would be won and lost and, like any other war, many would die.

The sky was dim, covered in smoke filled clouds and hiding the morning sun, shielding it from the raging fires. The trees sizzled and cracked in the distance and the battlefield was set ablaze, burning through whatever it touched as if it were paper. The heat stretched far and wide. It radiated off of every smouldering look of tension and ridged rivalry, any remaining embers of decency swept away by the inferno. But warmth contradicted the coldness inside each fighter's heart and while fire was free, man was trapped in their mindset and ways.

All three brothers could feel the resilient loathing spilling out from both sides of the sea of men, and every time one escaped a brush with death's crashing wave another was later found washed up on the coastline. The salty, stinging taste of fury lodged itself in your throat, forcing you to gurgle and choke just as your boiling blood poured into your half beaten lungs.

Noises that were once in the distance now erupted in their eardrums, the pop! and bam! of weapons and jutsu sizzling the sound waves as they crashed against one another; instead of focusing on that, Hashirama found himself listening to the sudden, violent gusts of wind that ripped through the forest. The wind, like he, knew the stories of the past, present, and future because it has existed for so long. But it was not soft and gentle, it did not whisper its tale. The gale was like mocking laughter, blowing through the elements as if it were mere air, weightless and invisible. It was in power. It was in control. And it guided what it wished wherever it should go. It guided the burning asphyxiation of flames towards the relentless, sturdy earth which they walked on and allowed the weapons of mankind to whoosh through its air to flood the currents with the deceased.

Hashirama, like the wind, knew there were only suvivors, not winners, in the repulsive abomination known as war. It was sickening and heart wrenching and left too many dead, broken, and buried, lost in the tide of revenge and spitefulness.

Today, in this time of war, the wind chose to be vicious.

They were boys. Boys that had seen injustice, boys that had seen loathing, and boys that had seen death — but because they were boys, they could never be true men of war, men that defined what it meant to be vicious. They were strong and determined, but also weak with inexperience. The exception was Hashirama, a true man of war in his mind, but because his body was that of a boy not even he could do more than jump out of the way in a mixture of self-preservation and adrenaline as several shuriken shot through the air. The enemy, filled with murderous intent and overwhelming pride and hatred, followed him and his brothers as they dashed through the trees, luring their opponent until the moment was right to strike back.

Run and dodge, dodge and run. That was the life of a shinobi at war. There was little time to breathe or blink and a moment could easily become your last. While Hashirama threw shuriken at his well-hidden pursuer, in return weapons were hurled by the dozen at Tobirama and, to a lesser extent, Itama. But Itama was young, barely nine years old, and this was his first real battle. He dodged most of the weapons hurled at him, but it was his fear of not dodging that eventually caused him to lose focus and trip over his own feet, stumbling over a tree branch and falling to the ground.

That was not to say he fell to his death; any shinboi of even the most basic training knew how to land on his feet. But because Hashirama refused to let his youngest brother fight alone and because Tobirama had better sense then to single himself out, they both followed him, landing with a small thump in front of him and turning to meet their opponent head on as he followed suit.

"Tobirama..is it?"

Itama peered out from behind his brothers and noticed that the Uchiha who caught up to them wasn't much older then they were. He was holding a kunai firmly in his hand, outstretching it as if he would charge offensively at the group any second. Both his brothers had theirs out as well, so he fumbled in his pack to take his out.

"Hm..I knew it was you" Tobirama responded with a gruff voice of acknowledgement.

"You could have stopped running and saved your energy. It's impossible for you to outrun me, especially with that deadweight brat you're hiding behind you."

"Hey, I'm not a dead weight! I'll show—" he started, trying to push his way to the front with confidence, but instead he was held back by an unusually calm and quiet Hashirama.

"What is this, our third time fighting? Fourth?" he continued, ignoring the interruption. "I'm starting to lose count..you and the dull personalities of your clan kind of just..blend in with one another. "

"You have that same mouth as ever, Izuna."

"And you're as boring as ever..probably still as weak, too."

A familiar smirk grew on the white-haired Senju's lips, paired with an arrogance he often found himself possessing while in his recent rival's presence. His grip on his kunai hardened and he leaned closer, ready to strike. "Why don't we find out who's the weak one?"

"Three against one isn't very fair, brother." Hashirama pointed out, stepping forward slightly, however a sudden bang abruptly ended the conversation.

Their bodies reacted before they even knew what has caused the sound, quickly jumping out of the way to avoid the heat that prickled against their skin. They landed on separate branches, all four managing to avoid the raging flames that were likely caused by a deadly explosive that consumed the trees nearby.

Before the Senju were given any time to recuperate, three men in the standard Uchiha robes rushed from behind them and kicked the youngest of the boys, the weakest link, to the other side where fire danced against the edges of brush. Itama's small body crashed into old bark that was lucky enough to escape the inferno for the time being, a breathy hiss in his throat and loud clatter of armor and tree. The older men could not continue their assault, however, because Hashirama stepped in between the oncoming battle protectively. These Uchiha didn't waste time with petty words, instead charging at him with an arrogant smirk and weapons in hand.

The first to approach him from the front wielded a battle scythe, sharpened and stained with the blood of his family, and he charged with silent fury and loathing. Hashirama had few weapons and an even smaller extension of jutsu available to him, however the situation was far from hopeless. He ducked low, easily avoiding the high swing to his head, but the second man thought to use this as an opening and lunged at his back with his katana.

Itama watched as his oldest brother was about to be injured, too frozen in place to do anything. He wanted to help, to jump up and protect Hashirama, but horror held him in place. He wanted to prove himself so badly, but now it was becoming evident just how afraid he was. He was shaking, glued to the ground by his nerves, and the third Uchiha took note of this weakness and charged at him with a kunai, thirsty for the young one's blood.

Simultaneously, two rivals battled among the high tops of the trees: duck under a branch, dodge the weapon, jump out of the way, clash eye to eye, and do it all over again. Where Tobirama shot through every gap, Izuna followed. And where the younger Uchiha dashed out from the shadows, Tobirama would match each footstep without a second thought. They chased one another as if the forest didn't exist and the only thing that lived was their passion for victory.

No one was expecting Hashirama to predict an Uchiha's move like their rare kekkei genkai, so it was no surprise when the blade sunk its teeth into the boy's skin. What did take them off guard, however, was when the body disappeared with a puff of smoke, a wooden log standing in its place.

That snapped Itama out of his panic, running at the enemy with his own kunai. The Uchiha was older and equipped with a much larger frame compared to the younger boy, but Itama did not let that discourage him any longer as he realized he had to do this for the people he loved because that was what they expected of him. He swung with determination and a sense of pride paired with the need to be useful. He wouldn't fail his family any longer.

Their blades crashed, metal against metal, and they both pushed against one another with as much force as they could muster. For a moment, they were at a standstill. But then the Uchiha suddenly relaxed his hold, a gasp passing through his lips and blood gathering at his lower midsection. His scream was silent as his eyes rolled back in his head and when Hashirama removed the kunai he had thrust into his back, he slumped down to the cold ground without so much as a groan.

A victory grin quickly grew on Itama, ready to take down the other two, but in that moment Hashirama's eyes were on the body that lay curled on the ground and not so much as a flicker of a smile was on his face. However, he near instantly recovered and glanced back at the other two who were no longer in a state of confusion and did the only thing he could. He charged.

Hashirama was sight to admire while he fought, even as a kid. He was small, yet every step held a fierceness that influenced his speed and a hidden power from within that unleashed itself when he needed it most. Despite this, he was not perfect. As he fought the remaining two Uchiha alongside his younger brother, sometimes he slipped up. Itama would lunge at the enemy, creating an opening, but Hashirama would fail to make use of it in time. Sometimes he found himself unable to dodge dangerous attacks, and when the Uchiha retaliated by cornering him against the trees, he took a hit to his right shoulder. More often, however, he escaped these situations for two reasons.

The first was simple: he trained day after day. In a couple more weeks he would be more than just accustomed to his size, but pairing the strength he had now with his ability to outsmart most of his opponents made him a dangerous enough threat on the battlefield.

The second was perhaps even more important: Itama. He did not necessarily have enough strength yet to be a full threat, but watching each other's back was convenient enough and gave his youngest brother the experience he needed. Bit by bit, Hashirama could see him improving in this skirmish alone. As they moved from branch to branch, dodging and landing strikes back and forth, Itama's agility increased. When blades collided time and time again, Itama became stronger. And every time Itama reacted, his decisions became quicker. He had many marks to prove that he was weaker, but every breath that filled his tired lungs proved that he was learning. And if learning would keep him alive, Hashirama would do his best to allow him that privilege.

They were separated momentarily, drawing out the chase until the moment was right to lunge forward with all their might, when Hashirama crossed paths with Tobirama. He was fighting just as fiercely, however their difference lay in just how obvious it was that his aim was to kill. Even if his hands would tremble, even his eyes would drift away, and even if this murder would haunt him for many years to come, he was fully prepared to do it.

He was also prepared to die for the good of his clan, but that was unlikely to happen. Tobirama didn't plan on giving up so easily.

One Uchiha was after Hashirama, his katana overpowering the Senju and pushing him into defense. The Uchiha swiped his feet under, attempting to knock the other to the ground. That didn't work. But a quick punch to the jaw did land, momentarily knocking the wind out of the kid. When he recovered, it was a violent fight full of jumping, weaving, and heavy kicks and punches that threatened to break limbs.

A jab to the neck brought one of them down.

Meanwhile, the other Uchiha was doing what again was the wisest choice in battle, gaining up on the most fragile of the group. Morality wasn't considered, not when so many of their clansman lay six feet under because of Senju. To them, the Senju were nothing more than pray and they were the hunters. His faces scrunched up, the corner of their lips pulling upwards as he taunted Itama, calling him out on cowardice. Itama responded not with words, but with involuntary pride as he charged at them, willing to do just about anything to prove himself. They toyed with him, believing that by the time help came he would be dead and tossed to the side like a broken rag doll.

"Little runt," one of the Uchiha taunted, luring him further into demise. "Weak, pathetic senju bastard," he paused for a moment before continuing, "How does it feel to know half of your sorry excuse for a clan is paying for what they've done by serving their time in hell."

"Don't talk about us as if you know us!" Itama shouted, throwing his kunai towards the enemy in anger only to have him deflect it by the edge of his scythe. And that was when it became serious.

"Tch, shut up you brat. At least put up a little more of a challenge." he hissed in response, retaliating with force and swinging his weapon with full intent on beheading the child. But the sneaky bastard dodged, so he had to resort to kicking him straight in the gut. It worked. His next move was quick, easy. All he had to do was run up to the little brat and chop his head off.

It was in that fraction of a second as his head was about to be severed, when the man was at his closest, that Itama noticed the smallest things about him. He was tall for his age, couldn't be more than a year or two older than Tobirama, and he had the lightest eyes he had ever seen on an Uchiha. His hair was short, also lighter than most, yet he wore it up. It was shaggy, awkward for the shape of his face. He wore the traditional robes of his clan, yet they were too big for his build, too baggy for a shinobi to risk wearing. And in his eyes lingered some sort of torment and anguish that Itama could only take advantage of, not understand. It was because of this pain that he was unstable, irrational, and it was how Itama escaped in that fraction of a second, ducking low and barely missing the blade that threatened to sever his head.

Meawhile, Tobirama and Izuna fought against each other with equal power. Every clash was equal, every injury reciprocated. But while Izuna was angry, Tobirama was calm. They were playing a game of cat and mouse and, like the usual story went, the cat would win. Tobirama was indeed the cat, jumping around with a delicate speed that he prided himself in having, and Izuna was the arrogant mouse who truly believed he would win.

They jumped around a bit more, a combination of jutsu and weapons flying through the air, when Tobirama was given his opportunity. Izuna had jumped down from the tree branches, running across messy dirt and hoping to escape, when instead he found a barrier of fire burning up the trees around him. Tobirama had the dark haired, slender, and mischievous Uchiha nearly cornered from all sides, unable to escape or keep up with the Senju's quickness. All it would take was one more shot; if he threw his kunai right now, if his aim didn't falter, the damage done could lead to a fatal wound.

Izuna watched the next few seconds unfold as if time was warped. Every second felt like an eternity.

Kunai bombarded him. All he could do was run as fast as possible, kicking up more dirt in the process to try and hide himself. But he saw it, saw as one particular kunai penetrated the cloudy grime that shielded him from view, saw as the blade gleamed at the prospect of meeting his flesh, and saw as the point of the sharpest edge lunged straight towards his chest. He saw it, yet he couldn't dodge it. He tensed, but otherwise watched and waited for what could be his death, his teeth clenched tightly, hands held out defensively, and eyes narrowed.

"No!"

He heard the voice, felt the swoosh of air that brushed against his skin and sensed an all too familiar presence. It was a chakra he would recognize anywhere, a chakra he always admired and strived to match. It belonged to the person he cared most about in this world, the person he would gladly die for because this person had always, always shown him love when no one else did.

Dust slowly fell back to the earth, revealing to Tobirama what he already knew had happened.

Izuna blinked the debris out of his eyes, finding himself uninjured and as alive as he had been before he left for the battle. And he knew why, of course. It always seemed to be his brother that saved him.

He looked at the back in front of him, from the ninja sandals he wore, to the pants and bandages on his legs, and up to the battle armor—

Battle armor!?

It was not his older brother who stood only a foot or two away, not Madara who held his hands out protectively. It was a Senju who was no doubt sadistic in his intentions. It wasn't only infuriating to be treated with such little respect, but also humiliating. How dare they mock him and his family name by going as far as to get in the way of a battle just to steal the kill. Did they think so lowly of the Uchiha? Did that disgustingly twisted and traitorous clan think that they, the superior race of shinobi, would stand for such atrocity?

And then he noticed his only brother left, the one who he knew had come (unnecessarily, of course) for him. He was the one who had jumped in Izuna's battle to protect him, not the Senju; he was the one only a few feet from their enemy, the final weapon that had been headed straight for him in his brothers sturdy hands.

Izuna watched with stubborn eyes, yet he waited almost impatiently as Madara turned around to look back and check up on him. He wanted to shout across the field, tell his older brother that he didn't need protecting, or perhaps look away and pretend like he hadn't been in danger, or maybe, maybe even give a quick thank you because surely he would have been hurt if Madara had not stepped in the way and that was something that they as brothers were not only expected, but glad to do. Or, as logic whispered in his ear, it would be best to simply save the words for later and kill these two inferior children who were not even worth fighting. He would be reassured of the answer once their eyes met, once two tired gray eyes connected only to turn away and sneer at the pathetic lot they had to take down. He craved the guidance, would even be willing to admit so when they were alone, and so as the muscles in Madara's neck tensed Izuna a took a battle stance, ready to hear out the gleam in his eyes. He saw the flicker of something as they met gazes, and he saw that passion, for a moment believing it meant time to strike. But then he noticed that the deep set charcoal lit up with flames that burned in his direction, but no longer at him.

Madara clutched the kunai firmly, eyes widened and locked onto the person between he and Izuna.

"Get away from my little brother."

It was a jab to neck, thats all. Nothing more, nothing less. Battle was like that; One hit could be your end. It wasn't nearly as dramatic as in the tales he used to hear. But he wasn't dead, no, his opponent had given him mercy. But was it really mercy, to know you've failed? To know that everything you've worked for was tossed in the trash, treated like nothing, pushed away and shoved to the side. He was meant to be dead, should be dead, and yet he had been spared. Why?

"Why?" He had asked, no, pleaded. "I'm..an.." Why..why..why?

"You are not your namesake. You are a person, one with individuality and a personality, one who believes in some things and not in others. This is a war for nothing if it is only fought because of the family name you were born with. You are not just 'Uchiha', you are 'human'."

The ache of decades consumed the words that reached his ears, but it was those dark eyes, familiar yet from a time so long ago, that made Hashirama's entire body freeze for an instant. His face was awe stricken, skin slacken and lips parted slightly. The breath in his lungs was stagnant and sickly for the longest second, eventually rushing through desperately. But his eyes could not pull away, a magnetic pull, a string of fate, their thread of destiny.. all three tied them together and..and—

How long had it been? How long since they first met by the river? How long since they called for a truce?

How long since he killed Madara?

But then he remembered this was a different time, a different world, and it would have different outcomes. He shouldn't worry.

"..I wasn't going to hurt him." he assured, his battle stance slipping into a more casual, yet equally dangerous, posture.

"Tch, obviously. You think I'd let you?"

Tobirama was the only one who seemed even the least bit sensible. Why in the world would Hashirama try to stop his attack and then go as far as to chat with the Uchiha like they were at dinner?

"You're lucky to still be alive, Izuna."

A snort could be heard, an obnoxious, cocky one that begged to be acknowledged, and the younger Uchiha took several wily steps toward Tobirama until his shoulder nearly brushed against Madara's.

"Luck had nothing to do with it," he scoffed, a hand reaching for his hip in a childish pose. "I could have easily dodged that stupid attack."

"You shouldn't be so ungrateful.."

"Tobirama.." Hashirama cut in, just as Izuna charged for his enemy with a scowl that pulled at his upper lip. But it was a failed attempt, not because he was slow, but because someone stepped in.

"Izuna, wait!"

All heads turned to the voice that spoke, the boy with spiky hair and a voice that demanded attention, and Madara ordered something next that took them all a bit off guard, save for Hashirama who watched the tiniest bit of admiration.

"They're not worth our time"

Izuna's expression twisted, taken aback by the suggestion. His brother never backed down from a battle.

"What are talking about!? We can do this easily.."

"Of course we can" he agreed, a smirk making its way onto his features. "But our job here is done..and training more before you take them on couldn't hurt. Lets just get out of here."

The smallest of smiles appeared on Hashirama's lips, eyes dancing with a faint glimmer of the past.

"Hmph, retreating is stupid! But if they've completed the mission.."

"C'mon."

Izuna marched off behind his brother, turning once to glare at Tobirama. In that very same seconds, the eyes of two friends met once more; one was still stuck in wonderful astonishment and the other a conflicted confusion. Madara's eyes swam with a battle hunger and a need to protect, yet underneath it lay something deeper. It was something Hashirama already found himself exploring as if he had been doing so every day, but also something he did not have the time to discover before the two Uchiha left.

It was near silent then, the crackling and fizzing of dying fire the only echo in his ears. A simple suiton took care of what lingered, but just as the quiet truly began, Tobirama spoke up.

"Where is Itama?"

"He's alright.. I found him before I got here. He ran off with several of our clansmen to help out..and the battle was nearing it's end. Now its over.."

"And why did you come here instead of joining Itama?"

"You were alone and in more danger.. and Itama wasn't."

"I wasn't the one who was about to end up with a gash in their abdomen. You shouldn't have jumped in like that! Do you honestly think they would spare one of us?"

Hashirama paused.

"They just did."

"..."

"They just willingly left the battlefield although they could have continued fighting."

"But we would have had the upper hand. "

That was undeniably true. The medic in him noticed that Izuna had greatly favored his left leg and that Madara was dizzy and bleeding slightly from the head. The compassion in him, however noticed that Madara's decision had been more than just a retreat.

"We're not that different from them," he stated with certainty. "Don't you still want peace?"

"Of course! The adults—"

"No..."

The two brothers stared at each other for a long moment.

"It isn't the adults who need to sign a peace treaty. Its us."

Tobirama was at a loss for words.

"Now..we should join up with the others."

They did as Hashirama suggested, running off in the direction of their home. Each movement was heavier than it had been on the way here, as if lead tugged them down into the depths of hell, and no sort of victory could lift that weight entirely. You cannot ever win a war.

They eventually arrived at the small, hidden quarters at the outskirts of the forest and searched for the familiar sight of their youngest brother. Hashirama needed to find him, needed his eyes to land on that small form with mismatched hair, because he needed that reassurance that he had managed to keep Itama alive this time. He needed that step in the direction to assure him that what he was doing was right. But what he saw was unexpected.

Hashirama ran quicker then, followed behind a slightly confused Tobirama, and together they landed beside an older man who had one hand firmly placed on the shoulder of a crying boy - of their crying brother.

"What's going on?" Tobirama asked patiently, waiting for an answer that Hashirama expected to be simple. Surely he would say that the nerves had gotten to him, or that he was simply overwhelmed by his first battle. But it was not even he, instead the man Hashirama identified to be their distant uncle, who spoke.

"Your father is dead."