In spite of himself, an amusement chuckle escapes Madara's lips as he overhears the matron scolding Izuna and Obito for their rooftop escapade. Apparently, they had been escorted back to the orphanage by no one other than Eraserhead himself, the target of their little investigation, who had been far from pleased to find two children alone on a rooftop.
Madara had already come to the conclusion, simply by reading the file on the hero stored at the police station, that the hero couldn't possibly be an Uchiha. It just didn't fit. He told Izuna as much, but his younger brother had remained adamant, insisting on verifying the information in person with Obito. Is seemed to be part of his ongoing endeavor to bond with Obito. Besides, poking around in a hero's affairs didn't pose any significant danger to the two of them, so who was Madara to stop him?
He knows that despite insisting otherwise, Izuna misses the Uchiha clan. He tries hard to bury these feelings deep within himself, to keep them hidden from Madara, however, he is not blind - Izuna is yearning for the family he has lost. His little brother, for better or worse, never experienced the clan's betrayal. The day he died the Uchiha had not been in shambles yet, so while Madara feels no remorse for the fallen clan, and suspects Obito mostly shares his sentiment, Izuna still holds them in fond memories, and as much as he denies it for Madara and Obito's sake, he longs for them. It's the reason he clings to Obito as if he were a lifeline, and is perpetually searching every hidden corner for another set of red eyes and black hair when he believes no one is watching.
The weight of Izuna's sorrow sits like a smoldering ember in Madara's gut, a constant burning presence. Yet, he understands that there is nothing for him to do about it. He can't resurrect the Uchiha clan, nor would he want to if he could. So, in a way, he is grateful for Obito's presence and the positive effect he has on Izuna, even though the sight of the boy's face tears open Madara's chest anew each day.
Of all the negative emotions humans are subjected to, shame and guilt haunt Madara by far the least. He long ago accepted the futility of remorse. It doesn't alter the past, rectifies actions, or erase one's mistakes; it is a wholly pointless sentiment. And yet. And yet, his heart bleeds raw acrid regret whenever he catches a glimpse at Obito.
Madara will never regret his goal, his ambition to create a better world. However, now that neither the fog of old age nor Zetsu's constant whispers cloud his mind, he can admit to himself that he regrets some of his methods, that he regrets listening to that rotten bastard in the first place.
The hallway falls into silence. The matron has finished reprimanding the brats, sending them to their room. Despite being chewed out, Izuna remains in high spirits, and even Obito seems a touch less downtrodden than usual. It's a testament to Izuna's gradual but undeniable influence, worming his way past Obito's ironclad walls, into his bleeding heart. This doesn't surprise Madara; Izuna has always possessed a unique gift for connecting with people - if he can be bothered to approach them that is.
Madara slips away from the hallway before the brats spot him. Just because Obito is warming up to Izuna doesn't mean he would appreciate encountering Madara. They have mostly succeeded in avoiding each other, and Madara has no intention of changing that anytime soon.
.
.
School a boring ordeal, to the point of torture.
After a single day, Madara decided the circus is not worth his time and put his teacher under a Genjutsu. He lets her see a mediocre, shy student, attentively sitting in her classroom where an empty chair gathers dust, he lets her hear the quiet turning of pages where a neglected book lays, he shows her a Junichi who only exist in her mind.
Madara in the meantime spends his time elsewhere. He often finds himself on the rooftop, letting the midday sun warm his face, or in the school's library, reading through any books that challenge his intellect beyond the elementary school curriculum. Alternatively, he strolls through the neighborhood, observing people as they go about their day.
There is actually no need for him to go to school, no reason for him to make the daily walk to that institution that is supposed to educate him and only succeeds in boring him. No reason besides the two brats a few paces ahead on the sidewalk with their ridiculously bright satchels slung across their backs, a sharp contrast to their ramrod straight posture and purposeful, but inaudible steps.
As every morning, Izuna prattles on animatedly about this or that, while Obito remains silent, radiating an aura of somberness that permeates the air around him. It would be suffocating, had they not already drowned in their grief a long time ago, only now learning to swim in it that their lungs are filled with black tar.
Izuna giggles, saying something that makes Obito huff in annoyance, but even from further away, Madara can tell that it's halfhearted at best.
"Hey, Nii-san." Izuna calls behind his shoulder, chucking amusedly. Obito doesn't turn to look at Marada, he never does. "What do you think about sneaking a rat into the teacher's room? I bet Aki-sensei would faint on the spot when she sees it. Like that one time we let a weasel loose in the armory, and the guard on duty shrieked like a fair maiden when it knocked over a weapon rack."
Madara shakes his head fondly at the memory. "Father made us help the laundress for two weeks because you got us caught with your laughter."
"Me?" Izuna shrieks offended. "You were the one that slipped and caused a ruckus when-"
A deafening crash shatters the air as the shop window beside them explodes into a storm of glass shards.
Madara ducks away instinctively, shielding his face and neck, his forearms and hands sting from the dozens of cuts as the shards rain down on them. Then two pairs of heavy boots hit the pavement with a crunch and Madara tears his limbs away from his face just in time to see one of the dark-clad figures grabbing a very familiar limp figure by his feet.
"Hurry up! Grab the brat and let's get the hell out of here!"
Madara's Sharingan spins to live with the force of a fire storm, his head snaps to the assailant's eyes with the speed of lightning.
Then the world tilts, and agony surges through Madara's shoulder before his head collides with something unyielding. A strained gasp escapes throat, leaving him breathless and choking when his lungs cramp, refusing to expand.
Someone is bellowing, but Madara's world is spinning, his ears ringing in the midst of a deafening cacophony of blurred sounds. He wrenches a ragged breath into his chest with sheer stubbornness.
Agonizing pain radiates from his skull. His vision wavers, a mess of gray and brown blotches swimming in his sight that make his eyeballs pulse in time with the throbbing in his temples.
Madara's heartbeat quickens, sending a bolt through his head with every pounding beat. Nausea spreads in his gut like an infestation, but he grits his teeth and heaves himself upright. Shards of glass embed themselves in his trembling palms. His breaths come in shallow gasps as he manages to crawl onto hands and knees. His limbs wobble threateningly, and before he can advance any further, they betray him entirely.
He lands heavily on the unforgiving sidewalk, no thought of standing up crossing his muddles mind before he descends into darkness.
.
.
The voice washes over Madara, muffled and distant, like it's coming from miles away.
He understands the words the man is saying, knows their meaning and recognizes the logical order they are structured in. He even answers all of the man's questions; his lips are moving, his vocal cords vibrating, and his tongue is forming sentences. However, Madara's consciousness is not in the same room as him. His mind is far away, buried under the cold dread that settled the moment he woke up in the sterile hospital room. Alone.
His arms are swathed in bandages, from fingertips to elbows, rendering them rigid and immobile. His shoulder is suspiciously numb and there is something wrapped too tightly around his throbbing head. It gets worse with each passing moment of consciousness as the fog obscuring his mind begins to dissipate.
A robbery, the detective had explained. Two villains, one with a quirk that induces vertigo and dizziness within a two-meter radius, the other capable of slowing a person's blood flow with a mere touch. A lethal combination, yet they had been cornered by a hero. But then, hostages presented a convenient escape route.
Two villains and two hostages, on the run somewhere in Musutafu. They had eluded the hero's grasp, because they had two children, because Madara lay unconscious and powerless on the floor, because he had been too weak, too distracted, too slow, slow, slow, he is always too slow-
Izuna and Obito are gone. In the hands of two villains that had no use for a third pawn. They are gone, remain missing, with Madara having spent more than half a day in the hospital, unaware of their whereabouts.
It has been a while since Madara felt fear tearing his intestines apart, blind terror seeping into his very marrow. It makes him numb, his thoughts sluggish when they should be racing to formulate a plan. He despises it, loathes the familiar helplessness and the despair that drowns him with each labored breath.
He is Uchiha Madara. He is not helpless, he is simply not; not anymore and never again. He had brought entire armies to their knees, reduced continents to ashes, ascended to the status of a god.
And yet, it's the same all over again, his family is gone because he had been too slow. Here he is, in a hospital bed, bleeding and defeated by two run-of-the-mill villains. Weak. Pathetic. Forever incapable of safeguarding his family. A failure.
Two brothers lost to him again, after being newly reunited. He got a brief glimpse at something good, and it slipped through his fingers because of his own inadequacy, because he had thought himself strong.
What a fool he is. In this world devoid of war, without shinobi and chakra, he had become complacent, had let himself be lulled into safety, when he should have known better. There is no such thing as safety, no matter in which world you find yourself in, no matter how strong you believe yourself to be. Pain and suffering always lie in wait, eager to strip away something cherished, to steal one's family.
Madara had wasted so much time distancing himself, too much of it. He should have seized the gift this life had given him and never let go when he had the chance. He thought he had learned that lesson long ago. Apparently not.
With clenched teeth, he throws himself from the bed, disregarding the agony in his head and the stinging in his arms.
"Be careful, Junichi!" The detective jolts forwards with extended arms, but Madara slaps them away, planting his feet more firmly when he sways dazedly with the motion.
"I have wasted enough time as it is. I will find my brothers."
The man smiles weakly. "I understand your concern for your brothers, but you must let the professionals handle it, Junichi. We're doing everything we can. Please, lie back and focus on your recovery."
Madara regards the man with cold indifference. He refuses to sit here idly while Izuna and Obito are in danger, especially considering the incompetence of these so-called "professionals" who hadn't found the villains yet.
Patiance depleted, Madara activates his Sharingan and knocks the detective out with one quick glance. Not a second later he nearly doubles over from the nausea that crashed over him. With a few quick steps, Madara is across the room, drops to his knees and retches into a trash can.
Once his stomach is thoroughly emptied, he raises to his feet again, a stubborn sneer on his face. This will complicate things, he thinks annoyed.
The door behind him suddenly swings open. Madara whirls around, steadying himself on the wall, least he lands on the floor again.
"Naomasa, we need you at the station, we have news- what the hell?"
Madara swears viciously under his breath as Eraserhead rushes to the detective's side, checking the downed man's pulse, concern and shook etched across his face. Madara takes the opportunity, sprinting out of the room and down the white corridor. He pays no heed to the shouts trailing behind him, focusing on his footing, on keeping his balance, and on breathing evenly. Adrenaline floods his veins and rushes into his muscles, fueling him to become faster and faster.
He makes barely a sound as he runs, evading confused nurses and doctors, and darting around corners until he finds a staircase. He throws himself at the heavy door and pushes it open with all the strength he can muster. Then he is jumping down multiple steps at a time, the bones in his legs vibrating with every landing, sending thunders of pain through his bare feet.
Madara shoves the next door open, entering another bleak corridor filled with the stench of disease and illness. Turning a corner, he finally spots the hospital's main entrance and pushes himself to his limits, speeding up further.
His foot catches on something, causing Madara to lose his balance. His momentum though continues to carry him forward and he hits to the floor hart with a resounding thud, his whole body lighting up in pain.
Before he has any time to struggle to his feet, someone is grabbing him by the scruff of his hospital gown and hoisting him up.
"Goddamn it, kid. You've got no one to blame but yourself for this." With that he is yanked upwards and over a shoulder. If Madara had anything left in his stomach, he would have lost it as a bout of motion sickness washes over him that is made worse by every jolt.
He is placed back on his bed after a short ride in the elevator, and is met with Eraserhead's stern face, dark eyebags and stubble aging the young hero by several years. The detective is conspicuously absent.
"Care to explain, why I find Naomasa passed out in your hospital room, and you make a run for it the second I arrived?"
Madara responds with a counter-question. "Have you found my brothers?"
Eraserhead's brow twitches. He stays silent for long minute, weighing his options. "Not yet, but we believe we've found the villains' hideout."
"That's not good enough." He retorts with gritted teeth.
"Kid." The hero sighs, frustration evident, and Madara might just ram one of the colored pencils on the nightstand into the hero's jugular if he keeps calling him a kid. "We will save your brothers; we are professionals. Now, why was detective Naomasa unconscious?"
Madara blinks blandly. "No idea." He has no intention of revealing that he took the detective out.
Another sigh follows. "Then why did you run?"
"To find my brothers."
Eraserhead rakes a hand through his shaggy hair, his tired expression fixed onto Madara, no doubt searching for a lie. He will find none; Madara is a Shinobi, skilled in the art of deceit like the best of them.
"Alright, you win, for now." The hero concedes, piercing Madara with a scalding gaze. "I'll check up on Naomasa. I'll return in ten minutes with a nurse to check on your injuries. I expect you to be still here then."
Eraserhead exits the room leaving the door pointedly wide open. Madara counts down two minutes, only then does he spring to his feet. After another three minutes, he manages to open the previously locked window with a knife he had snagged from Eraserhead's pocket. Four minutes later, he has descended the building's facade to the street below, leaving him one minute to vanish into the shadows of Musutafu's alleys.
AN: Since I really thought about the naming of the Uchiha trio, I wanted to mention them:
Junichi (Madara) - 淳壱
淳 means pure, genuine, simple
壱 means one, first, primary
Ren (Izuna) - 蓮
蓮 means lotus, water lily; which is a symbol of purity, beauty, and spiritual enlightenment.
Nobuyuki (Obito) - 信幸
信 means trust, faith, belief
幸 means happiness, good fortune, luck
Arano (Madara and Izuna's surname) - 荒野
荒 means rough, wild, violent
野 means field, plain, wilderness
Morioka (Obito's surname) - 森岡
森 means forest, woods
岡 means hill, knoll
You can interpret that however you want.