A/N: I got distracted with life and my creativity took a nosedive, but I'm trying to kickstart it back into gear. It has been a struggle, but here I am.

The barren earth stretched far and wide before him. A setting sun cast a golden sheen over the many small mountains of dirt, piled high in a strategic pattern. Mountains that steadily dwindled in height, with the rhythmic scrape of shovels scooping them bit by bit into rectangular pits that pockmarked the landscape in neat rows.

The sniffling and quiet hiccups to his left were strained. A young boy whose face screwed into a cramping grimace, red and wet. He lost the battle of stoicism demanded of him, and could barely manage what semblance of composure he had left. Pain breaking like waves over a dam that wasn't built with enough skill or strength to keep such a volume contained. The tears welled until he could see nothing but blurry, glittering light and shadows, and finally he hid his face in his sleeve.

"Shinobi do not cry." A cold voice to his right reprimanded. Older, stern, devoid of compassion.

"Shinobi are born into this world to fight and die in battle." The man continued, never tearing his narrowed gaze from the field of coffins. Each marked with a single, simple carving of their clan symbol on top that quickly disappeared beneath the flinging earth.

He remembered his own challenging response just as clearly when he snapped, and the swift blow to the face that sent him to the ground. Punishing him for daring to speak against his own father, while feet away, the body of his seven year-old brother disappeared forever.

That was the day he lost respect for him. When he vowed to find a way to break the endless violence that ruled their clan for generations, no matter how impossible it seemed.

"Hashirama-sama… We found them." Another voice, curt and militant as his father's had once been, pulled him back into a reality even more depressing than his bitter memory.

His eyes refocused on the stained cloth at his feet. Its edges were singed and misshapen. A small scrap of the haori it used to be, before it was consumed by flame. Filthy as it was, it served a purpose even now. Managing to graciously conceal all but some tufts of short white and brown hair around the crown of yet another younger brother as it draped over his face.

A tiny shimmer of movement streaked down as a tear fell, vanishing into the ravaged cloth. One he didn't even know existed until it blinked in front of him like the smallest shooting star. When it did, he felt the wet streaks cooling his cheeks in the damp breeze.

A mist of dull ash billowed around his feet as he turned. It covered the landscape now. Blown by the wind over the days that passed between its final ember and their return from the frontlines. Covering everything in a silvery veil that did little to mask the horrors beneath.

"Leave him. I will bury him myself." He instructed without bothering to wipe the tears from his face. Accepting the grief for what it was, and letting it flow quietly, rather than poison him with hate he would regret.

The shinobi gave him a terse nod, watching him drift from the incinerated remains of the medical tent and into the wasteland of carnage beyond. Passing through an untouched circle of bare ground where its entrance would have been, just feet away from Itama's intact remains.

The melding grays above mirrored the ground below, leeching the colors into a somber atmosphere befitting the war crimes committed there. As if the very earth itself were in mourning. Clouds swelled with rain that mercifully had yet to fall, though they would need to be expeditious in laying their fallen to rest, if they were to avoid a noxious flood of decay in the near future.

Black shadows darted about and hovered in his periphery. Too many to count. They filled the unnatural silence with low, rattling croaks and coos. A thousand ravens flocking for a thousand lost souls. All observing their new visitors from a safe distance with curious attention, like feathery phantoms unable to rest until they heard the verdict of the Senju. In truth, their presence wasn't nearly so poetic. They were simply there to help clean up the remains. Return what was left to nature. Their fat bellies were proof enough.

Hashirama spent half his life on a battlefield. The vulgar destruction and scattered bodies he waded through were nothing unique. It was all that so many of them knew. All they had lived and would die for, true to his father's words. That wasn't the reason his army stood there now, watching him with more quiet discipline than the ravens. Hundreds of eyes that once, a very short time ago, had looked to Butsuma with the same deference while they waited for their next order.

A disproportionate number of these bodies belonged to those in the midst of fleeing. Too many of them women. Even some children old enough to have experienced a taste of war themselves. This wasn't just another battlefield to retrieve their brothers from so they could be put to rest. This was an intimate genocide with very little discrimination. This was personal.

The restrained fervor in the eyes that followed his path did not go unnoticed. Rage and pain enthralled his men beyond anything a traditional battle could incite. He could feel its heavy weight in the air, thick as the oncoming wanted revenge.

He understood.

The scent of death overwhelmed him as he journeyed through the chaotic sea of debris. He locked onto the lone woman standing in a patch of tall grass many paces ahead. She chose to face the treeline in the distance, far away from the slaughter, where a group of exhausted and traumatized survivors huddled. They would be escorted to a new camp soon.

Her chin was tilted high enough not to catch sight of the horrors below and around her, with a perfumed cloth hovering close to her nose. It helped a little, but not enough. There weren't enough herbs and spices in the world to drown so much decay. Nauseating dread and anger filled her. It was all she could do to keep her feet planted where they were, on the very edge of the nightmare she never wanted to relive. She was sure she wouldn't be able to eat for the rest of the day.

That was fine. He needed to see for himself what was done to them. Ino vowed to faithfully guard what was left of their bodies until he did.

The breaks in the waist-high grass were telling. Chunks of empty spaces formed columns eerily similar to the ones his coffins made in his childhood memory. He couldn't see them yet, but he knew they were the bodies she promised he would find. The women gathered for an unwarranted execution. Many of which had never so much as lifted a sword. They played support roles, cooked, repaired armor… They were a threat to no one. They deserved peaceful deaths, decades from now.

Hashirama found it difficult to believe her, initially. He didn't want to believe her. But he knew who she was. He knew where she was stationed, and he knew the only reason she would have breathlessly careened into his camp covered in sweat, soot, and scratches in the early afternoon could mean nothing good.

The Senju would have retreated sooner, had it been his decision. It wasn't until his father finally fell in battle that Hashirama was able to make the call himself. Years of experience betrayed by his own reckless rage at such news. If nothing else, the former Senju leader was reliable. He pledged never to entertain peace. Surrender was treason, and those who considered it were weak-willed and undeserving of their clan name. His purpose was to eradicate the Uchiha until his own death, and so he did.

Hashirama never wished for the man's death, but he did not cry when his broken body was carried from the field a final time. Butsuma never respected tears, and so his impromptu funeral was a dry one.

Even though their newly-appointed leader had an idea of what awaited him at the end of his pensive walk, seeing it for himself was like a winding cheapshot to the gut. His narrowing eyes darted quickly along the rows of sprawled mounds of fabric, tattered and stained with dried blood. Dark, rust-colored splatters painted the tall, swaying blades all around him. It was a sadistic presentation. The ability of the grass to obscure most of the gory details was the only grace it could give.

A cry startled him, and he looked to see one of his own men stumble backwards from a mound of shredded yukata a few feet away from the rest of the bodies. A girl who had run, it seemed. The shock on his face twisted to anguish as he regained his footing. Staring in disbelief as a tentative hand came down on his shoulder from behind. He lunged forward again, shrugging off the shinobi at his back and reaching in vain for a corpse he could never touch. Not with the state it had succumbed to now.

"My–" The words choked in his throat, teeth clenching and bared in a grimace. His hovering hand trembled, and he collapsed to his knees just out of reach of the woman he clearly recognized. A furious wail split the still air, sending a dozen nearby ravens bursting up in nervous flight. Their chatter and caws of alarm joined him as they circled above.

Hashirama turned, meeting the sharp red eyes staring at him with cool determination. Tobirama stood at the opposite end of the executed women. Blue armor rising from the hypnotizing streaks of grass between them. Arms crossed and with a faint, yet unyielding frown tugging the corners of his pale mouth.

Chocolate brown hair slipped in long ribbons down his chest as he bowed his head slightly. Closing his eyes and sinking into himself. He crossed his arms comfortably over his own red armor. Ruminating on everything that had come to pass over such a short time. So much change had swept swift and violent as a monsoon in a mere week's time. He would need to make some pivotal decisions soon that would affect them all.

Short spikes of silver fluttered above his metal face shield as Tobirama traced a careful path around the vast divide of bodies. The wailing raged on. A haunting echo that carried to the treeline and beyond. Changing in time to curses and wrathful promises of vengeance against the Uchiha. Of a pain the man would inflict tenfold, at the cost of his own life, if necessary. Despair and regret soured the rest of the silent faces around them.

"You know why they did this." Tobirama murmured privately to his brother once he stood next to him. Shoulder to shoulder now, he let his gaze drift to the shrouded horizon. When his brother didn't answer, he continued. "We've won more battles than they have over the past several months. We've pushed them kilometers from where they stood a year ago. They're desperate."

The dark eyebrows next to him wrinkled in displeasure in spite of their successes.

"Not counting this shameful display… They've suffered more losses than we have."

"We don't know what remains of their numbers." Hashirama argued. His eyes remained closed with his head bowed.

"No, but we know we've forced them into a corner. They are either dwindling in number, or power…or both. What matters is we can end this. We both know you're stronger than Madara. He knows it."

"If that is the position we've put them in, this is hardly a worthwhile price for us to pay."

Tobirama's jaw clenched, eyes squinting in thought. This tragedy would linger in their hearts for years to come, but he wouldn't consider it a paid price. That implied they could have seen this coming. Neither of them would have traded their victories for such an unjust massacre. Butsuma…it was difficult to say, but he was gone now. This was a harsh counter blow dealt by a beast in its death throes while they struggled to pin it down. He was simply recognizing it for what it was, and he would make sure to use its revelation to their advantage.

"It is a debt they incurred, and they will repay it." He corrected quietly. Cold and resolute.

"No, they will not." The dark eyes snapped open. Hashirama stared pointedly at him. "This violence needs to end with us. A cycle of perceived debts and insatiable vengeance is why our clans are in this position in the first place. If we've backed them into a corner, then we will offer them a way out. One extermination isn't deserving of another. We are better than that."

A silver eyebrow twitched in offense. "I was not suggesting we would exterminate anyone…but if you really want peace, then we need to get them under control. We can take any who are willing to surrender when the time comes, but there will be many who won't accept defeat quietly–you know Madara won't. You have to prepare for that. You can't save them all, Hashirama... If this madness isn't evident enough, then I don't know what could convince you."

"He might. We were friends, once..." Hashirama insisted, eyes meeting the same horizon now. Focusing on the sparkles of blue sky peeking between the shifting clouds. Tobirama sighed.

"Your optimism is blinding you. If you're not careful, he will use it against you."

"Yes, you've said that, but I have a different perspective." His smile was brief and discreet.

The silver Senju glanced to the woman who stood patiently nearby. Too far to hear anyone's voice, save for the distraught shinobi lashing out in an exhausting pain they all shared. The black cotton of her robe pulled taut between her shoulder blades as her arms hugged tightly across her chest. Long blonde hair swooped over her shoulder.

"I think I know where they are." He shared at last, confident no one would overhear him.

Hashirama studied him warily, hesitating to speak.

"I would need to send another scouting party to be certain, but I'm sure it's them."

"Where?" He murmured.

"Southeast of here. There's a dense forest with a network of rivers. Easy to hide in, plenty of game… It's where I would settle in this region, if I had to choose. The last team that entered encountered resistance, but they couldn't identify them. They stayed in the shadows, whoever they were, and they were skilled. I don't know of any other clans in this area. Do you?"

"No." This time, Hashirama sighed.

The unspoken request hung tensely between them. Tobirama wouldn't push. He always respected his brother's decisions, but he also knew that he wouldn't need to. The course of action, at least the most immediate one, was obvious to them both. Sentimental and peace-loving as he was, he was still a reasonable man who usually made the wisest choices in the end, no matter how difficult they were.

"Send a small team, and be selective. We need the most level-headed and dependable men we have for this mission. If it is their homebase… Do not engage, unless you have no choice."

"I understand. I already have them picked out." His younger brother reassured, a step ahead. The worried lines on Hashirama's brow deepened.

"I'm debating on bringing the girl." Tobirama mused with a hint of doubt.

Hashirama stared at him blankly for a moment. When exactly did a girl enter this equation? Then, he followed his red gaze to the statue of a woman idling off to their right. His eyebrows inched higher.

"Ino…? Why would you take her?"

"She possesses some unique skills that are useful in reconnaissance. I only hesitate because we've not trained her in combat. She would become a liability if we face opposition. But if we don't…she may be able to get closer to these shinobi than we could without arousing suspicion."

"Hm… I'll leave the decision up to you then. If she seems reluctant, don't force her."

"I already broached the subject. She wants to go."

Mouth quirking to the side, Hashirama glowered. "Is there anything else you decided without me?"

Tobirama glanced to him, pausing when he noted the expression aimed back. "Don't give me that depressed look. I was getting everything prepared to save time. I wouldn't send them without your approval." A hand rested on his shoulder. "I knew you would agree anyway."

"Ahh…you're right."

The dispiriting landscape of silver and black awaited their leader when he turned around. Cold char and jagged remnants of tents and stalls littered between some abandoned structures. What remained of his morsel of optimism retreated into gloom as his eyes retraced the path he walked. The clearest one he could find, and it still demanded considerate detours around multiple bodies. Every last one of them he treated like family.

"We need to put them to rest." He said quietly, and glanced up to clouds.

Many of his men had already begun sifting through the wreckage to pull their fallen into the open. Others dug tirelessly in the surrounding field, where the ground was softest.

"Help me with Itama." Hashirama murmured, a quick glance flitting to his brother, and then he moved.

Tobirama nodded faintly without a word. The cutting edge of his gaze dulled as it sank to the ground. He took a step after him, and then spared a look over his shoulder. Pausing a second or two in thought.

"Ino."

Red welts regarded him with the turn of her head. Pale blue eyes ringed in harsh bloodshot. Her return to this massacre had not been easy to endure, though she had been the one to insist on guiding them to the spot. The tears had dried by the time he called her name, though. The face that met him was solemn, but undefeated. Whatever came next, she was ready to play any part they needed.

The tall grass hissed along her robe as she drifted from the lush field and into the dusty hell after them.

"Izuna…took our healer?" Hashirama wondered aloud. A rhetorical question. He knew she was gone. He just didn't understand why. The Uchiha had never taken their people before, unless it was to force information from them.

"He did."

"Does that seem odd to you?"

"It is out of character for him, more than any of them. But I told you they are desperate. Their dead pile higher than ours. They need all the help they can get." Tobirama concluded. A cut and dry rationale that made perfect sense to him.

"Hm…" The crease deepened once more on his brow as he led the way through their maze of loss back to what could only be described as a blast radius. It was a practical solution on the surface, but for some reason he wasn't so easily convinced there wasn't more to it.

"Her name is Sakura." A voice cut in from behind, compelling them both to pause and look back.

Ino stared unapologetically at them. If they were taken aback by her interruption, it didn't seem to concern her. There was surprisingly little emotion to read at all, beyond sheer resolve.

"Ah… Yes, it is Sakura." The smile Hashirama returned was gentle and sympathetic. His hands clasped loosely against the red plate at his back. "I remember. She was promoted not too long ago."

Ino nodded once. Peace was the last thing she expected to find in her lifetime. Why should she? They had never experienced it before. Hashirama's idealism and kindness were unusual qualities in a clan leader, which she doubted would last forever. As such, she had little hope of seeing her friend again, whether or not she was still alive. But at the very least, she would ensure her name didn't disappear so easily with the rest of the bodies they would lower into the earth that day.

"She stayed with the injured, and tried to stop Izuna…" Her gaze focused past the patient Senju to the distant ring of ash they were inching towards. She didn't know exactly what happened, but she saw the aftermath. "She was the only one who survived."

A slight frown returned to the corners of Tobirama's mouth as he considered her words. He'd witnessed Izuna drop far too many of his men firsthand over the years. It was his own personal mission to end him, and it aggravated him to count how many times that demon of an Uchiha had slipped past his blade already. The idea that a woman would not only confront him, but survive him, was dubious.

Hashirama's eyes hardened. Recent memories of lingering in the remains of the unrecognizable medical tent circled in his mind, stirring questions and possibilities while certain key details stood out. The hollow patch of earth that was free of all but a light dusting of ash. The singular corpse behind it–the only one that wasn't reduced to cinders. There must have been some kind of defensive barrier. One strong enough to counter Izuna's assault would have certainly caught his attention, especially from an untrained source. The fact that he let her live was still surprising to him, however.

"The Uchiha respect strength and courage." He began carefully. Tactful with his words, but honest. "Izuna must have found considerable value in her life, if he chose to take her with him. In that case, I am confident she still lives. We will bring her home."

Puffy red edges quivered as her eyes softened, but she did not respond. Instead offering a small smile of appreciation. Ino wasn't so easily lured by the hope he offered, even if it was clear he meant every word.

The blue armored shoulders next to him stiffened. "Don't make promises you can't keep, brother." He warned under his breath as they restarted their journey.

"I don't plan to." Hashirama answered simply. "You said so yourself–we can end this. If our healer is an asset to them, then she will be there waiting when we do. Have faith."

The argument died there. They could banter for hours over probabilities, strategies, beliefs... He knew, because they'd done just that countless times before. Sometimes, even Tobirama could tolerate a little idealism over the realism he adhered to. Even if he was skeptical, this week had ravaged them enough with bleak realism. He would let Hashirama keep it without a fight this time.

The day ahead of them would be long and arduous enough.