DISCLAIMER:
Injuries that require description of gore. (NAME) is change of perspective. ALSO REALLY FREAKIN' LONG CHAPTERS.
(Madara)
It was a long night, a terrible, frightening, yet comforting night. They offered him a sedative, but Madara declined, so he slept in five or ten minute snatches. He had to be prepared. He couldn't relax. Did he even remember how?
The rumbles of the heating pipes, or the soft whistle of Hashirama's breaths should be soothing, normal, familiar, but all he thought about was who might be breaking down the door, or who could crawl in through the window and take this, supposed to be peaceful, moment away, forever.
Placing a bruised pale hand against Hashi's ribs, Madara felt lungs working, and a, never forgotten, heart beating. He had agreed to sleep in Hashirama's room, only because it would be a place where people couldn't find him as easily. Except that, though he would never admit it out loud, he knew he cherished how comfortable he felt in these arms.
But such intimacy was something he couldn't afford to show to anyone, even the man next to him on the bed. And in a moment of basic, normal clarity, Madara realized Hashirama must have moved on. It'd been years, and the way that red-headed cunt had screamed at him couldn't mean anything else. Hashirama was fucking Mito, Madara was sure of it, and the thought of them together, of Hashirama's hands pressed against her face, tangling in her hair…
No, fuck this shit, Madara told himself, forcing the images in his head to break apart. I survived war, torture, and I can deal with this crap. He was an Uchiha, he was his pride and reputation, and if Senju Hashirama had become the kind of man who fucked whores Madara would acknowledge that and move the fuck on with his life.
Besides, in reality, Madara couldn't think of how long he'd been with Hashirama. They'd been friends since childhood, but their sex life had just started before he was taken. All those steamy nights wrapped up in one another, each stolen kiss, each frantically locked closet door, couldn't add up to more than thirty, forty, nights if he was being generous.
Still, the questions remained. Should he allow Hashirama the closeness he so obviously thought he was due? Was the whore actually important to him, or would it be alright for Madara to finish what he'd started in the Med Building?
Shaking his head, wanting to shove all the intrusive thoughts away, Madara escaped the Senju's grasp; standing up, he approached the closet where he removed a clean uniform to cover his torn body. It hung on him, showing his weight loss, and it made him angry. Before he could wear Hashirama's armor and nobody would bat an eye. It used to fit him perfectly. Now it hung on him like a poorly-fitted costume of a child trying to pretend they were a soldier.
He'd never been this insecure, never. When people looked to him it had been with confidence, fear, and respect, not pity and disdain. As he cinched the belt another hole tighter he could almost hear the voices of his first unit, the men and women arguing in hushed tones as their Jōnin Commander lay dead before them, some cocky terrorists having gotten off a lucky shot a few moments before the squad had reached cover.
"Well of course we have to go back." was some smart-mouthed Chūnin's solution to the problem of the dead man's guts leaking out into the desert. "Communications are down. We failed—"
Damn, Madara realized, the fucking dip shit probably sucked Butsuma's dick enough to be a Jōnin by now. Kami, why couldn't he have ate bullets? Then again, Madara figured as he suppressed the urge to yank at the fabric of the uniform, trying to hide the harsh angles of his hips, he might be dead. Hope so. No way in hell I'm taking orders from that coward.
What had he said next? Quitters could go fuck themselves, or was it asking if the bitch needed to change his tampon—
No, no Madara could see the Chūnin's face now, feel the grime of sand glued to his body with sweat, hear the clash of distant tank fire coming from the inner valley. "We only fail if we leave, if we don't keep fighting." was Madara's response, while he knelt, folding the already stiffening arms of the corpse. "If those bastards are trigger happy enough to blow rounds on us that means they feel safe. that means they've got time to fuck around."
"So what" Hyuga Rita said, her blueish-black hair coiled up under a sand-colored hood. "You want to go barge in there with my grenades?"
"Hn." Madara smirked, brushing the dried blood onto his pants, "No, but I like your enthusiasm."
"Our leader's been lost." The Chūnin tried to interject, his eyebrows scrunched up tight with irritation, and Madara knew, more than a healthy amount of fear.
"No shit, that's whose corpse I've been looting?" Madara asked with a scoff as he finished handing the last of the deadman's rifle mags out. "What do you want us to do then? Waste time digging him a grave? Endanger our own lives to lug his heavy ass body back to base? Have a sharing circle where we say how nice a guy he was?"
"Course not I just—"
"Are wasting our time."
"Upon the death of a commander all survivors are to make their way back to base, or, if one is encountered earlier, report to the next available Jōnin Commander." the Chūnin said practically quoting the recruit manual's section on what to do when shit hits the fan. "If we turn and head due south we should be able to meet up with the Anbu and—"
"Jeopardize the mission?" Madara asked in a scathing voice, "You want us to go run and hide with our tails between our legs because one of us died?" He gestured toward the east and the echoing gunfire, "If we don't blast every asinine fuck wad, and his mother, in there before 700 hours they'll move out and kill us."
"Our orders—"
"Were to liquidate this radio unit so they can't fucking spot our men coming in."
"Our commander—"
"Is worm food." Madara said through gritted teeth. "He's worse than useless." Madara kicked the corpse, each dull thud emphasizing his words. "He's deadweight, and if you don't wanna be then you'll shut the fuck up and listen. We're here, we're breathing and alive."
"He'd want us to finish the job." Rita added as the others nodded agreement.
The Chūnin scoffed. "Uchiha just because your daddy's a big shot war hero doesn't mean you can throw your fucking weight around. Our officer is dead; we're next. Maybe, just maybe there's something to your, they feel too safe, idea, but that's it. I'm a Chūnin. I rank higher than you, and i say our new mission is to-"
Rita scoffed, "And I'm about to be promoted to an Anbu Squad. Get over yourself. Listen to what he has to say, coward."
With an almost lazy flick of the wrist Madara's pistol was in hand, the trigger cocked, "Maybe we can save the six of us with your run to the Anbu plan. But it would guarantee the deaths of hundreds of that same unit who are right now sneaking over the southern ridge, fucking shimmying down cliffs to get here undetected, so they can wreck the enemy besieging our supply lines." After the Chūnin looked ready to shit his pants Madara lowered the gun to his side and went on, "Eight hours, that's how long we have till they're in range of the watchtower. We need to go in there now. We need to kill everyone except two rookies so they'll keep relaying false tactical info."
"We aren't qualified." the Chūnin said in a small voice. "We don't have the intel that."
"You aren't. But we are." Madara said gesturing to the rest.
"He's right though." Rita said reluctantly "We never got the order of how to infiltrate the ground floor from the captain. I liked your little speech but how are we gonna tackle that? They've got fifty men in there at least."
"Surveillance" Madara said, deadpan. "Which will be supplied by myself," he pointed to the Chūnin, "you, and two other volunteers. What we're doing is dangerous. It's a war."
Scowling the man nodded his head. "So we all move out—"
Madara rolled his eyes. "No. I go up, assess the situation, determine where you and the others would be best placed to grab intel. Then, we cycle through our positions, making sure each of us has a chance to scope out the perimeter. Finally after three hours we meet at the north checkpoint where Hyuga will be waiting for you to debrief her, before she blows up the side of the ridge. And after we see, at least, four enemy soldiers go out to verify the stability of their northern wall, then we go in, snipers ready to wreck that radio unit. The only way this group of bitches is getting a signal out is through climbing over a pile of our dead damn bodies."
Back then he was a soldier. Gathering his title as one of the youngest Anbu in history with Rita… becoming his team captain until he outranked even her. He WAS a weapon, not some broken toy soldier.
But, black metal glinting in that damnable morning sunlight caught Madara's eye, yanking him roughly out of his memory, as he finished knotting his black boots. It was Hashirama's gun, the Glock 19 Madara had given him for, a birthday, an anniversary, Kami, he couldn't remember. Regardless it was there on the side table, and he had his knives strapped into place; he should be ready for a fight, for any kind of battle, but not the mission facing him. He'd fought men, four times his size, and won, over and over, but.
Izuna was coming.
Tousan was coming.
He'd heard the whispers in the hallways. He knew how fast gossip and information spread. He was excited and frightened, impatient and avoiding, he wondered what his otouto would say. Whether Izuna would believe him weak for being captured. Madara had once proclaimed himself unstoppable. The nightmare of the enemy. What was he now? A skeleton, a dead version of a once good soldier. Broken?
(Tobirama)
"Hey Uchiha, stop having an existential moment. You're going to be skinny as fuck, what a shocker." Tobirama said, opening the door.
"Hn." Madara said as he looked down at the green mug Tobirama held out to him.
"Drink this. I mixed in some of the Hippie's herbs, it'll help with the jitters." Tobirama said poking his aniki's foot.
"Hmm." Hashirama said with his head still plastered against the pillow.
Tobirama glanced down, checking his watch, and stretched, wishing he'd gotten about twelve more hours of sleep, "Get dressed already."
Madara glanced at the mug. Without as much morphine in his body he seemed back to his cautious self, and he'd taken out the IV at some point during the night. "I don't need this." he finally said, with a pair of glaring black eyes and a stern line to his mouth.
"Don't be a pussy. Just drink it." Tobirama said as Hashirama sat up, rubbing his eyes like he had done when they were children. "They'll be here in a few minutes."
Scowling as he drank the tea Madara commenced staring at the door, not even acknowledging Hashi's good morning, or questions about how he slept. Probably terrible. Tobirama thought wondering why his aniki was dumb as a stump sometimes. It's not like this is the first time he's slept in a bed in three years or anything. No, of course not. He's been living it up in the lap of luxury with our enemies the whole time, getting spa treatments and getting hammered every night.
"Did you speak with them?" Hashi asked after pulling on some clean clothes. "How's Tajima-sama doing?"
"The old man's as okay as he could be. I'm sure he went off and cried tears of joy and thanked Kami for all that they've given him back, but he didn't tell me about it."
"And Izu-chan?" Hashirama asked, putting a hand on Tobirama's arm.
"Uchiha-kun" he said trying hard to keep his voice calm, not jealous or protective, or anything that might indicate he had more than a professional interest in Izuna. "is currently speaking with the Kages, to get the legalities in order. You know, so Tousan can't screw anything up." Tobirama said, shoving his aniki's hand away.
"So?" Hashi asked, smiling just a little at his otouto.
"Making sure he and Uchiha-sama get custody of Porcupine while he's going through rehab."
"Are they trying to put him under house arrest? Do they think he's a flight risk?" Hashirama asked worriedly glancing toward Madara. "I mean Kami, he went through who knows what trying to get here. They can't just lock him up. He's a free citizen, and he's an Anbu member, and—"
"Hippie." Tobirama said slowly "Uchiha-kun is figuring everything out now. He texted me a few minutes ago. They're almost finished with the details. He's just having them put it down in writing so they can't subpoena Madara's ass later."
"Ehh, right sorry Toto." Hashirama replied, running a hand through his hair, trying to pull out the tangles. "It's just, you know… He— I— Well, we umm."
"Your boyfriend came back from the dead, found you banging a whore, and now he's pissed." Tobirama said with a lift of his white eyebrows. "But you love him soooo much, and he should realize you were lonely, and—"
"Shut up." Hashirama said, face beet red.
"Truth hurts doesn't it." Tobirama said with a knowing smirk.
"Damn it, why is this so hard? Why can't we all just be happy he's okay?"
"Because he's not." Tobirama answered. "I mean look at him nii-san; he's been staring at that door for twenty minutes off in some feedback loop from Hell, thinking about how his family will be coming through that door. But Kami forbid if he blinks too long or looks away, then it all might disappear. He might wake back up chained to some cave wall covered in his own shit with some asshole screaming the same damn questions they always ask even though they know he won't say a thing."
"But he's here. He's really right there, in my room, he's, he's, he's wearing my uniform and he's alive Toto." Hashirama said leaning against Tobirama for a moment.
"I know hippie. I can see; I know he's there. But," pausing for a moment to check if Izuna had sent any messages he went on. "He gave a kid a black eye for a burger. He tried to shoot your girlfriend last night. Really you're lucky he didn't accidentally kill you in your sleep."
"Madara wouldn't—" Hashirama tried to say.
"Your Mada-chan just spent three years as some terrorists' plaything. You don't know what he'd do, not now."
"I get it."
"No you don't." Tobirama said looking his aniki in the eyes, "I had guards posted outside your door Hashi, all night, so that if anything went wrong they'd rush in and stop him. He's a damaged man. He needs people watching him. And I understand you just want to scream at everyone and everything that he's alive and all that mushy stuff I'm sure is in your head. But Hashi, not right now. Last night, all that hugging and nice talk, he's not processing any of it. Not really, it's just autopilot. He probably doesn't even remember how to do anything without instinct guiding the way. So yay he's not dead. Yay he's home. Yay he's going to see his family. Yay they have custody" he pointed to the screen of his phone where Izuna had sent a Hand Raised in Victory emoji. "And now it's time for the hard stuff."
(Madara)
Madara frowned looking at the door impatiently waiting for what he knew must be on the other side.
Izuna was relentless, as an Uchiha should be, Madara was surprised there was no gunfire and loud cursing followed by threats of a flamethrower coming from the halls. But, no, there was only the dull drone of Tobirama's voice as he rambled on.
Rolling his eyes at the Senju brothers Madara took stock of his surroundings, one more time, just to be safe. There was the uniform-filled closet, the messy side table, the partially made bed.
Why was it taking them so long? Were they angry? Would the both of them, his father and brother, come in together? Did they mourn for him? Or were they disappointed? Did he die a hero? Or did they say he died like a coward?
"I'm going to get the door Porcupine. They're just walking up the stairs." Tobirama said taking a step in front of him. And before Madara could snarl that he would get the damn door for his family the white-haired asshole was saying. "Morning Izu… Morning Uchiha-kun."
Madara stared at the man who entered the room. But… he didn't want to accept the name. His Izuna. His otouto. His otouto who was the sharp shooter. His otouto without flaws.
But the scars... Only Madara should have scars, not his precious otouto. His otouto was the one with perfect skin, while Madara had worry lines that aged him… But, those fucking scars.
Izuna stood hand in hand with Tobirama and said. "Nii-san I, I missed you."
Madara couldn't respond. He was too preoccupied with the thoughts racing in his head. Why was his otouto hurt? Did they get him too? Izuna should be smiling. Izuna should be laughing. Why the FUCK was Izuna not smiling?
"Mada-chan" Izuna said after the silence stretched on. "I'm so happy you're home."
Madara didn't know what to do. What to say. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't comprehend. He wanted to hold Izuna. To squeeze him. His precious little otouto needed him. But Madara couldn't…
"Sorry I let him get fucked up." Tobirama responded with his stupid hand still touching Izuna, as if he had a right to be there. "We got him back around the time your team got attacked. It wasn't the same men, just a really shitty coincidence."
"Just a shitty coincidence. Do you fucking hear yourself when you speak you stupid white-haired freak?" Madara asked, turning toward Tobirama with rage in his eyes. He shoved the younger man into the wall with all his remaining might. "A shitty coincidence is when two dumb Genin show up to the coming home party in the same dress. This?! My otouto is blind! You let him get fucked up!".
Tobirama said nothing as Madara's grip tightened. His gaze was steady, and even though Madara had to be cutting off his breathing the younger man did not fight back.
"I don't care if I die from my injuries without you!" Madara yelled, his fury growing as Tobirama still said nothing. "Let's see how you like being blind you bastard!"
"Madara" Hashirama said reaching out a hand. "Izuna is alright-"
"Don't you fucking dare act like this is nothing! My otouto is blind! My otouto was hurt! My precious little brother!"
A hand grasped his forearm, and Madara whipped his head around to give the other stupid Senju a piece of his mind, but Hashirama was still standing where he'd been.
"Nii-san" Izuna said in a soft voice, "I am alright. Tobirama did everything he could."
"Alright?" Madara growled. "You can't see the fucking scars on your face."
"Nii-san" Izuna said again, his hand curled around his wrist. "I would've died if it wasn't for Tobirama."
Madara ground his teeth together. It didn't make sense. Why wasn't Izuna on Madara's side?
"Please let go of my friend Mada-chan." Izuna said with a small tug on Madara's arm.
"Friends? When the fuck did you two become friends? Last time I checked this albino idiot was beneath you."
"Please Madara just let him go." Izuna said in a cautious voice, and Madara hated that his otouto was being careful around him. "I came here to talk to you"
Madara said. "He's acting like it's nothing…" Before he kneed Tobirama to the floor. "We were going to be the generation who didn't get it…" he said, his voice a little more controlled than it had been a moment before.
"Well," Izuna said. "It was a coincidence, and I know, I remember."
"Whatever happened to us being superheroes?" Madara asked with a stern cast to his mouth. Once, he and Izuna had sworn that they would end it, end the cycle of hereditary disease that had stolen sight from so many in their family, even their father.
"I fired at someone to the east, and his comrade got me from the north. I should have been paying more attention. I should not have assumed that it was safe."
Madara ground his teeth. "Fuck that shit. You were a Genin. Your commanders should have kept you safe. It was their responsibility."
Izuna shrugged. "Fair enough. We got them back for it, and I didn't die so I'm okay with that."
"They should have kept you safe." Madara repeated."And your friend should have saved one eye, at least." He muttered, giving the younger Senju a kick for emphasis.
"Well, Tobirama said you've still got fishing line inside you. You can only blind Toto after he's done making you better. Deal?"
Madara looked down at his otouto frowning, then nodding slightly, only to feel the guilt and rage twist inside his guts as he remembered that Izuna couldn't see any of that now.
Even if he was hurt that Izuna wasn't on his side, that Izuna seemed close to the albino idiot, he still hated that fact, that his darling otouto couldn't see anymore.
They had already lost so much. As Madara made himself look more closely at Izuna's now sightless eyes he could remember his father tripping down a brightly lit path in the middle of summer, the feel of his mother's frail hand going limp, and hear each of his brothers' final goodbyes.
"Your days are numbered Snowball." Madara finally said, looking down at Tobirama with a glare.
"We can schedule a day for you to wreck Tobirama later." Izuna said very slowly leaning into Madara's shoulder.
Madara couldn't relax into the contact, but he stood there, content to let Tobirama pick his sorry ass up off the floor, because he had his otouto.
His chest hurt, his body still felt heavy from the drugs, and whatever shit Tobirama had put in the tea, but at least Madara knew this wasn't a dream.
He looked down at Izuna, past the scars, and watched as his otouto breathed in and out. None of his hallucinations or nightmares had been this calm, or full of light coming in through the window. They'd been full of threats, punches, broken fingers, and blood.
He'd seen the terrorists drag out his loved ones over and over, maiming them, and each time Madara began to think it was done, or that Hashirama and Izuna's pain would end because they were dead the torture would just start again.
The piss poor excuse for a night's sleep he'd gotten in Hashi's bed was paradise compared to that. The building knot of anxiety was still here, but he would manage, he had to.
"Nii-san?" Izuna asked with a puzzled look coming across his face. "What's that whistling?"
Madara said "I have a neck wound-" without any inflection.
"What does that have to do with the whistling?" Izuna asked as if he already knew the answer.
"I had limited time and materials; the fishing line was there, so I used it to sew up my throat after it was sliced open."
"You sewed your own neck wound?" Izuna asked, closing his eyes for a moment. "You suture any other wounds?"
Madara spoke slowly, monotone, unable to put emphasis in his words. He couldn't allow himself emotions. If he did then other parts would have feelings. And he could not have that. "I have it sewing up a few more injuries. There is some on the inside, but I prefer that stay in there. They were the hardest to stay awake when sewing."
As Izuna demanded that Tobirama explain why Madara didn't have gangrene and what the risks of infection were Madara noticed Hashirama's pale face. The Hippie was sitting back on his bed, as if standing was too much for him right now, and his hands were clenched into fists.
Madara looked away. His otouto was here; nothing, and no one else mattered. "It's been over a year with those. If they were going to kill me I think they already would have." Pausing, trying to slow down his words, Madara looked back to Izuna's face. He touched it gently, and slowly rubbed a thumb along his cheek. "I had to come home and protect you… I came home late… I'm sorry."
"You idiot" Izuna whispered while tears streamed down his face, a few, small pinpricks of blood leaking out from the corners of his eyes. His own hand over Madara's, pressed tight, grinding bones, bones grown fragile through years without proper nutrition. "You fucking idiot" he cried. "You, you, you're not supposed to come home for me." Izuna bit his lip, whole body shaking.
Tobirama tried to say. "Izu, hey maybe we—"
"No." Izuna spat, his tone that of a sharpshooter again, not an injured sightless man, "Not another fucking word Toto." Izuna lifted his head, hand still locked on Madara's, "you don't survive for me. You, you, you"
"Do it for yourself, then you do it for the people who love you Mada-chan." Tajima said, walking into the room. "Welcome home my son." Tajima said in a grateful, but hollow voice. He walked steadily closer undeterred by the injuries on his eldest, surviving, son's body. "Madara welcome home. It's so good to see you."
Uchiha Madara shook his head, not able to listen to his father's words, unable, almost unwilling to admit that he was a son, a child, a person with a father, with a brother, or even just a person at all. It was becoming too much all the faces and voices, all the implications.
"This isn't home." he said irritated at the shaking quality of his words, showing that kind of weakness where he'd been meant death. He could die. But, but, he was with Hashirama, he was with his family. Damn it! He should feel safe.
But, it had been a long time, it had been years, it might be an act, they might think he was a traitor…
"How did, how did that happen?" Tajima asked in a shaken voice.
Madara forced his thoughts back to the present. He looked to the weather-beaten face of his Tousan, the man who'd read him and his brother's bedtimes stories, and said. "My captors had a lot of fun with me."
"Oh, oh." Tajima said unable to look away from the ragged wound.
Madara knew it was disgusting, and no amount of sterile medical stitches would ever make him pretty again.
"The men who did this." Madara said, jabbing a finger toward his throat that was aching with each word. "They're dead, and the others will be too, soon."
Madara hated pity. He hated how it would work its way inside someone he knew, respected, or even loved and twist their words. But no matter how strong his hate was, he couldn't stop the sadness from filling his Tousan's face.
Yes, it hurt to speak sometimes. It hurt to breath. But that pain just told Madara that he was alive, as cliche as it may sound. It told him that the sewing worked. That in the moment he was sure of his death he had beaten the reaper at his own game, despite the pain he went through, in order to have a new chance at living. He won!
He opened his mouth to explain, to reason with the worried faces in the room, but the choking, the suffocating feelings, were too strong.
Suddenly, the floor was rushing up to meet him as Hashirama screamed. "No! No! No!"
Spitting only helped so much as Madara saw fresh scarlet staining the washed fabric of the uniform. He tried to meet his father's gaze, but shame and the sound of Hashirama's panicked voice made him turn his head.
"Not again. We can't lose you again! Madara no!" Hashirama cried as he lunged forward to keep Madara from hitting his head against the closet door.
Madara hated to think it, but he was glad Izuna was blind at this moment. The pieces of his flesh parted, leaking dark blood. Without thinking he shoved his middle finger through the opening in his neck; he had to make room to breathe, to get some air into his lungs past the warm liquid spilling out.
Bits of fishing line kept the edges together, preventing his entire throat from opening back up, the rusted wire was still, partially doing its job as Madara fought the urge to thrash.
But still, the wheezing and gurgling that came from Madara's mouth could have made the most hardy of soldier think they were in Hell.
"Izuna get your dad in the hall." Tobirama ordered. "Now! I need space to work." he gestured toward his aniki. "Hashi stop fucking screaming and grab me…" he glanced down as he knelt beside Madara. "Never mind I got a knife." He snatched the blade from Madara's belt, using his free hand to tilt Madara's chin upward, "This will hurt you prideful son of a bitch." Tobirama said as he jabbed the knife in above and to the right of Madara's middle finger. "Should have said this was too much stimuli. And I'm supposed to be the fucking idiot."
The ringing in Madara's ears grew as he watched Izuna drag their father into the hall. He was saying something, but it was too hard to hear, really it was getting too hard to do a lot of things.
"Okay" Tobirama said, his fingers holding onto the edges of the wire, "don't kick me or anything." Then before Madara's pain-addled, oxygen-deprived brain could do anything, Tobirama twisted the knife sideways, making another incision. "Page Hiruzen!" Tobirama yelled as he began pulling the line through the new hole he'd made. "I need actual, Kami damn sutures!"
Distantly Madara could hear his father's voice, something about how Tobirama had no right to tell him what to do, that he was only a Chūnin, that he had no business operating on his son, on his Mada-chan without anesthesia.
Calm down Madara thought with a giddiness, I won't be awake much longer. he knew. The burn was getting to be too much, the particles of his skin being pulled apart by Tobirama's hands, as he worked on something… something.
Damn, Madara just needed more fishing line, if his fingers could just wrap around the new spool of wire they'd linked to his leg that afternoon… he could, he could… He could live if he just had some space, some space, some space to breathe.
(Tajima)
There was no body, only pictures and an empty coffin, when Uchiha Tajima had buried his son.
Servicemen and women had flanked the platform where mourners came to pay their respects.
Izuna had stood with him, somehow surviving the unimaginable. But, not even that day full of loss and heartache compared to watching Madara's blood spray out across his haggard face.
"No!" Tajima screamed along with Hashirama. "No! No!"
Madara's eyes darted around the room as he jabbed his finger into the tear in his neck. Tajima's fiercest, strongest, bravest Madara lay in Hashirama's arms, his dark eyes seeing nothing as Tobirama picked up a knife.
"What are you doing?" Tajima cried as he watched Tobirama plung the knife into Madara's neck. "Stop, wait! You're going to kill him!"
"Tousan come on." Izuna said with a grimace as the sound of spurting blood and Madara's gasps for air filled the small room.
"No I'm not." Tobirama scowled.
"You just stabbed my son with a knife!" Tajima said taking a step forward, only to have his jacket grabbed by Izuna.
"Yeah I did, to save his life."
"How's that going to help? Madara can't breathe! He's suffocating! He's going to-"
Tobirama pressed his bloody fingers against Madara's throat, pulling at the torn pieces of skin, before saying, "You need to go sit the fuck down in the hallway with your other son. All you're doing right now is being a fucking distraction."
"I know it's hard, but you really do need to step back." Hashirama said cradling Madara. "We need space to work, and Sarutobi-chan will be here any minute with the supplies."
"Tousan, listen to them." Izuna said, taking Tajima's hand and pulling him back a step.
"And don't you even fucking think of coming back in here until I say so. You were a soldier once, a man who actually did what he was told. So go out there, impress me, and sit your good for nothing ass down!" Tobirama called out.
Uchiha Tajima understood Tobirama was working, but he flat out refused, with every fiber of his being, to believe that he should "sit his ass down". Not, while his son, his Madara, was in such pain.
"Tousan" Izuna said again. "Stay here with me. We need to let them help Madara. Tobirama can-"
"He has no right." Tajima said, grounding his teeth the way Madara always would.
"Me? I have no right?" Tobirama asked in a scathing tone. "So, I should let you come in here and use your obviously superior medical knowledge to prevent Uchiha's carotid artery from opening up?"
"Of course not, I just- Ah, what are you doing? You don't have sutures yet!" Tajima cried as he watched Tobirama pull away the knife.
"Hmm I hadn't noticed." Came the young man's sarcastic reply.
"You have to keep him from bleeding out. That wire's not good-"
"Oh so you really are a doctor now?" Tobirama asked as he maneuvered the edges of the metal. "Please tell me more about how to save my patient. I can't wait."
"It was almost stopped, now there's even more blood." Tajima shot back, fists clenched at his sides as he walked forward into the room, ready to tear the idiotic Senju away from his son.
"Please Uchiha-sama" Hashirama said from his spot on the ground, cradling Madara in his arms. "Before the line can come out Tobirama needs to cut through some spaces. We can't just take the wire out all at once, that would rip Madara's throat completely open. This way we can extract them slowly. Tobirama is going to need to make a few more cuts before we use the sutures."
Blinking hard, Uchiha Tajima nodded, responding to the kindness in the older Senju's voice. "Please, just make him be okay. I can't lose him a second time."
"I know" Hashirama said grabbing a box of needles from the nightstand. "We'll help. Sarutobi-chan is coming from the Med Building now. I will give Madara another pain killer soon, and then we can stitch him up properly. Right now I need to fix one of his lungs that is collapsing. My otouto's got a good handle on this; it will be fine."
"I'd be better off if Porcupine's dad shut the fuck up." Tobirama growled. "You too Hashi. Stop fucking talking."
"Please ignore him Uchiha-sama."
As Hashirama plunged the needle in, Tajima counted the seconds until Madara's blood came up from the lungs and into the syringe.
Madara's blueish lips tightened, and he tried to push back with his feet, but Hashirama kept him still with a gentle hold. "Shh Sweetheart. I have you. Everything is all right now. You're home. We're all together, and you'll be okay."
"Too much talking." Tobirama muttered as he began sliding another piece of metal through the gap he'd cut. "If we'd all stuck to the plan of, "Uchiha's mentally unstable, he's on a variety of antipsychotics, keep the conversation short and positive, he wouldn't have exploded. But no, you made it emotional."
Tajima stood in the doorway of Hashirama's room staring daggers at the younger Senju. "Emotional? What would you expect? We told him that we missed him. He's been presumed dead for three years! What else could we have said?"
"Follow orders." Tobirama said in that placating monotone that had caused Madara to shove him into the wall earlier. "Speak clearly and calmly. Don't ask questions about his imprisonment, don't mention his injuries, don't agitate him."
"I was just making sure he understood that he deserves to live for himself, not some idea he's got in his head from all that he's went through!"
"That's a very honorable thing to say Uchiha-sama." Hashirama said as he scrambled to his feet. "And I agree with you, but I think my otouto is right. Madara isn't ready to hear that right now."
"I thought I was helping." Tajima said, swallowing hard. "He's my son-"
"I don't know what universe you've been living in since you left the military. But, not even being his parent gives you the right to come in and spout emotional bullshit at a paranoid, sleep-deprived, mentally ill man who just came back from a fucking war zone, after living through the Devil knows what!"
"It's hard to know what to say." Hashirama said hurriedly. "But, we'll all have time to talk with Madara and make sure he knows that he's safe and loved after Tobirama and I are done helping him."
"I will not apologize for coming to see my boy. He needed to hear what I said. He needs to know he did everything right." Tajima said swallowing down the lump forming in his throat.
"Out." Tobirama said, pointing toward the door. "Hashi, Izu-chan, take him out right now. We are not having this discussion any longer. Go stand in the fucking hall and wait for Hiruzen."
Sighing Izuna reached out and took Tajima's hand. "If you want us to leave then stop dignifying my Tousan's words with a response."
Tajima tore his gaze away from Madara's bloodied shirt, surprised that Izuna had spoken. "What are you doing? We are not-"
"Tousan" Izuna said in an irritated voice "You are making a scene. We'll help Madara more by getting out of the way." And with that Izuna's grip tightened on Tajima's hand and the young man wrenched the both of them back into the hall, and slammed the door shut.
"Me?" Tajima asked eyes wide, "causing a scene? That obnoxious brat does not understand what we've went through, what Madara's went through. And yet he talks like he does as if he knew everything."
Letting go of Tajima's hand Izuna leaned back against the wall and slid to the floor, rubbing his hands across his eyes. "He is a know-it-all. But it's for good reason. He always gets results."
Glaring at a soldier who was staring at the Uchihas from the end of the hall Tajima placed a hand on Izuna's head. "I know you trust him, but-"
"That should be enough." Izuna said, reaching up, and placing his own hand atop his father's. "Toto's insensitive, but his lack of emotional maturity lets him stay hyper focused when something is as crazy as all of that sounded."
"If it was anyone else they'd have died from those injuries." Tajima said with a mix of pride and horror.
The enemy had kept him for at least two years, if not a little longer from what Madara's first morphine-addled statement had explained. Two years of absolute torture and Hell, all for amusement. There was no ransom order, no negotiation, no nothing, just a long, awful period of time when Tajima had foolishly hoped and clung to the idea that his son was at peace, in heaven, with his wife.
But his little boy's blood was all over the floor because of men who had no soul. He wanted someone to suffer as much as Madara had, as much as Madara was suffering now while the two soldiers attempted to restore his breathing.
"Another person would've died from half those injuries." Izuna said squeezing Tajima's hand in a way that always reminded him of his wife.
Uchiha Tajima watched his youngest son, wishing he knew how to comfort and console like Izuna did, like he almost seem naturally gifted to do. "True. Though this would all be a lot easier if your pompous friend wasn't so much like his father. Emotional? Who does he take us for? I objected to his methods. That's my right as Madara's father."
"Toto isn't anything like Butsuma, I might yell and be rude, but he will save Madara, for Hashirama at least."
"He could learn a thing or two from his brother on manners."
"Hn. Everyone has their strengths Father." Izuna agreed, chuckling.
"I" his father replied, thankful that the other soldiers in the barrack were staying far away. "I don't regret coming inside. I'll never regret seeing my boy."
Izuna nodded, "Very well." he replied in the passive way they'd both grown used to, that allowed Tajima to work through his thoughts, using his youngest child as a sounding board for his emotions. "He's with good people now, it'll be alright."
"Hashirama is good." Tajima cut in, "He cares."
Izuna lifted an eyebrow, in the smallest of smirks at his father's tactful way of explaining Hashirama's endless amounts of love and acceptance for their Madara. "Yes, yes he does."
None of them talked about it much growing up, but when adulthood came, when the boys started wanting to bring others into their closeness, to build up the family that had been so dwindled by war, they all knew it wouldn't involve girls.
All Tajima wanted in the world was to see his children happy, and healthy, with families of their own. He wanted proof that all he had done in his own war time hadn't been worthless. But, damn it would be nice for Tobirama to learn some fucking social skills.
"They love each other." Izuna acknowledged quietly, and Tajima smiled at the understatement. "And Tobirama loves his brother. For that, for that he'll save Madara."
"We'll see how that love lasts through trauma and a war." he said, smiling down at his blind son, knowing the young man was rarely wrong about things. Hoping very much that there would be a happy ending for his heirs. "I won't let the world destroy our family anymore than it already has." Tajima said, pulling Izuna in close and kissing the top of his head. "Not now, now that we have him back. We will keep him this time."