Fandom [naruto] halfbreed || itliveswithin & arbus

[roxybirdie]

”Please, lead me to Katsuyu-sama,”

So he did. Once the younger Uchiha recovered, Kakashi leaped onto the lowest branch of a tall oak adjacent to his position and shot forward. As the Hatake ambassador and his companion flitted across the forest, the silver-haired halfbreed mulled over the sixteen year old’s comment. A part of him — a small, insignificant part embittered from war and bloodshed — wanted to laugh at the irony. It wondered how Hikaku would react to the truth regarding his precious Clan Head. It craved the sheer chaos born from a simple slip of the tongue. It screamed and raved and cried, demanding absolute retribution. Instead of succumbing to the malicious voice, Kakashi locked it in the darkest corner of his mind and ate the metaphorical key.

The war veteran would be lying if he said he felt no lingering resentment toward the elder Uchiha. He would be lying if he claimed he never considered the possibility of letting the elder Uchiha die from his illness. The persistent sensation, an embodiment of all the bitterness poisoning his heart, was exceptionally small. It clung onto the visage of an older, darker, and crazier Uchiha Clan Head. When Kakashi tried to erase it, the embodiment reminded him of everything he lost because of that man. It refused to dissipate, to the point the former nomad had no choice but to lock it and throw away the key. Fortunately, Kakashi was getting better. Layer by layer, he dismantled the festering resentment roiling in the darkest pit of his mind. New memories brimming with life replaced the old smeared with blood.

Kakashi was a filthy liar — he would be lying if he said he felt none of those things, but he lied anyway — but he didn’t, couldn’t blame the current Uchiha Madara for his future counterpart’s transgressions. He wanted to — it was painfully easy to and the temptation was overwhelming — but he refrained. The Clan Head and him weren’t friends, but not even his bitterness could blind him from the unmistakable truth; Uchiha Madara deserved to live.

*​

By the time the older Hatake and younger Uchiha breached the borders leading to Shikkotsu Forest, it was an hour or more shy of dawn. Darkness swept over the imposing forest, imprisoning the gargantuan terrain in its shadowy grip. Ignoring the pang inside his chest, Kakashi recalled his female student’s description of the forest, specifically the general location of the boss summon’s lair. Silently, Kakashi headed northeast, maneuvering through the gnarled trees and protruded bones. Like its namesake, the forest was composed of seventy-five percent of dampening terrains, ranging from swamp territories to luscious marshlands. The remaining areas not inhabited by water was flatlands or mountainous formations. Throughout the forest, bones of varying sizes — although, the smallest he seen are twice the size of Shinra — occupied the overall terrain. Before Kakashi and his companion reached the first wetland, soft voices resonated throughout the clearing.

“Who are you?” a voice inquired.

“Why are you here?” another added.

The silver-haired halfbreed halted, landing on the lowest branch of a tree on the edge of a swamp. Directly above him, assembled on the taller branches of the tree, are three small, identical slugs. Almost immediately, Kakashi recognized the white base and streaks of blue. Despite the darkness sweeping over the land, faint moonlight illuminated the slugs’ form. “Katsuyu-sama,” he greeted, inclining his head respectably.

“A Hatake,” one slug murmured.

“What business do you have here, Hatake-kun?” another inquired.

“We’re here to consult with you directly, Katsuyu-sama,” Kakashi announced.

Silence swept over the clearing. “Very well. Our creator wishes to speak to you. Please follow us, Hatake-kun, Uchiha-kun,” the head slug announced.

 

[arbus]

Senju Compound, Present Hour

It was still an hour before dawn when clothes whispered in the darkness, soft steps treading lightly over polished wood, traversing a long hallway to stop before a door that was not closed all the way; his brother's study never was, the metaphorical door as open as the real one. Senju Tobirama knocked against a beam of wood regardless, making his brother look up -- the long, slick hair in his face obstructing his vision before he brushed it aside, and smiled, a big, uninhibited smile of joy that always had Tobirama stop in his tracks, even for just a moment. It was beyond him how his brother could remain so merry, so painfully open, gentle even in the face of conflict.

"Still up, brother?", Hashirama inquired.

"Obviously", Tobirama replied to that superfluous comment, just short of rolling his eyes. He brushed a hand over the sleeve of his yukata, his fingertips colored black from ink, then crossed his arms. "I need to talk to you about something --"

"I know", Hashirama interrupted, and the look in his eyes changed before he could avert them by looking out the window. Tobirama, who knew his brother neither usually stayed up that long or got up that early, had suspected there was a reason why his overwhelming, earthy chakra had remained a steady beacon in his study the whole night. And while Tobirama himself felt faint hope, excitement, kindle in his chest at the news, he was not cold enough as to disregard his brother's obviously conflicted feelings.

Hashirama was no sensor. But even he, much like the rest of Fire Country, could tell that the black-red, raging column of blazing chakra, oppressive and overwhelming, hovering like a constant threat in the back of Tobirama's mind, was fading. For weeks now, and only slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, but much faster now, to the point even Tobirama had trouble registering what was once impossible to overlook.

"I know", Hashirama repeated, and his voice creaked at the second syllable. Tobirama remained silent (what was there to say, but triumph, gloating, relief, all of which would hurt Hashirama more), and after a few moments, left his brother alone.

*
​

Uchiha Compound, Present Hour

The gentle hand was cool, dry, soothing on his damp skin. It was a phantom touch, the touch of his mother, one he had not felt in over sixteen years and would never feel again, but it made him smile nevertheless, because all of a sudden, it did not seem so impossible anymore.

Raising the dead was not impossible any longer.

There had been discomfort, for a long time; but now the lack of oxygen, the fever that burned him up from the inside like a kindling fire had become welcome companions. Now his consciousness had narrowed to this point were he perceived the cool breeze of a door sliding open as touches of a long-dead relative, his body no more than a floating presence, hovering above the ground, his mind swimming in memories, he knew he just had to give in to see them all again.

He could hear them laughing already; high and childlike and silly, along with the deep rumble of his father's grunts of amusement, so seldomly heard that he was not sure if his mind was making them up.

"Aniki", Izuna said, and Madara smiled, regardless of the worried tone. Because his brother was by his side, and Madara felt the grip of his cold fingers around his clammy hand, and thought that maybe Izuna would see them all again, too, if they just kept going like this.

" ... will be back soon ... bring a cure ... be alright ..."

Madara opened his mouth to tell Izuna that yes, everything will be alright, but his lips were dry and he could not remember how to form words. His chest was heavy from an invisible weight, a giant's hand gripping his rib cage and squeezing tight. His bones felt like liquid and his insides like velvet, and he could just fade away like that, easily, soundlessly, without a worry in the world.

*
​

Hikaku could not help but stare. They had crossed the marshlands, following the three snails, and now they were standing on a dry patch of land, overgrown with moss, and before them lay a gigantic, fat snail, its white body voluptuous and oozing slime, the streaks of blue on its back like those of its smaller twins, looking down on them with ... curiosity?

"I know why you are here", the snail -- Katsuyu-sama -- said, and she had a sweet voice, warm.

Hikaku, whose jaw had dropped, snapped it back shut, like the words had him come out of his stupor. He bowed deeply, showing his respect and a very real awe, but at the same time, his heart rate quickened, his pulse speeding up as the snail continued.

"It is unusual to see a Hatake and an Uchiha work together, I must admit. I wonder why that is."

"Katsuyu-sama", Hikaku began, his mouth suddenly dry.

"The Uchiha is dying", the snail announced, with all the finality of truth. Her antennas inclined, and Hikaku did not know if she was blinking or not. He suddenly felt very dizzy. "His flame is ceasing as we speak. It is there always, like the woodlands of the Senju and the lighting of the man calling himself a Hatake."

"Please help him", Hikaku blared, sinking into a deep bow once more. He had hardly listened to the snail's words, and much less registered their meaning. His arms were pressed to his side, his frame rigid. There was a faint tremble of panic going through him, obvious to everyone, but he could not help it. His heart was beating in his throat; he believed the snail summons, doubted not a single moment she was a sensor, that she told the truth, because Izuna had stared at him with hellfire in his eyes and Madara had looked like a ghost, buried underneath too many blankets. "I beg you, Katsuyu-sama. Save my cousin."

 

[roxybirdie]

In the span of fifteen minutes, the Hatake ambassador and his companion traversed a swamp encompassed by gnarled trees, a vast marshland riddled with bones, and a dry flatland. Trees sparsely decorated the flat clearing, the branches covered with slugs of varying sizes. In the center of the clearing was a gargantuan slug; the size alone could dominate the imposing gates surrounding the Uchiha compound. For a moment, Kakashi recalled his female student’s description of Katsuyu. According to her, the true size of Katsuyu remained a mystery. Once the older Hatake and younger Uchiha stood in front of the boss summon, the silver-haired halfbreed inclined his head respectably.

”...and the lightning of the man calling himself a Hatake.”

The aforementioned Hatake stiffened. He lifted his gaze, charcoal hues fixated on the boss summon’s antennas. She knew. Kakashi glanced at his companion, but it seemed the younger Uchiha didn’t notice the message underneath the underneath. “The Hatake and the Uchiha are allied, Katsuyu-sama,” he announced. The former nomad stepped forward, every inch of his lackadaisical frame sharpening. “I can answer your questions, Katsuyu-sama, but please, send Hikaku-san with one of your slugs. Our timeframe is limited,” he added.

Silence swept over the clearing. A few minutes later, her antennas bobbed. “Very well. What ails the Uchiha will require herbs found in the deepest part of my forest.” All of the sudden, the slime sliding off her voluptuous body morphed into a medium-sized slug. It crawled on the ground and climbed on the younger Uchiha’s shoulder. “Katsuyu-chan will guide you to the herbs and aid your healers, Uchiha-kun. The herbs work best if consumed. I suggest an herbal tea,” she instructed. The boss summon directed her attention to the half-Hatake. “Follow me, Hatake-kun. We have much to discuss.” As the enormous slug lowered her head, Kakashi understood the nonverbal gesture and hopped on the slug’s head. He stumbled a bit when Katsuyu raised her head, but a thin layer of chakra coating the bottom of his sandals stabilized his position.

“Maa, I’ll catch up with you later, Hikaku-san. Go save Madara-san, ne?” The Hatake tilted his head, charcoal hues upturned in a genuine eye-smile. Without another word, the boss summon and her human companion crossed the clearing, heading toward a secluded section of the forest. Once the slug summon and silver-haired shinobi vanished, Katsuyu addressed her time-traveling passenger.

“Tell me, Hatake-kun, what kind of obstacles would prompt the interference of the Wise One?” she inquired politely.

It didn’t take him long to connect the dots. “The Rabbit Goddess,” Kakashi answered. Ignoring the slime coating the boss summon’s body, the war veteran sat down. “Everything that led me here is because of the Mother of Chakra...” As Hikaku and his slug companion located the herbs, Kakashi divulged his mission to the boss summon. In return, Katsuyu forewarned him of a summon’s ability to sense the anomaly surrounding his soul. Not all summons are capable of detecting it to the point of making a connection, but others instinctively know that the half-Hatake didn’t originate from the current time period. Katsuyu not only sensed it, she knew the Uchiha blood coursing through the Hatake’s veins wasn’t natural; it reeked of divine intervention. Therefore, she deduced that the Wise One himself manipulated the boy’s bloodline.

 

[arbus]

When the time came for the Hatake to recommence his travels, the slug regarded him with inclined antennas. Her parting words were uttered in her soft, melodic voice and sounded like a blessing.

"Not many would chose to safe the man who brought them so much sorrow, Hatake-kun. You are truly a noble soul."

In the meantime, Hikaku was jumping over slippery, moss-covered tree stumps, crossing the dark, eery marshlands with a heart beating a bit to fast in his chest. He had had little time to think over the fact that Katsuyu-sama had wanted a word in private with the Hatake, or why this might be; it was something stored in the back of his panic-ridden mind for later consideration, if at all. The bundle of roots and herbs he had gathered from the moor was stored securely in the travel pouch slung over his shoulder, emitting a strong, unpleasant smell. The small version of Katsuyu clang to his shoulder, a bit of slime dripping down his shoulder and the length of his arm, but it was strangely soothing to have the slug by his side, not to have to face whatever he would find back at home on his own.

He had no doubt that the Hatake would eventually catch up with him -- or them, considering Katsuyu-chan -- but he was hard-pressed to wait for the ambassador even if, strictly speaking, he was violating the terms of the treaty. But it would take him at least another day to traverse the woods to get back to the Uchiha compound, and diplomacy was the furthest thing on Hikaku's mind right now.

When he eventually did get back, the sun was about to set behind the treetops, and the compound and its surrounding lands were colored in soft hues of flaming orange and red, ethereal and beautiful and, to Hikaku, a bad omen. He did not know what he had expected to find at his return, some commotion, people out on the streets with concerned faces and fear in their eyes -- because even though nobody liked Madara-sama all that much, they all respected him and his capacity to lead them into a saver future. And having that future taken away by an illness, carrying off a man that stood as tall as the mountains once, would crush not only Izuna, but the Uchiha's spirit, and Hikaku did not even want to think about the consequences of that.

But in contrast to Hikaku's worst fears, the compound lay still; there was no uproar, no hushed voices. The people of his clan went about their day as usual, having it coming to an end with amiable chatter by the vegetable gardens or the well, and all of them looked somewhat curiously, but ultimately disinterested at the young, brown-haired Uchiha rushing through the main gate, sweaty and red-faced as he made his way on swift feet to the main estate.

Just another important message; everyday business in times of unrest.

The estate itself, however, was in a subtle sort of disarray it had been in since yesterday morning. It was clear by the traces of food still on the dinning table as Hikaku passed, by the fact all shoji doors were firmly shut, and, most of all, by the group of elders that mingled with some healers before the clan head's room as Hikaku turned the corner and skidded to a halt before them.

"Hikaku!", Natsuki, who stood timidly in a corner, looking lost and much as if she had not slept in days, raised her face with hope in her eyes. "Isn't Hatake-san with you?"

 

[roxybirdie]

After an undetermined amount of time — long after a certain Uchiha traversed Hatake territory without a proper escort — later, Kakashi vacated Shikkotsu Forest. Instead of returning to the Hatake compound, the silver-haired halfbreed diverted west, closer to Uchiha territory. By the time he flitted across the border of Shikkotsu to Hatake territory, the sun was high in the sky. As he maneuvered through his clan’s forest and closer to the Uchiha border, Kakashi recalled the boss summon’s parting words.

"Not many would choose to save the man who brought them so much sorrow, Hatake-kun. You are truly a noble soul."

His lips curled upward, a twinge of bitterness evident in the self-deprecating grin. “Maa, you think too highly of me, Katsuyu-sama,” he murmured. Ignoring the dark and insidious whispers inside his mind wasn’t noble. Finding a cure to save the elder Uchiha wasn’t just. On the contrary, all of it was downright selfish. Kakashi didn’t do it out of the goodness of his heart. Saving Uchiha Madara was a necessity, nothing more. Truthfully, the former nomad didn’t want to comprehend the ramifications of a future without the Clan Head. Regardless of the darkness festering inside his heart, a part of him — a small, insignificant part forged by a bond of camaraderie and bloodshed — didn’t want the older man to die.

Not that the stubborn Hatake acknowledged it.

*​

Without a certain Uchiha hindering him, Kakashi utilized his superior agility and traversed the long stretch within one day. Once he arrived at the Uchiha compound, the sun was on the verge of setting. Unbeknownst to Hikaku, the silver-haired man stepped foot inside the compound minutes after the younger Uchiha arrived; his relentless speed made the impossible possible. Gaining entrance, on the other hand, was unfortunately troublesome. Thankfully, while none of the guards patrolling the north gate liked him, the unexpected arrival of Uchiha Hayato — one of the Uchiha’s seal masters — granted him entrance. After promising the elder man a conversation involving his Sharingan, Kakashi vanished.

"Isn’t Hatake-san with you?"

Before the younger Uchiha could respond, a certain silver-haired shinobi appeared. “Maa, maa, sorry I’m late. Got a little occupied at the northern gate,” Kakashi announced, rubbing the back of his neck. The former nomad patted Hikaku on the shoulder, as if they arrived together, not separate. “Hikaku-san harvested the medicine needed for your esteemed Clan Head’s treatment. Katsuyu-chan is here to help,” he added, motioning to the slug perched on the Uchiha’s shoulder. Kakashi retracted his palm and tilted his head, noticing the older woman’s condition. “Are you alright, Natsuki-san?” he inquired. A twinge of genuine concern was evident in his lackadaisical tone.

 

[arbus]

"W- what the ..."

The sound of the Hatake's voice had Hikaku spin around on his heels, staring wide-eyed and a little frantic at the silver-haired man who had appeared behind him like a spectre. "By kami's laces, how on earth did you --"

"Please", Natsuki interrupted, through the mingling voices of the elders and healers -- complaints about the Hatake's unbidden re-entry and hushed admiration for what some of the more experienced healers recognized as an offspring of the famous Katsuyu -- and took a step forward, out of the shadow to reveal her pale face. "The medicine, Hikaku-kun."

Yoshitaka, the Uchiha elder with the horse-like face, used the moment of sudden silence the maid's voice evoked to clear his throat. "Hatake-san, I command you to leave the premises immediatly ..."

"Yoshitaka-sama, I beg you", Natsuki said, her voice growing stronger now as a frown dawned on her face, one that easily matched that of her clan head in ferocity and stubborness. "We don't have time for this." Disregarding the raised eyebrows of the old man, she stepped into the circle of mostly men, opening a path to Madara's room in the process. "Hikaku-kun, please go. Sora-sensei is already waiting for the herbs. She is with Madara-sama and his brother right now."

Hikaku, who's eyes flitted with the tiniest hint of smugness to Yoshitaka, nodded and scurried past the elders, who luckily where too dignified to make a grab for the young Uchiha. He slid the door open and vanished into a dark, silent room, and it took the healers a moment of astonished gaping before they hurried and followed suit, leaving the elders with the tiny woman who just defied them, and kept on doing so as she blatently placed a hand on the Hatake's forearm.

Her smile was pale, and wobbly, but genuine as she searched for the silver-haired man's gaze in a silent, profound thank you.

"Can I offer you some tea, Hatake-san?", she inquired, about to stir him away from the affronted elders. "You know, Madara-sama inquired after you a couple of hours ago. I'm sure he will be delighted to find you here when he wakes."

 

[roxybirdie]

TIME SKIP — A FEW MONTHS LATER

Spring ● Pre-Konoha (For Now)

 

[arbus]

Legends find their roots in whispers, on the molecular level of opinionated subjectivity, and no matter how great the legend, how awe-inspiring, more often than not they are a thousand falsehoods disguised under the name of history. And history -- this, Madara would learn in only a few years time -- was written by the predator that came out the other side, victorious. It was victory that determined power, and power that initialized change, and change the world needed most. Because if the world did not change, peace would never come.

It had already started, Madara knew. He had overheard some Uchiha or other, hidden away in a dark passage way, slurring drunkenly about their clan head's greed for power, greed for the light, for sight.

Had heard the accusations behind his back.

The inflammation in Madara's lungs had damaged his eyes. His precious Mangekyo. Without his sight, he was nothing. Without his sight, he was no one.

Wasn't it only logical for him to take those eyes, on the death bed of his pale-lipped sibling, rasping breaths ragged in a cool, dark room much like his own sick room had been?

Tobirama had slaughtered Izuna.

Madara-sama took advantage of that.

Could there be any doubt about it?

It took mere seconds to gain the Eternal Mangekyo, so why wouldn't he take what was his by right, the elder, eldest son, last survivor of his immediate blood line. The last son.

*

Those first few nights, he had wandered around the estate like a ghost, on bare feet and trailing kimono; its faint rustling the only noise. In the face of this most recent loss, which was in a sense his greatest loss, he had turned inward, had turned into a brooding, silent specter. His face had become a mask, and behind that mask there had been nothing but indistinguishable cries of agony. He had lost a part of himself when Izuna's breath had stuttered for that last time, harshly released through bloodless lips. He had sworn to protect his brother, his family, come what may, and he had failed. How, he demanded, of the Sage or the gods or the stars, could he keep anyone safe if he could not even safe Izuna. In those early days, when the shock and surreality of loss slowly turned into the pitch-black pits of grieving, his eyes would spin, round and round, red and black, and find the pale beautiful surface of the moon.

There were stories about the moon, and its goddess, buried deep in obscure scrolls in the Uchiha archives, and they reminded him of the lullaby he used to sing for his younger brothers in the depths of cloudless nights, his young voice mingling with the battle-cries in the far-off forest.

*

Time does not heal all wounds, but it makes the layers of scar tissue nice and thick and sturdy. Madara made a point of scratching at his wound, night after night, to keep it fresh; to keep his senses honed and his bloodlust insatiable, as he stood over maps and calculuses in long meetings with the elders. With a sort of grim satisfaction he realized they no longer contradicted him so much. They certainly had bought into the idea of him, stealing his brother's sight like a thief, and it made him a pariah amongst his own blood, more so than his unbridled, youthful rage ever could.

They had thought him uncouth and rash, too young to lead. But now they trembled before his cold, calculated hatred, this eery stillness like the motionless surface of a deep, deep lake, burying a treasure too horrifying to face -- just yet.

"We wait for the last snow to thaw", he informed them, closing an argument about the timing of their next attack -- only one in a long sequence of many, those last couple of weeks, but it would be the last, the most powerful of all -- with merely a flick of his hand, indicating the borders of the Senju land.

*

In the mornings, he still liked to do his katas in the garden next to the koi pond. His frame was rigid, the energy seeping out of him in a steady stream of rage, revenge, and a wish for utter dominance, and he came back inside with his chest bare and heaving, sweat protruding from his skin. His lips were dry as he crossed the study to enter the hallway. He had refrained from informing his allies about his plans; better not to trust them with this sort of information. They would learn soon enough, when the Uchiha ruled the Land of Fire, and the white-haired head of Senju Tobirama watched over the hills and valleys with milky, unseeing eyes, spiked on his brother's ceremonial katana.

 

[roxybirdie]

"I have watched over Indra and Asura's spirits for generations. I have seen history repeat itself again and again—"​

He knew.

It was small, insignificant — unimportant in the bigger picture — but he knew. Kakashi learned about it as a child in the Academy, months before he advanced forward and graduated. While the history lesson painted a darker and sinister picture, it retained kernels of truth. Kakashi forgotten about it for the longest time.

What was the point of remembering history when victors filled it with slander?

He recalled it once more. It came to him in Obito's dimension when Kakashi contemplated about the future of Konoha. He even recorded it within his scroll. Despite his foresight, he still forgot. So much to remember, so much to do — how can one man with the weight of the world (the entire future) expect to remember tiny, insignificant details?

It didn't matter. It was too late.

Instead of joining the battle, consequences be damned, Nōka whisked him away on a political excursion — a fruitful endeavor Kakashi hoped to kami-sama didn't end in marriage — to Inuzuka territory. Once the small Hatake convoy returned from the — it almost did, but Kakashi wheedled his way out of an arranged marriage — negotiations, a courier awaited them at the main gates. The moment he received the message, Kakashi remembered.

He knew Uchiha Izuna would die.

*​

"—I prepared to watch history repeat it self once more, but Asura's spirit did what past reincarnations did not; he never gave up—"​

Kakashi collapsed.

A single lapse of memory was all it took to destroy months — no, years — of meticulous plotting. Once Kakashi came into terms with his blunder, the sheer impact of his miscalculation sent him over the edge. Since his delicate mind couldn't withstand the pressure, the half-Hatake collapsed. The first week was the hardest. Kakashi recalled bits and pieces, but it felt like an intense, overwhelming fever dream. He retreated to the darkest and most gruesome corner of his mind. On the outside, Kakashi resorted to an unresponsive, near-catatonic state. Inside his mind, however, the halfbreed endured the torturous whispers of his past failures and personal demons.

"P-ple-ease ... ANIKI!"

His sudden ailment sent the clan in a complete frenzy; it was pandemonium. Not even Hiroshi, the clan's most experienced healer, could cure the Clan Head's eldest son's condition. Psychological breaks are a Iryō-nin's worse nightmare. Manipulating the neurons in the brain to induce consciousness (or return a near-catatonic patient to reality) was incredibly dangerous and exceedingly tedious. It required the utmost delicate touch and impeccable chakra control; ninety-five percentile minimum. Despite Hiroshi's exceptional experience, and his contract with the great slugs of Shikkotsu, the risks were simply too immense.

Nōka never approved of the operation.

It took Kakashi seven days, twenty-one hours, thirty-three minutes, and forty-five seconds to snap out of it; he counted every agonizing second. Had it not been for Sakumotsu — sweet, innocent Sakumotsu — Kakashi would of drowned in his memories. His ancestor-turned-half-brother dragged him from the darkness and guided him to the light with a single desperate cry. Once he returned to the world of the living, Kakashi finally accepted his new reality.

*​

"—I had hoped Indra and Asura's spirits would shape a better world together, but it would be a fruitless endeavor—"​

Almost four months — maybe more, maybe less; he lost track of time in the haze of winter — passed since the courier delivered the message. Kakashi conducted official clan business and fulfilled his responsibilities as the Hatake ambassador. He escorted convoys of Uchiha to and fro the harbor. While Nōka strengthened her negotiations with the Inuzuka, she — for the safety of her clan in the light of current events — stonewalled the Senju. Kakashi interacted with his clan's strongest allies on a semi-regular basis, but he never stepped foot inside the Uchiha compound; not since he returned from Shikkotsu Forest. Hikaku, with the aid of a certain copy-cat ninja, took full credit for saving the Uchiha Clan Head's life. He imagined the elder Uchiha saw underneath the underneath. Something as significant as curing his illness wouldn't escape the man's sharp eyes. Kakashi didn't want Madara to feel indebted to him and when his mother whisked him away on a political excursion to Inuzuka territory, he accepted it as a moment of reprieve.

Only to become his greatest regret.

*​

"—sealing Kaguya will only bring the destruction of mankind. That is why you are here, Hatake Kakashi."​

Whispers among his clanmen spoke of a great battle on the horizon. Senju Tobirama killed Uchiha Izuna, the last of Uchiha Madara's immediate kin. The Uchiha Head wanted vengeance — an eye for an eye — and he was out for blood. The Hatake are aware of the Uchiha's newly acquired Eternal Mangekyō and the elders feared the ramifications of the unprecedented bloodline technique. When the last snow thawed, the Uchiha would confront the Senju. The battle will inevitably determine the fate of the two clans and its fellow allies.

The Hatake, more than anyone, understood the insatiable bloodlust fueled by the loss of a pack member. Pack bonds are a physical, emotional, and psychological manifestation. Losing a pack member felt akin to a missing limb; a phantom pain magnified by overwhelming grief.

On the first day of spring, after the last traces of snow melted, Kakashi was deployed to the Uchiha compound. With the destined battle around the corner, the Hatake couldn't ignore the dangers anymore. It had to be stopped before the Hatake (or other neighboring allies) are caught in the crossfire. Unbeknownst to his clan, Kakashi knew all attempts of negotiations would fall on deaf ears. Even if (when) he failed, Kakashi stepped on Uchiha soil, regardless. If the rumors (and his assumptions) are correct, the outcome of the battle will determine the fate of his future village. Whether his clan liked it or not, the battle was necessary.

He prayed to kami-sama he didn't fuck it over with his past meddling.

Deep down, Kakashi knew it was beyond his control. Every change he made — every decision he conveyed — had consequences. He was acutely aware of the complications the moment the courier delivered the news. Each ripple in time could shape the future for the better or create a fate worse than death. While Kakashi understood the principle on a basic level, such intricacies are simply beyond mortal comprehension. Try as he might, Kakashi cannot truly conquer time.

He can, however, manipulate it.

*​

"Down the hall, Hatake-san."

"Thank you, Natsuki-san." The silver-haired ambassador sauntered down the hallway and maneuvered through the labyrinth of twists and turns, heading toward a certain Clan Head's study. Unsurprisingly, Kakashi met resistance at the main gates. However, since he was on official ambassador business, the guards reluctantly permitted entrance. The elusive Hatake slipped through before the sentries could notify the Uchiha Head. While only a few months passed since Kakashi stepped foot inside the compound — it was insignificant in the grand scheme of things — it felt like a lifetime ago.

Frequent trips to the harbor certainly improved the clan's livelihood and overall infrastructure. On the other hand, a dark oppressive aura saturated the atmosphere. It enveloped the entire compound with its insidious grip. Kakashi noticed it long before he crossed the border. It was subtle at first; easily overlooked if you didn't know what to watch out for. However, throughout winter, Kakashi saw a significant change in the Uchiha he escorted, especially a certain Clan Head.

Technically, Kakashi hasn't interacted with Madara directly since the morning after the funeral. The Uchiha Head stopped attending the annual excursions to the harbor. Regardless, Kakashi gathered enough pieces to know Uchiha Izuna's death hit him hard. The silver-haired ambassador could only hope it wasn't too late to stop the man's descent to madness. As the Hatake maneuvered around the corner, he spotted the aforementioned Uchiha down the corridor. Ignoring the man's perspired state, Kakashi raised his hand in lieu of his signature eye-smile. "Yo," he drawled.

 

[arbus]

"Yo."

If that drawling, perpetually detached voice came as a surprise to Madara, it did not show on his face. Only his step faltered for the merest of seconds as his dark eyes laid sight on the familiar, lanky frame before him, wandering from head to foot before settling on the narrow, masked face. In that moment, he understood that the Hatake woman, who must have gotten wind of his preparations for war, had send her eldest son to negotiate, persuade, deter. Madara's will, which was forged from blood and such profound disillusionment that it was now steel, would not falter, was of the sort that not even the ever-burning flames of the dojutsu of legends past could melt. So he met those grey eyes with ease, for once unshaken by the insolence that was the Hatake clan's preposterous assumptions that they could meddle in Uchiha affairs, and this unspoken fact seemed to hang thick in the air between them, much like the knowledge of what had transpired during those hazy days in the depths of winter, when Madara's mind had been muddled by fever and the brink of death and the powerless, impotent feeling of weakness.

The Hatake's sight evoked something else, also. A deeper, grim, almost-satisfaction that, despite Madara's own reluctance to come face to face with anyone but the Senju, amidst a battle field in the tight, hermetically sealed space that was obsession, he had been found once again. The Hatake was from outside this dwindling spiral of revenge and pain and blood ties, a member of the outside world, and yet familiar enough to be granted entry. He seemed to have a knack to find Madara when no-one else dared to, and, once again, faced him without batting an eyelash while even Natsuki, sweet, steel-boned Natsuki hardly dared to meet Madara's gaze anymore.

Madara lifted an arm to wipe sweat from face and forehead, to conceal his faltering step.

"Look at what the cat dragged in", he said in lieu of a greeting, continuing his way down the corridor. His voice lacked any real bite, his shoulders remained relaxed as he approached the other man, and maybe this was due to the early hours, this sense of calm he only ever felt after a strenuous training exercise when his thoughts seemed clearest, and all that diffuse, confused pain became a razor-sharp, pin-point sensation in his stomach, contained and manageable for as long as it took to finish an especially complicated, chakra-exhausting movement.

Maybe this was why he craved solace in battle, finding real satisfaction only ever when there was enough power to match his own.

He craved the sight of Senju Hashirama, the blast of his chakra like wind and woods and life against his skin, craved to burn it down and be burned in the process.

The way he looked at the Hatake now spoke of this craving, and there was an almost-question in his glance as he searched the other's face. "A mutt."

He passed the other man, assuming he would follow regardless of an invitation, and stepped into the ceremonial room in which, on a cherry-wood table, tea and a light breakfast broth had been served. Madara gestured for the uninvited, yet not wholly unwelcome guest to sit, as he approached a stool to carelessly sling a haori across his bare shoulders before producing another cup from a tray on a side table and placing it before the visitor.

"The guards that let you pass will spent the night in your former cell", he informed him, his tone conversational, as he poured out the rich infusion of strong herbal tea into the Hatake's cup. "The scrolls suggest to lash their backs five times for an infraction such as this, but I prefer to scourge the palms of the hands to make the memory of their disobedience against their clan head's orders visible to them." A few drops of the greenish-golden liquid sprinkled on the table as Madara poured himself a cup next, but he did not seem to mind. The long, sweeping sleeves of the haori whispered across the wood as he settled down, back straight but not rigid, eyes finding those of his visitor again.

"I understand you have quite an astute sense of smell, Hatake-san. I wonder, did you smell the corpses strewn across the land on your way here? It is growing warmer. They will have started rotting into the earth by now. I'm sure Hashirama appreciates it, when his clan members become one with his sacred soil." His lips twisted into the ghost of a smile. There was no warmth in it, its fire was like the black flames of Amaterasu. "I intend to deliver them all back to the earth." All but one, all but the white-haired one. "If there is one thing I learned in these past months, it is that there is peace in death." His smile grew sharper, was baring teeth. "Of course, death is no option for the likes of us." He raised his cup towards the Hatake. "You are half Hatake, but your other half is Uchiha. Join me against the Senju in this last battle that will end the war, and see your clan prosper and grow. With us."

 

[roxybirdie]

Years Ago — Before The Fall

"Maa, Shisui-kun, why the long face?"

The aforementioned Uchiha yelped. He tilted his head back, spotting his superior dangling underneath a higher branch of the tree he occupied, a thin layer of chakra cementing the Hatake in place. With the sudden proximity of their faces — noses inches apart — Shisui instinctively flailed. He slipped off his branch, but before he could plummet, Kakashi swooped in and caught him. Once the Hatake placed him on the branch once more, the curly-haired Uchiha swatted at his superior. "Don't do that!" he squawked.

He raised his hands in surrender. "But my cute little kohai is upset. I would be a terrible taichō if I didn't check up on him," Kakashi mused.

"I'm not assigned to Team Ro," Shisui deadpanned.

"You spend more time with Team Ro than your own team, Shisui-taichō," the Hatake pointed out.

The younger Uchiha huffed. "Touché." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm fine, Kakashi-senpai," he assured.

He arched an eyebrow. "You haven't cracked a joke once in two weeks or pranked Tenzō-kun," Kakashi began. While his left eye remained hidden underneath his hitai-ate, his visible eye sharpened. "Nor have you convinced Itachi-kun to prank Tenzō-kun," he added.

He twitched. "I ... been busy?" Shisui offered.

"Oh?"

Hearing the unimpressed tone, Shisui wilted. "It's nothing important, Kakashi-senpai. Just clan stuff," he admitted. He hated lying to his favorite superior — anyone on Team Ro, really — and while it left a bitter taste in his mouth, it was the closest to the truth the younger Uchiha could convey without exposing the true reason for his recent behavior or lack thereof.

Kakashi hummed in response. "It does explain why Itachi-kun's all tense," he replied.

He swallowed the lump forming inside his throat. "Y-yeah..." Shisui glanced at the older Hatake. "Ne, Kakashi-senpai. Can you do me a favor?"

The aforementioned shinobi shrugged. "Depends on the favor. I'm not pranking Tenzō-kun for you," he pointed out.

A fleeting, but genuine laugh escaped his lips. "I know all about your pranks, senpai. You don't need my help," Shisui countered cheekily. The younger man sobered. "Can you watch Itachi for me while I'm gone?"

"Maa, are you insinuating I don't watch out for my teammates, Shisui-kun? That's cold." A hint of steel was evident in his lackadaisical tone.

Shisui raised his hands placatingly. "I'm not like them, senpai. So mean!" he pouted. He scratched the back of his head. "Itachi's under a lot of pressure. Clan heir, y'know? I'm going on a mission soon and I can't watch out for my favorite cousin while I'm gone," he elaborated.

Kakashi regarded his unofficial squad member silently. "Maa..." He draped a palm on top of the younger Uchiha's unruly hair. "...I'll do my best." He ruffled the teen's locks, evoking an indignant squawk. Unbeknownst to Kakashi, it was the last conversation he had with Shisui. Not even a week later, the boy committed suicide. His youngest subordinate, the kid he swore to protect, witnessed his best friend's untimely demise. The death of Uchiha Shisui marked the end of the Uchiha clan. After the Uchiha Clan Massacre, something inside of him broke.

Two more comrades he failed; one dead and the other descended to madness.

While the Hatake had his suspicions regarding the massacre, it wasn't until the Fourth Shinobi World War when Kakashi learned the truth.

*​

Present

"A mutt."

His sensitive nose detected the underlying emotions hidden behind the Clan Head's relaxed façade. Grief, rage, vengeance, bloodlust — it consumed the Uchiha Head's entire essence to a molecular level. The man in front of him wasn't the man he once knew a few months ago. Darkness shrouded the older Uchiha's broad frame like a cloak. While the ravenette paled in comparison to his future counterpart, Kakashi recognized the insidious shadow coiling around the man's heart. It was a mere echo of what he once witnessed, but when forged in fire and blood, it would descend to complete madness.

That was the true fate of the Uchiha cursed with hatred.

"Maa, better a mutt than a mangy cat." Kakashi followed the Clan Head, accepting the silent, but unofficial invitation. As the Uchiha Head and Hatake ambassador entered the ornate room, Kakashi dropped unceremoniously in front of the low table. The rich cherry wood was impeccable, a testament to the Uchiha's prestige and ascending wealth. While he didn't touch the breakfast broth served on the table, Kakashi accepted the cup of herbal tea. Since the last snow thawed, marking the end of winter, the silver-haired halfbreed exchanged his winter yukata for a lighter ensemble. The fabric's muted grey tones (with his clan insignia embroidered on the sleeves) was exceptionally similar (if not identical) to the yukata he wore in autumn.

"...but I prefer to scourge the palms of the hands..."

The half-Hatake hummed at the blasé display of corporal punishment. If Uchiha Madara desired to get a rise out of him, he would have to do better than that. "I imagine the cellar hasn't been renovated. The danker atmosphere does wonders on the human psyche," he replied blithely. He wrapped his palms around the steaming cup, but he didn't raise it. The rich infusion of herbs (with a hint of honey) tickled his nose, but he ignored the powerful scent. Kakashi slouched in his unceremonious seiza position, charcoal eyes fixated on the fathomless depths of obsidian.

I understand you have quite an astute sense of smell, Hatake-san. The strongest in the Hatake clan, but Kakashi had a feeling the Uchiha Head was privy to the attribute. They will have started rotting into the earth by now. The stench of decaying flesh was strong. It triggered a violent episode — he returned to the battlefield during the Fourth War — once he stepped foot on Uchiha soil. Kakashi acclimated as best as he could with his overactive olfactory receptors, but some scents — regardless of his experience — are susceptible to memories. Fortunately, he snapped out of it. Had the ramifications not threaten the livelihood of his clan, Kakashi would of collected the corpses and deliver them to the Senju out of pure spite.

"If there is one thing I learned in these past months..."

"Unless a meddlesome sage entrusted you with the future of mankind," Kakashi thought dryly. He raised his cup of herbal tea to his masked lips, but instead of taking a sip, the silver-haired ambassador took a deliberate sniff. He didn't detect the sickeningly sweet stench of poison, but Kakashi lowered his cup. He met the dangerous grin and sharp teeth with a patented eye-smile.

"...and see your clan prosper and grow. With us."

A dark, humorless chuckle rumbled inside his chest. "Or else," Kakashi drawled. He released his grip from the cup and folded his arms across his chest, moonlight skin vanishing under the fabric of his yukata. "Contrary to what my clan originally intended, I didn't come here to negotiate, Madara-san." The atmosphere thickened. Electricity crackled underneath his skin, thrumming with unholy potential; and waiting to be released. Even if the air tasted distinctly like ozone, it wasn't killing intent. On the contrary, it was a fraction of his newfound, fathomless power released from his ironclad control. "I will not waste my breath on a fruitless endeavor." His charcoal eyes resembled a thundering tempest, the swirling grey dark and unyielding.

"You once asked yourself what you had to do to make your clan have peace," Kakashi drawled. Despite the stormy atmosphere and his sharp gaze, his tone was undeniably calm. He stared at the Uchiha Head directly in the eye. "You once asked me what I thought about such an endeavor." Kakashi straightened his languorous slouch, eyes never wavering from the Uchiha's face. "I came here to give you my answer." The fabric of his mask stretched upward, teeth bared. Even if the cloth concealed his lips, the wolfish smile was evident; a predatory grin in the face of an ultimatum.

It was all he needed to connect the dots. "I think you will make a terrible ruler, Uchiha Madara," he declared. As his power retreated, the oppressive atmosphere dissipated. Kakashi tilted his head, eyes curving upward. "Considering the state of your people, your peace will only end in a coup d'état." Another chortle, far darker (and hollow) than the last, escaped his lips. "They will fall under your might, but a ruler without his people is simply a powerless emperor." The silver-haired halfbreed stood. "A ghost king." Suddenly, his eyes bled a brilliant crimson. The three tomoe swirled languidly and without warning, morphed. The distinctive pinwheel rotated counterclockwise.

"How far will you go, Madara-san?" the half-Uchiha announced.

 

[arbus]

Nakano River, Eleven Years Ago

"What happened?"

Madara had felt a sprig of delight at the sight of the crouched figure on the river bank; he would never admit it out loud, but he had taken an instant liking to this bowl cut-wearing cry baby, and was eager to showcase his improved rock-throwing skills. He had used every opportunity to train, just for the off chance that he would meet that boy again. It was important to win, everybody knew that, and as one of many brothers Madara always fought not only to persist in their family's intrinsic pecking order, but to climb it and gain more of the respect and esteem his eldest brother seemed to behold. But the moment the boy -- Hashirama -- had turned around and he had seen his tear-stricken face, he had known something was wrong.

"Nothing."

Terribly wrong.

"Stop lying to me", he heard himself say, ever-ready anger flaring up for the umpteenth time that day, from how very obvious that lie was. What did the cry baby think, that he was not interested in his sob story? Or too dumb to understand it? Or did he mistrust Madara, even though he had seemed so forthcoming the other day, was it all a ruse ...

"My brother ... my brother is dead."

Madara felt his heart drop, and for a moment, his knees go weak as all that useless, superficial anger evaporated, and his brows creased into a deep frown as he took an unconscious step closer to the other boy. "I'm so sorry, Hashirama."

Hashirama, his face glistening from all those tears, turned his head to watch the flow of the river, and for a long time, neither of them said anything.

Nakano River, A Few Weeks Later

If the death of his brother, Itama, changed Hashirama, it had only been in subtle ways; a stern glance into the distance, a frown of concentration during their long talks on that warm rock in the summer's blazing sun. They never discussed the loss, but Madara did not need Hashirama's explanations to understand, because he knew exactly what it meant to loose someone in such a way, how it turned your life and thoughts upside down until you questioned everything that once seemed the iron-clad truth. And while the cacophony of late summer -- rustling leaves, rushing water, cicadas song's -- accompanied their every word, their every silence, two boys from different clans began to exchange ideas.

"I don't understand", Madara was saying. The day had grown windy and dark, heavy clouds announcing a spontaneous storm that would drive them to seek shelter on the respective side of their clan's territory, unspoken but uncrossed. "How can you not hate the men that did this to your brother? He was just a kid and they slaughtered him."

The look on Hashirama's by now familiar face grew darker, but Madara knew it was not anger he saw, but a deep, frustrated sign of concentration, a concept just out of reach for the other boy to wholly form into words. "We are just kids", he said slowly, evasively, in that way he had to halt an argument to think better about his answer.

Madara shrugged. "That's different."

Hashirama shot him a doubtful glance, but did not call him out on it. He knew Madara could not wait to finally grow up into adulthood, to take responsibility and gain the ability to initiate change. They were alike that way.

After a while, not quite unexpectedly, Hashirama finally opened his mouth again and gave his answer to the question posed so many minutes ago: "Honestly, Madara, I don't quite know. I just want all the bloodshed to stop."

"But don't you miss your brother? Aren't you angry about his death?"

Hashirama sighed. He had a much more moderate temper than Madara, and this he knew, but it never ceased to estrange and fascinate him, how different they were. For all Madara grew to know, to like Hashirama, he never quite seemed to understand him.

"I am angry. I'm very, very angry sometimes. But -- I'm just more angry about the way life works for shinobi than about the clan, or even the men, that killed Itama." There was the open display of pain on Hashirama's face, and Madara did not look away but took it in as the other faced him. He continued: "I don't think that revenge has gotten us very far up to this point. Do you?"

Madara held the gaze. Held it for a long time, while the past losses, all the ideologies and the stench and triumph and absurdity of war ran through his young head. Finally, he shook his head.

"No. It really hasn't."

*
​

The thick atmosphere of the Hatake's kindling chakra nature was oppressive on Madara's skin, settled heavy around his shoulders, prickly in the back of his neck, curling in the crook of his spine. His heart rate quickened as his muscles grew rigid under the onslaught of power that washed up against him like an electrical current. Magnificent, he thought, leaning forward on his elbows, eyes never leaving the other's face as his own chakra flared up to match, driven by the necessity to set a boundary. The blood rushed through his veins, pupils contracting in excitement.

"You once asked yourself what you had to do to make your clan have peace. You once asked me what I thought about such an endeavor."

Madara remembered the day, cold wind driving through his clothes as he sat, staring into space. He remembered, in the blink of an eye, how vulnerable he had been, how open. Thinking himself naive for even proposing such a thing, and to whom else but an outsider, when all the elders ever suggested was battle, when all his father and older brother's had ever taught him was warfare. His father's wisdom lay in the unquestioned loyalty he taught his sons; blood was thicker not only than water but than mud and the oozing puss of wounds too terrible to heal, too gruesome to even look at properly. Blood was thicker than the whimsical notions of a young boy with his head in the clouds and dreams of unity and peace by diplomacy, by treaties, by the mere act of talking.

Where had it gotten him, all that talking?

"I think you will make a terrible ruler, Uchiha Madara."

Madara's loose fists, resting on the tabletop, clenched until the knuckles whitened ...

"Considering the state of your people, your peace will only end in a coup d'état."

... and started to tremble, even as the atmosphere around them loosened by a chakra nature withdrawn, leaving an imbalance of fire like cold ash in the back of one's mouth. The excitement he had felt for a moment -- the thrill of battle, perhaps, or something else -- vanished and left him grasping into an emptiness that could only fill with anger at words that hit bull's eye in his worst nightmares, words all the more potent with the potential to become the truth. Anger, the sweet blood-boiling rage, was so much easier than sadness, so much easier than admitting to the claws of fear he felt taking hold of his heart and lungs, squeezing until breathing seemed like a chore. He was not aware that he had been gritting his teeth so hard his jaw hurt, until he had to consciously unclench them to speak, only to find himself unable to ...

"A ghost king."

... utter a word. Instead, he was staring at those dark eyes switching to red and black, and his own gaze widened the moment the tomoe changed and he stared into a fully formed Mangekyo.

"So, even if you lost Tobirama, you would not retaliate, is that what you're telling me?" Madara's voice had been disbelieving, and he scoffed. -- "I don't know what I'd do, Madara. I just ... All I know is I don't want anyone else to die. Not Tobirama. Not your brothers. Nor the brother's or sister's of any of the other clans, and I know that sounds stupid, but I also know that I will find a way!"

Liar.

"Liar", Madara spit, and in the fraction of a second he had lunged across the table, his fist enclosing in the folds of the Hatake's yukata, tearing the fabric as he drew him in. His own sharingan sprung to life, and over the signature tomoe of his Mangekyo lay his brother's. The intrinsic, double pinwheel pattern met the other's, and underneath them on the table, the crockery clattered from the faint waves of the sheer force of his chakra coming off him in a-rhythmical, suffocating waves. "How dare you ... you foolish, impertinent ..." His teeth bared, Madara stared at the Mangekyo in the halfbreed's eyes, and suddenly his brother's hatred was his own, and it was a mighty, black wave that crashed over him.

Halfbreed.

Thief.

Liar.

And yet; the memory of those last desperate moments on the battlefield after Izuna had been struck by the killing blow bubbled up in his mind; Hashirama's intense glare, his pleading voice; and Madara had wondered, in that moment he had taken that almost-step, was he not also right, was there not a point in at least trying --

If the two strongest shinobi clans, the Uchiha and Senju, join forces nations won't find other shinobi clans that can stand against us ...

No, aniki. Don't be deceived by them.

Madara exhaled sharply, his grip loosening until his fingers slipped from the fabric of the other man's yukata. It cost him everything not to go for the Hatake's throat, not to go for his blood after what he had said. He turned his head, directing his sharingan away from the face of the visitor, and through pressed teeth, he uttered: "Go."

 

[roxybirdie]

"Liar,"

Fire, woodsmoke, and sandalwood — a bonfire surrounded by the forest — invaded his nostrils. Underneath the overpowering scent, a new element seeped inside the elder Uchiha's flesh, down to the marrow of his bones; copper. While the stench was commonplace in the shinobi world, it never imprinted on a ninja's natural scent. For a shinobi's natural pheromones to reshape so irrevocably— it spoke of the man's experience. How much blood — how much lives did he snuff — did Uchiha Madara spill to become a cold-hearted predator? All the sudden, hands seized — for a split second, he saw a festering black pole, but he banished it viciously — the front of his yukata and yanked. Kakashi lurched forward until he crouched in front of the Clan Head, faces inches apart. His pinwheel eyes met the infamous trisected circular spiral. The silver-haired halfbreed stared at the Eternal Mangekyō unflinchingly.

How dare you ... you foolish, impertinent ... The grip on his torn yukata tightened. The pottery underneath their forms rattled under the might of the Clan Head's overpowering chakra. It encompassed his lean frame, demanding absolute submission. Uchiha Madara was fire and brimstone and blood. Had he been a lesser shinobi, Kakashi might of been scorched by the older man's hellfire. Instead, the half-Hatake met the raging black inferno with a unyielding violet tempest. "If you want your clan to prosper, prove them—" Uchiha clansmen and the world alike. "—wrong."

"Go."

Pure and unadulterated fury radiated from the elder Uchiha. For a moment, a younger face with significantly shorter (but spikier) hair replaced the Clan Head. The trisected circular spirals morphed into six-pointed stars with triangular pinwheels in the center. Uchiha Sasuke, his most troublesome student, was (and still is) his greatest failure; more so than the death of Uchiha Izuna. Kakashi may be entrusted with the fate of the world — and the future of his village — but he was no Uzumaki Naruto. His words alone cannot (and will never) inspire change. Witnessing the man's rage — utterly consumed by the curse; it was like being in the same room as his former student — punched a hole inside his chest and left him to rot.

Kakashi can only hope a certain Senju dragged Madara away from the darkness before it was too late.

"Very well." Without another word, the pinwheels of his Mangekyō spun rapidly. Suddenly, the air surrounding the half-Uchiha twisted inward. A split-second later, he vanished. All traces of the Hatake's chakra dissipated, as if he never stepped foot inside the ceremonial room.

 

[arbus]

Madara stared into the empty space where, mere seconds ago, the Hatake had been crouching before him. His newly found sight was razor-sharp, and there was no mistake about what he had just witnessed, but the surprise seeped so deep into his bones, it settled there as the fresh sprigs of shock. Kamui. There could be no mistake. The fabled, long-forgotten dojutsu of his ancestors, not achieved for generation upon generation of Uchiha, and the halfbreed had just performed it before his very eyes.

Suddenly, Madara felt drained. Sapped of all energy, he sank back until he landed on his knees. He buried his hands in his mane of hair, which had gotten longer and perpetually unkempt since his brother's demise, and pulled. The pain was sharp, low-leveled and exquisite, better than the flames that seemed to consume him from the inside. He was helpless to the fury that seemed to have nested inside him, that knew no bounds and no consolation. No reason, either, and what scared him most of all was to feel this way. It was his most private, most intimate fear: Loosing himself into the pitch-blackness of his own hatred and all-consuming anger, until there was nothing left of himself.

He had not meant for this conversation to derail like it did. When he had seen the mutt, he had felt something akin to relief, or perhaps joy. He did not know why he had provoked him in that manner; there was no one to talk to, no one to share this dark, dark part of himself with, and perhaps he had wanted to vent, or to stir a reaction out of the ever-elusive man. He snarled at his despicable self-pity, closed his fists tighter into his strands of hair to make himself stop.

"I think you will make a terrible ruler, Uchiha Madara."

Those words were everything Madara feared, and the mutt had understood to pin-point his weakness, to exploit it, carve out a piece of him with the sharpest tool he had as his disposal. Madara could not blame the mutt to counter his own provocation, he would have done the same thing; so why did it hurt? To hear those words spoken aloud, at all, or hear them from him?

Uchiha Madara's shoulders twitched, only once, as he was shaken by a single, dry, desperate sob.

What followed was an utter silence, and a split second later, his fist crashed down on the table, destroying it and everything on it into a dozen pieces.

"If you want to your clan to prosper, prove them wrong."

And what the fuck did the mutt think he had been doing all this time. Every single attempt in vain. Every mercy he showed considered a weakness, and every step he took seemingly the wrong one. All he wanted was for his clansmen to be safe; he wanted to be trusted for once in his fucking life, because if they had trusted him in the first place, there would have been peace with the Senju a long, long time ago.

*​

Trust. Such an elusive concept. A weakness for some, the greatest asset for others. What shapes an individual to make them trusting -- naive, gullible -- and what needs to be done to them to destroy this characteristic. Is it intrinsic, something one is born with, or is mistrust just the outcome of a different lens to look at the world with?

In the end, Madara had been defeated. His body lay motionless, chakra-pathways burnt from the brunt of a battle that would go down in history as a clash of titans. He looked up at the white-haired devil, whose katana hovered over Madara's heart, looked at that familiar hunger in the other man's eyes. Revenge.

"No one touches him." Hashirama's voice was a sharp command, and he entered Madara's peripheral vision. He had grown older in this last couple of weeks, Madara found, more of those subtle creases on his forehead, even though they were both still so, so young. But the expression on Hashirama's face -- this hopeful, unshakable determination -- was much the same as it had always been, and Madara felt a spark of tired, tried fondness, something he could never completely eradicate, not matter how disappointed in their ideals he had become.

"Can't we go back to those days ... and skip rocks, together? Is there any way I can convince you to trust us?"

Hashirama's voice had an urge to it; his eyes stared Madara down, bored themselves into his very being. Madara scoffed.

"Either kill your brother ... or kill yourself. Right now." Because was there any other way but an eye for an eye? How could he forgive, trust, if there was this imbalance of justice, this stark hole in the shape of his brother that was left open like a gaping wound in their clan's midst. A beat, and then:

"After my death, do not kill Madara. I forbid any fighting between the Uchiha and Senju."

Madara's eyes flickered to Tobirama, who was protesting vehemently, and then back to the older Senju. Somewhere in the back of his nape tucked another presence, prickling lightning under his skin, ants crawling over his spine, but he did not see the mutt, just felt him in his defenseless and drained state.

Was this hope he felt, all of a sudden? Was there a way to prevent the annihilation of his entire clan?

Senju Hashirama, the strongest shinobi Madara had ever laid eyes upon, raised the tip of his kunai, unerringly going for the vital point, about to gut himself and smile as he bid his farewell, to Madara, to his younger brother and his clansmen. In this moment, seeing his friend, his most formidable enemy happy in the face of death, gladly giving his life for an ideology that strikingly, finally, was more than just words, the tight knot of driven desperation, of hatred, gave way deep inside Madara's heart, and it all fell away. In the blink of an eye, while Tobirama sluggishly came into action, Madara had risen, his hand clasping around Hashirama's fingers that were holding the kunai, stopping him dead in his motion.

"If you want your clan to prosper, prove them wrong."

His body was screaming from exhaustion, and in that strange, utter silence, he looked Hashirama in the eye and they both knew it was over, it was sealed. And Hashirama's eyes grew wide with surprise, a mirror of what Madara himself felt, as beyond the hill that should have become Madara's last resting place, murmurs swept through the ranks of shinobi like a wildfire. Hashirama's hand was strong as it closed around Madara's arm, and with a swift pull, the Uchiha clan head was on his feet, standing face to face with his long-time enemy, his childhood friend.

Tobirama stared at them in disbelief, and Madara's own dark eyes left Hashirama's to search the troops wearily, take in the losses and the confused relief that started to spread across each and every pale face he saw, searching for that one face that would be masked.

 

[roxybirdie]

Inside the Hatake compound, within the main estate — on the engawa, next to a certain Clan Head — the air distorted. It twisted inward and without warning, Kakashi appeared. The pinwheels of his Mangekyō spun rapidly and once his sharingan faded, Kakashi plopped unceremoniously on the wooden porch. He accepted a cup of herbal tea from his mother, unperturbed by her insight. The half-Hatake lowered his mask and sipped the light infusion of herbs.

"Should I start preparing for war?" drawled Nōka.

"Maa, am I that terrible of an ambassador?" Kakashi quipped.

The wolfwoman snorted. "You'd make diplomats reach for the sake, pup," she pointed out.

"I'm not that terrible."

Ignoring her son's — descendant or not, Kakashi was hers — pout, Nōka absentmindedly stroked her partner's white fur. Shinra flanked her left side and due to her massive size, the she-wolf curled around her like a white fur blanket. Said wolf summon was also unimpressed by the pup's whine, but didn't comment. "Based on your magic trick, I assume the negotiations didn't go well," she mused.

A chuckle rumbled inside his chest. Kamui could be considered a magic trick. "Maa, you knew I didn't go to negotiate," Kakashi replied.

She huffed. "It's a—" the pup cut her off,

"—fruitless endeavor," Kakashi deduced.

Nōka swatted the boy upside the head. "Don't cut me off, brat," she harrumphed.

The half-Hatake raised his hand placatingly. "There won't be war on our doorstep, kaa-san," he assured.

Something inside of her softened. It took the pup months to refer her like that in private. Outside of Ginjiro, Shinra, and herself, none of her clansmen are aware of the pup's monumental secret. Referring her as mother was a necessity, but once they're alone — and away from prying eyes — Nōka never forced him to continue the charade. When he did it on his own free will, she would be lying if she said she wasn't happy. Kakashi wasn't her son naturally, but kamidamn, he was hers. "How so?" she inquired.

He hummed. "I have a feeling about the outcome of the upcoming battle," Kakashi replied.

*​

"Join me against the Senju in this last battle that will end the war, and see your clan prosper and grow. With us."

He did. The battle determined the fate of his future village. The outcome was inevitable, but at the same time, Kakashi was afraid. Each change he made — each decision he conveyed — had consequences. Did allying with the Uchiha clan reshape the outcome? By failing to remember the death of Uchiha Izuna, did he alter the outcome? Would the future of his village (and everyone he ever loved) blossom or crumble under the might of Uchiha Madara? Kakashi was terrified, but he didn't run away. On the other hand, he didn't fight. The silver-haired halfbreed remained in the shadows, chakra suppressed until it resembled a woodland creature.

Watching, observing, hoping.

If Kakashi had lingering doubts about Senju Hashirama and Uchiha Madara descending from the Sage of Six Paths, the fight quelled all abiding dubieties. The final battle was downright magnificent. A benevolent forest god against a unforgiving fire deity. Kakashi recalled the skirmish a few months ago, in the heart of winter. While the Clan Heads fought, the severe snowstorm — combined with the convoy of Senju out for his blood — prevented him from witnessing the fight. Even if he did, it paled in comparison to this. The combination of fathomless nature and overwhelming hellfire in the atmosphere was unquestionably thick. It made his chakra positively sing. Electricity thrummed underneath his skin, itching to be released. His inner wolf — the predator all Hatake possess — howled in triumph, demanding to join the hunt. Kakashi could feel his overflowing power trickle past his ironclad control, responding to the call of battle. However, the half-Hatake hooked his claws in and yanked.

Unless his past meddling destroyed the outcome, Kakashi wouldn't interfere.

"After my death, do not kill Madara. I forbid any fighting between the Uchiha and Senju."

In the end, Senju Hashirama — the God of Shinobi — won. Something inside of him howled at the sight of Madara laying on the battle-torn ground, vulnerable to the might of Senju Tobirama's blade. It clawed at his chest viciously, demanding the blood of the younger Senju brother. Pack, it growled. Had Kakashi not witness a tremendous moment of history, he would of balked at the thought of Uchiha Madara becoming pack. The silver-haired halfbreed crouched on the branch he occupied, preparing to intervene before the kunai perforated the Clan Head's flesh. Monumental or not, Kakashi wouldn't let Hashirama die. However, before he could retaliate, Uchiha Madara intervened.

Thank kami-sama.

A sigh of relief escaped his lips. "I'm getting too old for this," Kakashi grumbled underneath his breath. Without another word, the silver-haired halfbreed stopped suppressing his chakra. He hopped off the branch and with a timed shunshin, appeared next to Tobirama. Kakashi stepped to his left, avoiding the younger Senju's blade. Once the teen redirected his sword, Kakashi caught it one-handed. Blood trickled down his wrist, but he remained unperturbed by the blade digging into his flesh.

"Maa, chakra blades are wonderful conductors," the half-Hatake drawled blithely. His charcoal eyes gleamed an unholy violet. Sparks emitted from his bloodied palm.

His eyes narrowed in response. Tobirama raised his free hand and formed a hand sign.

"Tobirama!" Hashirama boomed.

The younger Senju faltered. "Aniki—" The aforementioned man cut him off,

"Enough," Hashirama announced. His glare prompted his brother to lower his sword. "It's over."

Once the Senju brother reluctantly retracted his blade, Kakashi raised his bloody palm and waved. "Yo," he greeted.

"Did your clan come here as reinforcements, Hatake-san?" Hashirama inquired.

He blinked owlishly. "Reinforcements?" he parroted. Kakashi surveyed the battlefield. "My clan cannot partake in Uchiha battles without violating the treaty," he pointed out.

"Why are you violating the treaty then, mutt?" Tobirama interjected.

He glanced at the younger Senju. He tilted his head, eyes curving upward. "Maa, maa—" Without warning, his charcoal gaze bled a brilliant crimson. "—I'm half-Uchiha." He directed his sharingan to Hashirama. The three tomoe spun languidly. "I'm on my own." No reinforcements lingering on the outskirts. A few seconds later, Kakashi deactivated his sharingan. He pressed his fingers on his left inner wrist and with a puff of smoke, two large scrolls appeared. He approached the Clan Heads. "Stored inside are smaller individual scrolls. All capable of bringing your fallen back home," he announced. He handed the scrolls to Hashirama and Madara.

"How did you come across such a seal?" Hashirama questioned, recalling the body scrolls a few months ago.

His eyes curved into a signature eye-smile. "I invented it," Kakashi replied. The lie — nothing in his voice, heartbeat or chakra suggested the deception — felt like ash on his tongue, but since it wasn't invented yet, he was the official (or unofficial) pioneer. The half-Hatake directed his attention to Madara. "Sorry I'm late. I saw a black cat on the road. Had to take the long way," he declared. The fabric of his mask stretched upward, indicating a smile.

 

[arbus]

Leave it to the Hatake to make to most disruptive, potentially critical entry -- and keep his offhand attitude throughout the whole endeavor. It would be endearing if it were not so annoying, and yet, Madara felt undeniable satisfaction at the sight of the white-haired devil's confusion. Words lay on his lips and remained unspoken. The unexpected end of the battle, this cease-fire that had all the potential to become the end of the war, brought an onslaught of emotions and thoughts. It was a rush, and the soldiers were beginning to be swept up in it, riding highs from dealing and taking near-mortal damage and making it out alive. There was humiliation in defeat, of course, but it was drowned out by relief -- more than that, by the contagious kind of hope only a man like Hashirama seemed able to inspire.

Madara felt tender and raw; submission was nothing he was used to, and there was his brother's memory tucking at his conscious like forest spirits. Was he doing the right thing? Was this betrayal?

He watched the spectacle that was the Hatake, watched him reveal not only his allegiance with the Uchiha, but his shared bloodline.

" -- I'm half Uchiha."

Hashirama stuttered out his astonishment, followed by a booming laugh that echoed across the plain, and his hand came down on the Hatake's shoulder in delighted joy -- this was what he had wanted from the very beginning, ties, bonds between clans, and Madara saw in his face how delighted he was to be meeting such a rare specimen in the midst of what was perhaps his greatest victory. He felt a strange kind of pride for the mutt, a purring satisfaction at this undeniable loyalty, spoken aloud before the Senju. Pride, too, he realized somewhat astonished, about the fact that the Hatake was part of their clan, not the Senju's or anyone else's. The Hatake clan's treaty with the Uchiha was satisfactory in its own way, but the mutt's allegiance with their clan, with Madara ...

"Why are you violating the treaty then, mutt?"

"Watch your tongue, Senju", Madara heard himself say, tone sharp and eyes narrowed. "It's Hatake-san, or were you raised in a fucking barn." Beyond the skepticism, the distrust, there was an eagerness in Senju Tobirama's face Madara did not like one bit. Ever the researcher, his ears had practically perked up at the revelation of the existence of storage scrolls that could hold human bodies, and he had a hard time to hide his look of interest. Now, though, his eyebrows shot up, and he swiped Madara with a hostile glance.

"Tobirama", Hashirama said, almost coaxingly, "please. Would you?"

The white-haired Senju hesitate for the blink of an eye; it was much to ask from his brother to turn his back on the cursed Uchiha, and of course that was why his brother was asking in the first place. He let out a stream of air through his nose, then made a point of wiping down the blade of his katana to rid it from the Hatake's blood before sheathing the sword. There was much to witness, much to discuss; for one, this electricity that permeated the air was the same he had been sensing for months, years now, always on the precipice of his perception. Senju Tobirama was a sensor like no other in Fire Country, and this chakra nature had been nagging at the back of his mind for so long now. To be presented with its owner, a lanky, tall, masked Hatake, was enthralling; a fascinating riddle.

But he did what his brother bid him to do, as always; he took the scrolls from Hashirama, shot a last glance at the Hatake, and retreated to the head of the troops without even acknowledging Madara's presence anymore.

"Sorry I'm late. I saw a black cat on the road. Had to take the long way."

Madara scoffed; he had not known how he would feel to see the Hatake again, did not know if he should feel offended or not -- what he did feel was a grudging form of respect, and a nagging sense of anxiety he did not like; he overrode it by letting his temper flare. He took a step forward and snatched the wrist of that bleeding hand. "You could have had the decency to wait for the talks between two clan head's to be over, before approaching uninvited", he said, even though both of them knew that what the Hatake had done was not only a peace-offering towards Madara, but a remedy for his hurt pride (hurt feelings, a traitorous voice whispered inside his head). He could not bring himself to say that in so many words, but the pressure around the other's wrist was tender, a soft squeeze of appreciation.

"Medic", he barked, and Hashirama blinked at him.

"Me?"

"No, you fool! Get the Hatake a med-nin to close that wound." Hashirama scratched his head. Advisors -- elders -- where approaching them, and a moment later they were surrounded by people, both Senju and Uchiha. Amidst the sudden talk of preparing a contract for cease-fire and dates for further conversations between the two clans, Madara looked into the grey eyes that held his clan's sharingan. "You are right on time, mutt. Just like you planned. Stop pretending otherwise."

But before he could say anything else, the requested medic showed up; an awed Senju, who did not quite trust himself to step next to the Uchiha clan head (disheveled and battle-worn as he may be), instead gesturing the Hatake to come over to him.

 

[roxybirdie]

"Watch your tongue, Senju,"

If Kakashi was surprised by the sudden proclamation, his face didn't show it. Charcoal eyes regarded the older Uchiha silently. A couple of days ago, the Clan Head was barely recognizable. Darkness shrouded his broad frame like a cloak, poisoning his heart with its insidious touch. Completely embroiled in the — to the point he resembled his deceased brother — curse, Madara teetered on the edge before he could descend to complete madness. Instead of baring his throat, and begging for peace, the silver-haired ambassador pinpointed the man's fears and ruthlessly exploited them. Kakashi felt no remorse, not when the Uchiha Head had the gall to offer him an ultimatum. If Madara wanted a rise out of him, Kakashi aimed for the ravenette's jugular.

He lowered his gaze, assessing the older man's bloodied and battered state. While the darkness lingered inside Madara's heart, the cloak vanished. Hashirama, like he predicted, penetrated the man's unbridled rage and dragged him toward the light. The Senju Head pulled his — a man he should consider his greatest enemy, but did (and could) not — friend away from the festering pit of madness. Kakashi knew it wasn't over. Grief and rage — although, subdued — radiated from the raven-haired man. However, the Clan Head's overpowering (and blinding) bloodlust dissipated. The silver-haired halfbreed had a feeling Madara will never forgive Tobirama for ripping his brother (his last remaining immediate kin) from him, but he was confident the Uchiha Head won't attempt to conquer Hi no Kuni in the name of vengeance.

All the sudden, a palm clamped on his shoulder. Kakashi twitched at the overpowering scent of nature. As the God of Shinobi — kami-sama, the man was loud — laughed, he didn't know if he should chuckle or remove the man's hand. The taller man could snap him in half like a twig and yet, his instincts didn't flare. Kakashi settled for a sheepish, but awkward eye-smile. Suddenly, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand. The half-Hatake glanced at the younger Senju. Something about the white-haired teen's penetrating gaze raised his hackles.

Kakashi didn't feel like prey, but ... a specimen under a microscope.

Fortunately, Hashirama unknowingly intervened before Kakashi retaliated. His recalled the moment the sensor's blade hovered above Madara's heart, seconds from ending the Clan Head's life. It made his blood boil and his chakra sing. The primal rage positively seethed, itching to sink its claws into the Senju's flesh, bath in his spilled blood, and relinquish in his agonized screams. The Hatake, while a small clan, are natural predators; a pack of wolves thriving for the hunt. When his inner wolf deemed Uchiha Madara pack, it demanded retribution.

Enemies rarely survive a Hatake's wrath.

"You could have had the decency to wait..."

Kakashi blinked. "Maa, maa—" The man's grip on his wrist felt unusually warm and tender, but not unpleasant. "—I did receive an invitation from you two days ago," he pointed out, as if the conversation didn't end in sharp teeth and oppressive chakra. The sudden gentle squeeze on his wrist spoke louder than words and Kakashi returned the gesture with a genuine eye-smile. Without warning, the Uchiha Head demanded a medic. "I don't think that's necessary, Madara-san—" His declaration fell on deaf ears.

You are right on time, mutt. Just like you planned. Stop pretending otherwise. A chuckle rumbled inside his chest. Dark charcoal met fathomless obsidian. "I have no idea what you're insinuating," he countered airily. Kakashi directed his attention toward the medic. Heaving a sigh, the silver-haired halfbreed reluctantly approached the starstruck Senju. He raised his left hand, revealing a deep gash diagonally across his inner palm. He had a feeling, based on the Senju's expression, not many shinobi blocked a certain sensor's blade with their bare hand.

"Don't neglect your own health, Madara-san. You look like death," Kakashi declared boldly. It evoked a strangled squeak from his assigned medic. The poor Senju boy looked as white as snow. Once the Iryō-nin mended his gash, Kakashi craned his neck back and locked eyes with the Uchiha Head. His dark grey eyes glimmered with unbidden amusement, challenging the elder Uchiha.

 

[arbus]

"—I did receive an invitation from you two days ago."

Madara, albeit from afar, watched over the proceedings of the young Senju healer with eagle's eyes. Trust was not a merit gained overnight, and mistrust not something to be shed like a cloak when it had become second skin through generations of prejudice and conflict. But he did not comment as the green glow of chakra started to mend the gashing cut in a what seemed to him a shaky chakra flow. Instead, he cleared his throat.

"I did not think you would show." The words were out of his mouth before he could think better of it -- cursed be his fathomless temper -- but it was not so much what he said that made him scowl at himself, than how he had said it. His voice had been level, quiet, conceding, transporting cadences of that anxiety he could not really name. His tone must have been so uncharacteristically off, even the med-nin halted for a second, but before he even dared to stare, Madara's scowl deepened, which made the Senju seem to think better than to raise his eyes; instead, and rather wisely, Madara found, he directed all his attention with hyper focus on the already vanishing wound.

"Don't neglect your own health, Madara-san. You look like death."

The mutt's attention, on the other hand, he did not mind, and as their eyes met, Madara felt a smile tuck on one corner of his mouth. It was the weirdest, strangest sensation; only in this moment, with the muscles in his face taught, did he realize how long it had been since he had actually smiled.

It felt strange and unfamiliar.

"I've been called worse", he retorted. He opened his mouth to say more, but in that moment, one of the elders -- Yoshitaka-san, in fact, the grim-looking man that had frowned throughout the Hatake's presence at their clan head's banquette -- bowed next to him, demanding his attention. Madara did not want to leave the conversation with the Hatake just yet. It granted him a little reprieve from everything, with the tension between them dissipated. The memory of what had sounded like a genuine amused chuckle was still fresh in Madara's mind. But he conceded, because there were more pressing matters than his own wishes, and with a nod to the Hatake, he followed the elder into a crowd of white-haired old men that had gathered around the young faces of Senju Hashirama and a stern looking Senju woman with a pointed chin and heavy armor.

The Senju healer excused himself, still somewhat awestruck and in a lack of words, as soon as the wound on the Hatake's hand was closed. It was a strange period, this next couple of hours, in which neither side seemed completely sure how to proceed -- a cease fire had never been offered, and while the clan heads and their advisors worked on the more elaborate details, the shinobi of both clans struggled for etiquette. The rush of the victory, which was in fact a victory for both sides as Hashirama would put it in a short speech a while later, had subsided after those first heady minutes, and most of the troops busied themselves with the silent, excruciating work of recovering their dead.

The operation on Uchiha side was lead by Hikaku, who was profoundly glad that the numbers of the deceased were strikingly slim -- on both sides.

Most of the battle had been fought between Senju Hashirama and Uchiha Madara, and from two-hundred-fifty men, women and teens, seven had lost their lives. It was miserable, nonetheless, but it also spoke of the reluctance to kill, to continue on with this war -- especially on Uchiha side.

Hashirama's figure made for an impressive sight, as he stood on the mountain top, looking down upon the gathered shinobi. Next to him was Madara, his eyes surveying the two clans that had kept separate, distancing themselves from one another. The Uchiha clan head remained silent while Hashirama spoke of bonds, of opportunity, of a peace treaty that would be negotiated on neutral grounds. This made the crowds flare up with shouts of excitement, but soon after, Hikaku on the Uchiha and Tobirama on the Senju side commenced an organized retreat towards the respective territories.

The Uchiha had fought far from their home territory, on Madara's direction, so they had set up camp twenty minutes from the battle site on a clearing deep in the heart of the woodlands. Only there, the subdued excitement turned into the adrenaline-heavy exuberance of joy -- to still be alive, and, at least for now, to live in a safer world. And while many battle-worn, older shinobi still seemed weary, every one of them shared a glass of cheap beer or sake. Torches illuminated the way between the tents, as dusk had long settled into night by now.

And earlier, somewhere back on the battle site, Hikaku had found the Hatake, bowing somewhat stiffly (his leg was heavily bandaged), before he extended a cautious, if genuine, smile: "My cousin invites you to spend the night in our camp, Hatake-san", he had informed him. "And he asks for the honor of your eh ... attendance during dinner. Just that he ... did not quite use those exact words." His expression became somewhat pinched. Tell the mutt to find me, had been more like it, but Hikaku figured a bit of diplomacy would not hurt anyone for a change.

The clan head's tent was big, bright with candles and stuffed to the brim with busybodies and nosy idiots -- Madara's words -- so he had retrieved to the near river bench, a small stream that, farther up north, lead into the Naka. There, he was sitting with his back to the noise and chatter of the campsite, skidding stones over the water's surface, and musing about trust.

 

[roxybirdie]

"I did not think you would show."

For a moment, Kakashi grew silent. If he noticed the Clan Head's abnormal tone, he didn't comment. He averted his gaze, taking a moment to survey the clearing. Upturned earth, thick roots, and scorched soil dominated the large battlefield. Slash marks, dampened grass, and earthen spikes signified additional elements, but the most damage inflicted was from wood release and katon release; the signature techniques of Senju Hashirama and Uchiha Madara. "The Uchiha is my clan too," Kakashi murmured. His primal instincts screamed pack, but in layman's terms, it was the same thing. The half-Hatake had a feeling the older Uchiha understood — the Uchiha felt things a lot stronger than the average clan — the fundamentals of pack, but Kakashi had no intention of admitting it out loud.

He felt the ravenette's intense gaze on the back of his neck, fixated on the Senju's movements. His lips twitched, wry amusement coiling inside his stomach. Kakashi knew trust was something earned, not given. The outcome of the final battle may of ended in ceasefire, but generations of prejudice, mistrust, and conflict doesn't melt overnight. A part of him — not that he would admit it — felt (dare he say it) flattered by the Uchiha Head's gesture. Once the half-Hatake directed his attention to the elder Uchiha, he witnessed something phenomenal.

A smile. It was small, but it was unmistakably genuine.

It looked peculiar on a man forged by fire and blood, but at the same time, it suited the Clan Head.

"I've been called worse,"

Kakashi snorted in response. He opened his mouth, a quick-witted retort on the tip of his tongue, but suddenly, the Uchiha elders swooped in — like kamidamn war hawks — and dragged the Clan Head away. Once the Senju healer mended his deep gash completely, he bowed and scurried away. Without another word, the silver-haired halfbreed joined the Uchiha to gather the dead.

*​

Hatake Kakashi is no stranger to war nor its aftermath. At the tender age of five, he graduated from the Academy and became an official adult in the eyes of his village. He fought in the Third Shinobi World War and later on, the Fourth Shinobi World War. He witnessed the most bitter (and war-torn) enemies band together and fight a rampaging goddess and her white demon spawn. Kakashi understood war intimately, but something about the last few hours was unquestionably new and foreign. Perhaps, it was witnessing the pivotal moment leading to the birth of his beloved village. Or maybe, it was the knowledge — despite his past meddling — of not (completely) fucking over the new timeline.

Either or, it was a peculiar experience.

"...did not quite use those exact words."

As the sun descended, the Uchiha and Senju retreated to their respective territories for the night. Because of his bold declaration — and a official invitation — the half-Hatake joined the Uchiha. Kakashi was currently navigating through the campsite, weaving around celebrating clansmen and other festivities. Following the scent of fire, woodsmoke, and sandalwood — such a scent may seem commonplace among the Uchiha, but it wasn't — Kakashi maneuvered to a small stream behind the biggest tent in the campsite. Without a word, the silver-haired shinobi picked up a smooth stone and lowered himself on the river bank, flanking the older Uchiha's left side. "I collected all the Senju corpses left on Uchiha soil," he drawled. Kakashi flicked his wrist, sending the rounded stone skipping across the water. "The oldest bodies were too decomposed, so I burned their remains and sealed the ashes." Over the course of a few months — since the death of Uchiha Izuna — a total of one-hundred and two bodies were left to rot on Uchiha land.

"I gave Hashirama-san the scrolls before the Senju left," the war veteran murmured. Kakashi retrieved another rock and skipped it. By utilizing a team of kage bunshins, he collected every body within a two day timeframe. Despite the overwhelming stench of decay and burnt flesh, Kakashi — it was a kamidamn miracle — didn't experience a single episode. On the other hand, the foul odor lingered on his skin. The silver-haired halfbreed wasn't certain if it was real or a psychological trigger.

 

[arbus]

The Hatake‘s ability to locate Madara seemed fail-proof. He side-eyed the man as he stepped out of the circle of light provided by the camp, into a semi-darkness that allowed for not much more than hazy figures. Madara wondered if, among all his other skills, the mutt was a sensor, too. It would certainly not surprise him anymore.

"I collected all the Senju corpses left on Uchiha soil."

Madara's thumb ran over the smooth surface of the pebble in his hand, warm from the radiating heat of his skin. He watched the skilled throw of the other, his eyes following the pebble that sprang over the surface of the stream, three, four, five times. At the Hatake's words, the distinct image of a barren field entered his vision, strewn with corpses. His own words rang in his head.

"I understand you have quite an astute sense of smell, Hatake-san. I wonder, did you smell the corpses strewn across the land on your way here? It is growing warmer. They will have started rotting into the earth by now. I'm sure Hashirama appreciates it, when his clan members become one with his sacred soil."

How cruel and unnecessary they now seemed, now that the consuming, cold rage had settled back into a flickering flame. It evoked shame, of a deep-seated, unspeakable sort that sat right next to this new-found anxiety concerning the Hatake. Madara was not one to to display remorse, and did never allow himself to dwell too long a stretch a time on regret, but now he felt it, deeply.

"The oldest bodies were too decomposed, so I burned their remains and sealed the ashes."

Keeping his eyes averted, he watched the Hatake skip another stone. Watched it fly, a darker shadow on the reflecting water of the river. The moon was only half-full and receeding, the black sky saturated with stars. The noise of his celebrating clansmen ebbed and amplified like a tide. Madara thought it had a hysterical note, the laughter that drifted over to them.

The regret, the shame he felt, was not for the Senju's dead, however. This was war, and Madara understood that, oftentimes, the absence of rataliation could lead to even more bloodshed in the longer run; it was a cruel, disillusioned way to look at life, of course, one taught by tears and disappointment. But Madara, beneath all his emotions, was a pragmatic at heart -- someone who, at least most of the time, knew to strategize. He was a skilled warlord, and this skill stemmed from his ability to make cold, rational decisions when it mattered. At least he liked to think of himself in that way.

All the more, this sense of drowning in a black pool of hatred, thick and impenetrable like oil, had frightened him. Had pushed him towards the cease-fire ("If you want your clan to prosper, prove them wrong), towards the weary forgiveness as he had locked eyes with Hashirama -- and away from Izuna, who's eyes he sensed in the back of his neck like poisonous needles.

Traitor.

His regret, Madara was self-aware enough to acknowledge, stemmed from the liking he had taken towards the Hatake. Not from the debt he felt towards him, which was ever-present and yet unspoken. Even if he was well aware of the fact that it had been the Hatake's own decision to collect the corpses -- nobody asked him to do this, even though it certainly spoke of some sort of profound moral code Madara had witnessed in him time and again.

"I gave Hashirama-san the scrolls before the Senju left."

"I'm certain he appreciates it", was all he said, though.

Madara let the pebble slide to the tips of his fingers and threw it, turned the angle of his hand in the last second, so that the stone landed with an unceremonious splash in the water. He thought of his cruel words towards the Hatake; he thought of the guards that had spent three nights in prison, though without taking any bodily harm. He thought how, since childhood, he had struggled to keep his uncontrollable temper at bay, and never quite succeeded.

"Sometimes I throw rocks just to see them sink", he finally murmured, voice clear but low. "I don't know why I do this."

Maybe because the privilege of intellect and power made a man lonely; it was hard not to grow impatient with the world that seemed to perpetually turn too damn slowly on its axis, inhabited by people that needed so much prompting and still cowered before him even though he did not even mean to intimidate.

The mutt never cowered. Never bowed his back or averted his eyes.

He let another couple of moments pass, then he said in a more stern, more business-like voice:

"The Uchiha and Senju need a host on neutral territory for the peace talks. As an ally of the Uchiha, the Hatake cannot provide us with it. However, I am aware of your clan's tight bonds with the Inuzuka clan and was hoping as our designated ambassador, you would inquire about their willingness to accomodate us."

 

[roxybirdie]

Years Ago — Fourth Shinobi World War

"Kakashi-sensei?"

The aforementioned Hatake gazed at the pyres. "Maa, Sakura-chan. You don't have to call me sensei." He glanced at his former student. "We are the same rank now," he pointed out. His visible eye curved upward. "I don't think I congratulated you."

She tucked a strand of rose petal locks behind her ear. "You don't have to," Sakura assured softly.

He hummed. "Ascending to jōnin is no easy feat." The silver-haired shinobi directed his attention to the crackling flames. "You're the first member of Team Seven to achieve chūnin. Now jōnin." Kakashi opened his shuriken pouch and retrieved two dangling bells. "You've come a long way, Sakura-chan." He handed his only female student the bells. "I'm proud of you," he announced.

A trembling hand accepted the bells. "I-I have you to thank for that," Sakura murmured.

"Maa, you're too kind to me, Sakura-chan," the Hatake huffed. He patted his former student on the shoulder. "We both know I was a terrible sensei," he pointed out.

Sakura snorted out a laugh. "You'll always be my sensei, Kakashi-sensei," she declared.

A chuckle rumbled inside his chest. "Is there something you need?"

The rosette hesitated. "Why..." She swallowed and stared at the row of burning pyres. "Why do you collect the dead?" The kunoichi suppressed the urge to gag. The air was thick with the overwhelming stench of decay and burnt flesh. Her stomach roiled in response, but she ignored it.

"Am I not suppose to?"

"No!" Sakura winced and flushed in embarrassment. "I-I just noticed..." She rubbed the back of her neck, struggling to find the words. "...you always seem to be the first to volunteer when we're able to gather our fallen," she admitted.

He draped a palm on top of Sakura's head. "Maa, my cute little student worries too much about little ol' me," he mused.

A frown marred her lips. "Why?" Sakura challenged.

The former sensei ruffled his only female student's rose petal locks. Once he retracted his hand, Kakashi gazed at the pyres.

"Someone has to."

*​

Present

It started with the death of Uchiha Obito. Witnessing the demise of his teammate — and acquiring his remaining sharingan — had a profound impact on the last Hatake. Obito was his first friend and not even an hour later, he died. His impulsive, loudmouthed, idiot of a teammate thought the White Fang — his disgraced father — was a hero and taught him what Hatake Sakumo could not; teamwork. Kakashi learned the value of teamwork for the first time and his friend died because he was too weak. Losing Obito was the beginning of his downward spiral to a festering pit of darkness and despair. When Team Seven was incapable of retrieving Obito's body for a proper burial, Kakashi felt responsible for letting his friend's corpse rot on enemy soil.

Kakashi knew, in retrospect, it was inevitable. War bred strife, hatred, and bloodshed; it was simultaneously ugly and unforgiving. All the fallen — every single shinobi fighting on the front lines — rarely made it back home. Not all the fallen are gathered — sometimes, it wasn't kamidamn possible — and are left to rot. Kakashi understood the principle and accepted it, but the silver-haired shinobi didn't like it. Abandoning fallen comrades — regardless if it was necessary or not — felt profoundly wrong. It went against the very nature of the Hatake clan and his friend's memory.

Those who abandon the mission are scum, but those who abandon their friends are worse than scum.

He couldn't always collect — he hated it, but he accepted the inevitable — the fallen, but when he did, Kakashi felt right; as if he were honoring the foundation of his clan and his friend's philosophy. The silver-haired halfbreed may be undeniably petty and overall spiteful, but retrieving the dead — and giving much deserved closure — wasn't (and never will be) out of malice. Kakashi never wanted another soul, especially someone he cared about and considered pack, to feel the overwhelming helplessness and despair he experienced when he lost Obito.

Even if his first friend turned out to be alive and orchestrated the Fourth Shinobi World War.

"I don't know why I do this."

Kakashi picked up a smaller pebble and fingered its smooth surface. He raised his hand and flicked his wrist. Instead of sending it skipping, the small rock landed in the water with a loud splash. He hummed at the sight. "Oddly therapeutic," he mused. The half-Hatake retrieved another stone and deliberately threw it inside the stream. Skipping rocks honed accuracy and precision — a rudimentary training tool for younglings — but something about sinking the pebbles felt undeniably calming.

Strange considering he was skipping rocks with Uchiha Madara.

He paused his newfound activity and lifted his gaze. A waning moon hung above their heads, the receding light casting a dim glow on the small creek. A constellation of stars twinkled in the night sky, shining mightier than the waning moon. In the background, a cacophony of sounds reverberated throughout the campsite. Clansmen — young or old — celebrated a tremendous moment of history. While the final battle ended in ceasefire, the fight wasn't over. Generations of prejudice, strife, and hatred won't melt after a few peaceful negotiations. However, tonight wasn't about the final battle, but a feeling all Uchiha — even the most stubborn, warmongering dragons — desired; hope.

A chance the Uchiha can finally be seen as human, not bloodthirsty demons.

Kakashi tilted his head back, gazing at the older Uchiha through his peripheral. Suddenly, instead of the river bank, he was back inside the ornate room.

"Liar,"

The Eternal Mangekyō stared at him directly in the eye, the trisected circular spirals spinning rapidly. Pure and unadulterated hatred was evident on the man's expression. Without warning, the visage morphed and instead of the Clan Head, it was Uchiha Izuna. His Mangekyō resembled trisected hollowed circles. The boy's face twisted into a contemptuous snarl.

"Liar,"

It transformed once more and the face of his former student appeared. His Eternal Mangekyō — six pointed stars with a triangular pinwheel in the center — glared at him with unbridled rage and overpowering darkness.

"L i a r,"

Demented laughter resonated inside his mind. The foul odor of rotting black chakra — more repugnant than burning flesh — invaded his nostrils. Kakashi closed his eyes and banished the wicked memories. He breathed in deeply, focusing on the older Uchiha's scent. Fire, woodsmoke, sandalwood, and copper. Regardless of the new element — his own scent was embroiled with the blood of thousands — it grounded him. Something about the Clan Head's unique scent was unmistakably comforting. A single word reverberated throughout his mind.

Pack.

Once he opened his eyes, Kakashi regarded the Uchiha Head silently. For what seemed like the first time, the silver-haired shinobi saw the man, not his future counterpart. He saw through the fire and blood — past the wavering black flames — and looked underneath the underneath. Finally, Kakashi understood why — in spite of his dark, dark future — he subconsciously deemed the Clan Head pack.

Uchiha Madara and him are one and the same; bearing the weight of an immense burden. It was right in front of him, but the stubborn Hatake was too blind — too entangled in his grief, remorse, and self-hatred — to see the bigger picture. Madara wasn't (and never will be) the man he once knew. Kakashi vowed to do everything in his power to ensure the filthy parasite didn't poison the Clan Head.

The Hatake protected their pack with their last dying breath.

"...you would inquire about their willingness to accomodate us."

Kakashi snatched a pebble off the ground and threw it inside the small brook. "Maa, I'll coordinate with kaa-san and make the arrangements," he drawled. The silver-haired halfbreed leaned forward, resting his forearms on his propped knees. "I been told my kind of flare makes diplomats reach for the sake," he pouted. The half-Hatake grabbed another rock and threw it almost petulantly.

He repressed a sudden shiver at the thought of returning to Inuzuka territory. The Hatake and Inuzuka are — the negotiations aren't over — tentatively allies. Kakashi barely escaped a marriage clause by the skin of his teeth. He had a sinking feeling it was far from over.

 

[arbus]

"Maa, I'll coordinate with kaa-san and make the arrangements."

The Hatake had not said "my mother", the way he usually referred to Hatake Noka in Madara's presence, but "kaa-san". Madara noticed because it was a much more colloquial way to refer to one's mother in the presence of another; it spoke to the peculiar familiarity that had developed between them. The clan head picked up another pebble, examined it for a moment, then threw it to join the mutt's on the ground of the river with a distinct splash. Humming, Madara inclined his head. "Therapeutic, indeed."

His eyes, so vulnerable just a few weeks ago, were now sharper than ever -- thanks to his brother's sharingan, he thought with a sting -- and were able to make out the Hatake's face even in the relative dimness. Or what little of that face was actually on display. Just one more irritating peculiarity about the mutt, and he remembered the old, familiar indignation directed towards the man, that had always made Madara bristle. It was not an unpleasant feeling; strangely energizing and youthful. So different -- he suddenly realized -- from the morose darkness of the real, desperate fury he had felt at the loss of Izuna.

Madara ignored the strange look he had thought to catch on the other man's face as he -- quite obviously and rudely, Madara found -- had stared at him, and huffed at the mutt's sudden pout.

"I been told my kind of flare makes diplomats reach for the sake."

"You mean like this one?", he inquired, producing a small, round bottle from the depths of the high-collared attire he had changed into after returning to the camp site. He wiggled the bottle in front of the other's eyes, meeting the petulant frown with a half-mocking, half-daring smirk.With his thumb, he popped the cork from the neck of the bottle. "You are every diplomat's worst nightmare, mutt", he announced, and took a hearty swig before offering the bottle to the Hatake, "but I can't wait to see you badger some other clan head than me, for once. Hashirama, for example. That idiot certainly has it coming."

 

[roxybirdie]

"You mean like this one?"

He wilted, as if a cloud of despair hung over his head. "I'm not that bad," Kakashi mumbled. He eyed the circular bottle dangling (almost mockingly) in front of his face. The half-Hatake flashed the elder Uchiha a baleful glare. However, it lacked any real heat; more querulous than menacing. A part of him was tempted to wipe the infuriating smirk off the Clan Head's smug face.

That idiot certainly has it coming. A huff of amusement escaped his lips. Kakashi accepted the bottle. "Maa, maa—" His charcoal eyes glimmered with mischief. He leaned toward the older ravenette, a spark of challenge in his dark gaze. "—are you that eager to see under the mask, Madara-san?" he inquired. Kakashi swished the bottle in front of the Uchiha Head. "Curiosity does kill the cat," he pointed out. The dim light of the waning moon painted the ambassador in shadows, but highlighted his unruly Hatake locks; the color of pure silver.

The camaraderie between them — forged by fire, blood, and death — felt unquestionably odd, but undeniably right. It was different than the mutual budding respect a few months ago. Something about it felt lighter, weightless; more freeing. Kakashi couldn't quite describe the peculiar feeling. Even when the Clan Head lost himself in the grief, rage, and bloodlust — completely embroiled in his clan's darkest curse — the bond remained under the surface.

Watching, waiting, hoping.

"If I'm a mutt, I guess that makes you a mangy cat," Kakashi announced, eyes curving upward.

 

[arbus]

"I'm not that bad."

At the sight of the mutt's faux-desperation, and that platantly exaggerated display of petulance, Madara scoffed. It was a sound nearer to a laugh than he had produced in a long while. His smirk deepend for a moment, edging the corners of his mouth upward and presenting his teeth. An almost boyish expression, telling of brief years of adolesence that did not lay as far back as they felt. He was only twenty-one years old, after all, and in this moment it showed.

"Maa, maa -- are you that eager to see under the mask, Madara-san?"

For a moment, he countered the Hatake's daring gaze with one of his own, eyes alight with amusement and something else. His eyes traveled over the mutt's masked face as if to inspect it, ready to make a point about how utterly and completely indifferent he was about what the mutt's stupid face looked like under that ridiculous, pretentious mask, and how contrary to his younger clansmen he could not care less if he caught the man mid-bite or, more accurately, mid-sip. But before he could start spouting these lies, his gaze caught on the contours of a mouth beneath the taut fabric, and beyond that, the line of a sharp, pointed chin.

Madara blinked.

Something about that sight -- in much closer proximity than usual -- made him choke on his words.

Luckily, the mutt's well-timed impudence gave him an excuse to react to stir this moment of halting confusion onto saver ground, and without missing a beat, he jumped onto that opportunity. "What did you just call me?", he spat, eyes narrowed, reaching for that ever-useful resource of indignation that would ignite a shielding cloak of righteous anger. "Mangy, eh?" He snatched the bottle right out of the Hatake's hand again. "Bold words for some obscure, half-blooded mongrel. Reeking of flee-ridden dogs, no less! If you don't want the sake offered to you by your ally, just because you don't want to show me your face, you just have to say so! So much for your abysmal diplomacy!"

Very much just short of stomping his foot and crossing his arms, Madara instead huffed. A moment, then he thought better of it, and placed the bottle on the grassy ground between them. There was an undeniable curiosity for what the mutt looked like -- formed like unconscious thoughts in the very back of his mind -- but he would rather have the ground open up and devour him before admitting to that. "Here", he said, in a tone of strained, self-imposed patience, "drink. I won't look." He demonstrably turned his head away, looking out onto the slow current.

But then his eyebrows creased, and like an afterthought, that brought a hint of smugness back into his voice, he added:

"You cannot possibly be that ugly."

 

[roxybirdie]

"So much for your abysmal diplomacy!"

Perhaps, witnessing a pivotal moment of history — and the birth of his village on the horizon — had a more profound impact than he anticipated. Maybe, it was his prior epiphany and newfound comradeship. Regardless, Kakashi can't describe the sudden feeling bubbling inside his chest. The rush of indignation on the Clan Head's expression, and his contemptuous scowl, was a lot more comical than scathing. The half-Hatake threw his head back and laughed. While it was light and fleeting — far from a belly-busting guffaw — it softened the hard edges around his lean frame. For the first time, the Hatake ambassador looked like his youthful age of nineteen. As if the weight of the world (and the future) didn't rest on his weary shoulders.

"Did I say a mangy cat? More like a spitting kitten," Kakashi chuckled. The silver-haired shinobi locked eyes with the older ravenette, charcoal hues glimmering with unbidden amusement and a hint of smug defiance; challenging the Clan Head to say otherwise. He glanced at the round bottle offered on the ground. Without another word, Kakashi picked it up and lowered his mask, taking a hearty sip.

You cannot possibly be that ugly. A huff of amusement escaped his lips. Kakashi pulled up his mask. "Maa, it's not about my looks." A bold-faced lie since the war veteran — even in his original timeline — looked like a girl. His — what his father once deemed beautiful — visage was more of an inconvenience than a blessing. However, it wasn't the only reason for his physical (and metaphorical) mask. "If you must know, all Hatake children wear masks until they can control their senses. I was born with overactive olfactory receptors, a rare condition in the clan. Imagine the Hatake sense of smell magnified tenfold," he pointed out. Kakashi tapped the tip of his nose. "I can smell everything." On the left side of his mask, the ambassador flipped the rim, revealing a tiny seal stitched onto the fabric.

"I've learned to deal with it, but I developed a seal to dampen my senses to a manageable level," the half-Hatake announced.