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Madara dies, for what should be the last time.
He awakens in what appears to be a demented hellscape, seeing as he’s surrounded by long-dead clan elders who are all grousing incessantly at one another like bitter schoolchildren. Their discontent rolls off them, smog-like; thick, and choking, and miserable.
“This armistice you’re endorsing,” one sneers, “Will lead to nothing but devastation.”
“Those Senju will bleed us for all we’re worth and feed us to the wolves,” another grimly agrees. “The suggestion that they’ll do anything else is nothing short of absurd.”
Madara’s lips curl into a frown. This scenario is all too familiar to him—one of many attempts at convincing the clan of a truce, rebuffed by bitter old men. But he has little idea why this would be important enough to remember now, of all times.
“We’ve all seen what they do to our men. To our children,” a man spits. “If the way Butsuma’s brats torture our clan represents their idea of peace, then it’s not something we’ll be taking part in.”
He’d never managed to gain the elders’ approval, in the end. The most troublesome of them had croaked with oddly fortunate timing, and the rest were cowed when he finally managed to put his foot down.
Though, that wasn’t until after—
“Your concerns are, of course, understandable,” a placating voice interjects. Madara’s head whips to the side, though his ears may as well be filled with cotton for all he’s able to discern afterwards.
There’s a long, disgruntled pause following his younger brother’s speech, before everyone returns to contributing towards what ranks high among the ugliest cacophonies of noise he’s ever had the displeasure of hearing. It doesn’t quite manage to match the grating quality of Black Zetsu’s voice, or the ear-piercing whine the White Zetsu shared, but it’s certainly up there.
“I did tell you this would happen—didn’t I, brother?” Izuna mutters, somehow able to sound sympathetic despite the underlying smugness in his tone. He flashes a polite smile at a suspicious elder, even as his chakra flickers in irritation.
Madara blinks slowly, unable to formulate a proper response. As his brother suppresses a wince, turning to face a man who’d bellowed in poorly-contained rage, he finally comes to the deeply unsettling realization that these people are very much alive.
He abruptly slams his hands on the table, hard enough that its legs tremble. As intended, it easily draws the attention of every single person in the room. “Honorable Elders,” he begins confidently, and promptly flounders when he makes the dire mistake of directly meeting Izuna’s gaze.
“Yes, brother?” he asks, equal parts concerned and bemused.
The strangled sound that escapes him is not particularly attractive. “...Meeting adjourned,” Madara eventually manages, wrestling his expression into a forced calm. He holds up a hand before anyone can utter a word of protest and, with as much decorum as he can muster, flees the room without another word.
He all but sprints through the corridors and, after wrenching open the back door, bodily throws himself towards the forest’s edge. It’s not until he reaches a small clearing, about as far as he can get from the Uchiha Compound without venturing into hostile territory, that he takes a moment’s pause.
He falls still, takes a breath, and proceeds to fell a copse of trees.
Unnerved as he is, he’s not completely thoughtless; he slows each fall with well-timed bursts of wind, since he’d prefer his current crisis wasn’t interrupted by wary investigations inspired by the racket it’d undoubtedly make. Rather than collapsing face-first into the forest floor like his body urges him to, he lowers himself onto the nearest trunk with care.
It’s apparent, as much as it shouldn’t be, that he’s been unceremoniously flung into the past. Which is an experience, truly. Madara’s honestly surprised that seeing his brother alive and well, for one, hadn’t sent him straight into cardiac arrest.
Seeing as he’s already made the jump without ripping apart the fabric of the universe, wasting time on contemplating the logistics of time travel—the sealwork of which he’d long-since concluded was unfeasible for his skill level, even with the Rinnegan—is hardly necessary.
Not knowing why he’d ended up here, however, is more than a little discomfiting. He might’ve assumed he’d stumbled into the Infinite Tsukuyomi, if he hadn’t seen that plan go up in flames firsthand. And while he does respect Hashirama’s battle sense, he highly doubts the man—who’d been the one nearest to him when he’d been reduced to a chakra-drained shell of himself—managed to work out something this complex.
Even if he had been capable, Hashirama was in his sights the majority of the time he’d been revived as a walking corpse. And, although Madara does admittedly have an unfortunate track record with these kinds of things as of late, he likes to think he would’ve noticed if Hashirama had been getting things in order for literal time travel from right under his nose.
Thus, he can only assume something went wrong, somewhere. His perhaps-excessive attempts to cheat death, for example, might’ve caused him to slip through the cracks of the universe. Or maybe he’s simply having an unusually lucid dream prior to his final death, in which case his only option is to wait it out until it’s over.
Whatever. It doesn’t matter, really. What matters is that Izuna is alive, Konohagakure is about as vague as a concept can get, and the Uchiha are still very much at war with the Senju. And he alone has to figure out how to make sure everything doesn’t go to complete and utter shit, with only a hazy recollection of the exact timeline of events from the first time around.
He makes a face, massaging his temples. Ugh. Where’s a manifestation of your will when you need one?
“You,” Izuna hisses, throwing the door open with entirely too much force, “Have been avoiding me.”
“...I have not been avoiding you,” Madara denies slowly, deciding it’s in his best interest not to scold his brother for his flagrant disregard for personal property. “I’ve just been busy.”
“Do you think I’m daft? We live in the same house, and yet I haven’t properly spoken to you in weeks.” His eye twitches. “Not to mention the fact that you’re actively trying to climb out the window.”
Madara draws his leg back into the room whilst staring unblinkingly at the door. “That’s absurd.”
Izuna drags his hands down his face, forcing out a long breath. “Is this about your proposed treaty?” he asks. “You must understand, brother. I cannot, in good conscience, concede to these… these whims of yours.”
“They aren’t—” he cuts himself off, closing his eyes. Clearly, outright shutting Izuna down isn’t getting him anywhere. “Perhaps your argument is not… unfounded.”
“I—” He pauses, furrowing his brows. “It’s… not?”
Madara forces himself to meet his brother’s gaze. “It’s unfair of me to demand your understanding,” he admits as mildly as he can manage, as if he’s not in the middle of a revelation he probably should’ve had decades earlier. “I’ve hardly bothered to offer any sort of reasoning to you, or to anyone else. I imagine you’ve assumed my goals are nothing more than a far-fetched dream, thus far.”
Izuna shifts in place, lips curled into a frown. “You’ve been making bold claims ever since you were a child,” he eventually replies.
“When I say this is different, I’m not being facetious,” Madara swears. “I will not deny that our history with the Senju has been less than pleasant; both of our clans have certainly suffered. But these conflicts have gone on for long enough. To avenge the deaths of our people would not be the same as honoring them.” He’s learned as much throughout his lifetime, and had begrudgingly accepted it towards the end. “It’s time to end this cycle, Izuna.”
“And how are you so sure such grand hopes are in the realm of possibility?” his brother asks.
Well. He’d seen it, for one. Konohagakure hadn’t been as perfect as he would’ve liked, but it was something. And, while Madara’s own plan for peace had completely failed, Hashirama’s dream had lived on.
Of course, he can’t say any of that out loud, since he’d rather not inadvertently convince his brother he’s gone mad. As much as he has a flair for dramatics, he doubts he’d be able to give as impassioned a speech as Hashirama—or the blond Uzumaki who’d shared his ideals—either. Not that Izuna would be convinced by prettified words; his and Hashirama’s brothers had been alike, in that regard.
“You’ve already mentioned I tend to make bold claims,” Madara eventually says. “But have you known me not to follow through with them?”
Izuna makes a face. “I do not understand you brother,” he admits, unimpressed with his lackluster answer. “And the amount of faith you’re asking for is frankly ridiculous. But that’s just like you, isn’t it?” He clicks his tongue. “Very well. I will not stop you, for now. But know that if I’m given even one reason to believe the clan’s at risk, I won’t hesitate to step in.”
“That’s all I ask for,” Madara replies, and means it.
Even with Izuna’s tenuous ‘support,’ a skirmish between the Uchiha and Senju is inevitable. Thanks to a blatant power play from the elders, who are none-too-pleased with his and his brother’s more-united front, Hikaku is unable to inform them until their men are already well on their way to the battlefield.
“Double time,” Madara mutters to Izuna. His brother gives a swift nod, lips pressed into a grim line. Somehow, they do not arrive to a bloodbath. Instead, Hashirama appears to be attempting to explain something to his clanmates—none of whom appear to be actually taking his words into consideration—with wide, dramatic gestures, while Tobirama stands off to the side, pinching the bridge of his nose. Save for them, no other Senju appear to be present.
“What the fuck,” Izuna says. Madara, in truth, is inclined to agree.
The Senju brothers turn towards them, then. “Madara,” Hashirama says, then drags his gaze towards his brother. “Izuna.”
“...Senju,” Izuna says after a short pause, carefully impassive. “Why are you in Uchiha lands?”
Hashirama takes a breath before clapping his hands together. “We’ve come to ask you’d consider peace talks. As a sign of good faith, my brother and I have come alone. You can even check, if you’d like.”
Madara opens and closes his mouth. “...Why didn’t you send a missive?”
The man makes an odd noise, not unlike a deflating balloon. “Well. Um. You see…”
“That was the intention,” Tobirama says. He meets Madara’s gaze, lips curled into a slight frown. “Apologies. My brother grew impatient.”
“Tobi,” Hashirama whines, causing the man to grimace.
“...Well,” Madara replies slowly, sharing a glance with Izuna. His brother crosses his arms, but doesn’t say a word. “I suppose we’d be… amenable.”
Hashirama swivels back towards Madara. “You would?”
“Truly?” Tobirama murmurs, eyes flicking between him and Izuna. He appears to come to some sort of realization. “Hm.”
Izuna bristles. “Have something to say, Senju?”
Tobirama narrows his eyes, then nods decisively. “Perhaps,” he says, and steps forward. Izuna tenses, hand twitching towards his blade, only to frown when the man plants himself in front of Madara.
“Tobirama,” Madara says warily.
The man presses his lips into a thin, hard line, and promptly decks him across the face.
Hashirama calls out to his brother, voice strangled, while Izuna rushes to Madara’s side. From behind them, their clan stands on alert. “What the hell, you utter bastard?” Izuna snarls. “Have you no shame?”
Madara stumbles backwards, eyes snapping back towards the apparently-irate man. He touches his cheek, bewildered, as the man scowls.
“You idiot,” he says far too calmly, brushing his free hand over his knuckles. Hashirama suddenly appears behind him, grabbing him by the shoulder.
“I’m so sorry,” he says frantically, ignoring Izuna’s attempts to bat him away. “I don’t know why he did that. Tobi, why did you do that?”
“Plenty of reasons,” the man answers, eyes narrowed. “His decline caused you distress, for one. Attempting to plunge the entire world into an inescapable genjutsu was one of his more unpleasant feats.” He shrugs Hashirama’s hand off his shoulder before crossing his arms. “I could go on.”
Madara gapes at the man, feeling lightheaded. A hysteria-tinged laugh escapes him before he proceeds to burst into tears. It’s a long time coming, really; he’s been far too stressed about being alone in handling this whole time travel thing.
Both Hashirama and Izuna choke in unison, which is a particularly amusing sight. Tobirama ignores the former’s sputtering and the latter’s glare in favor of lecturing him. It is, quite possibly, the most wonderful sound he’s heard in years.