Fandom [naruto] halfbreed || itliveswithin & arbus

[arbus]

"If I asked you to teach that technique to one of my clansmen", he said, after listening to the exchange between Hikaku, Yakumi and the Hatake, "what would it cost me?" Madara himself was not any good at fuinjutsu -- his fingers lacked the dexterity most seals demanded, and he the patience to conduct one delicate brushstroke after another. But there were some talented seal experts in his extended family, and to gain the means to transport their dead would mean everything, could change the way they went to war, the way they prayed to their ancestors. He thought of his brothers. Four of them dead, and only one buried in a proper grave.

Hikaku's face had taken on a look of intent. With the tender age of sixteen, he already displayed a penchant for tactical thinking. He was quiet, far removed from the temper of his cousins, empathetic, and proved himself to be a talented, rational leader. He knew, as well as Madara did, what such a seal could mean to their community, to their clan. He had lost his father and older brother in the fight against other clans, and like many of his clan, had not gotten a chance to bury them, to bid them goodbye.

Strange, Madara mused, his need to bury the dead as if it rooted them like trees into the homeland. As if their rotting corpses were not one with the earth already, but they were not home, would never be home again. He stirred his thoughts away from the loss, directed them ahead to the tasks to come. There was no use in crying over days gone by, or lamenting misgivings that could not be changed. The past was a permanent thing, immovable and eternal like the mountains, like the fire sprites they said danced in the air when the sun set.

"In the ancient times", Yakumi said, as if all of their thoughts had somehow been moved into the same direction. The wind shifted, a freezing, cold hand in their backs, pushing them forward along the trees. They were shadows, moving soundlessly in the treetops. "They put their dead on barques and burned them with a special katon jutsu. Its flames were said to never extinguish, not until they ate everything in the caster's vision. My grandmother has told me about it."

They descended onto the ground as the woods thinned out. The last stretch to the small harbor was on plain land, across fields and shallow mounds. From their position, they could see the small array of wooden houses, the windows gleaming invitingly in the darkness of the night. Madara undid the clasp around his neck, heeding the mutt's advice, and rolled up the cloak to store it with the rest of his belongings in storage scroll, mid-run. It was one thing to waken the man he wanted to do business with in the middle of the night; another to do so drenched in blood.

 

[roxybirdie]

”If I asked you to teach that technique to one of my clansmen ... what would it cost me?”

Had the situation been any different, Kakashi might of divulged the information without hesitation. He, more than anyone, understood the viciousness of war. He understood what the seal represented. During the Third Shinobi World War, Kakashi watched a multitude of comrades enter the battlefield and never return. He experienced the pain of attending funerals without a body to commemorate their valiant sacrifice. The seal was more than a means of convenient transportation; it represented closure. While Kakashi understood, he knew the gravity of his situation. Uchiha Madara requested the seal in exchange for something of similar value. This was an opportunity Kakashi couldn’t refuse. “Knowledge in exchange for knowledge,” he announced. The silver-haired halfbreed glanced at the waning moon hidden behind a wispy cloud. “I hear the Uchiha Clan Library is arguably the best in the Land of Fire. I want complete access. If the technique isn’t enough, I’m willing to teach your clansmen more than the storage seal,” he elaborated. The bargain was unquestionably risky, but knowledge was the most powerful tool in his current time period.

”Its flames were said to never extinguish, not until they ate everything in the caster's vision. My grandmother has told me about it.”

As the Uchiha convoy and the Hatake ambassador journeyed closer to the harbor, the temperature dropped substantially. Unforgiving currents drifted against his backside, the biting chill piercing through the thick layer of his cloak. Puffs of white exuded from his masked lips. “The Hatake clan has always been a small clan. We’re not always so fortunate to carry our dead home, but when we do, we build pyres to commemorate our fallen. The ashes of our fallen are scattered across our farmlands and returned to the earth.” The traditional funeral rites of the Hatake clan was one of the few snippets of information Kakashi learned from his father.

Sometime later, the forest terrain thinned, transitioning into plain fields and small mounds. Once the group of four journeyed the last stretch on the ground, Kakashi spotted the signs of civilization. The main settlement was established on a small island off the coast. While a short boat ride reached the larger civilization, a marina was constructed on the mainland. “Maa, maa, I almost forgot. The island off the mainland is Hatake territory,” he pointed out. Kakashi had no intention of attending the meeting, but he wasn’t keen with waiting on the mainland in the middle of the night and surrounded by the stench of fish.

Despite the waning moon reaching its apex, Kakashi felt no exhaustion. A combination of adrenaline and determination erased all traces of slumber. After encountering the Senju, sleep was the last thing on Kakashi’s mind. While he pieced his slothful mask back together and restored it, his mind remained vulnerable from the transition. Kakashi knew, without a shadow of a doubt, if he closed his eyes, he would regret it.

 

[arbus]

"I hear the Uchiha Clan Library is arguably the best in the Land of Fire. I want complete access."

Madara huffed. Leave it to the mutt to make the most exorbitant counter-over imaginable. He felt he should not be surprised, but there was a question scraping at the back of his consciousness. Why, he wondered, did the Hatake demand such an impossible thing? What knowledge was he seeking that he made such a blatant request? Though it was impossible. Even Madara, despite what the elders had accused him off after agreeing to the wolf woman's treaty, was not conceited enough to allow a Hatake, a traitorous halfbreed, access to his clan's most valuable secrets. Even though he regretted it, to pass up on this possibility; it stung, for a moment. "No", he said simply, with finality.

There was something about fire, its cleansing nature, the core of every Uchiha's chakra nature, that was soothing. Building pyres, scattering ashes, burying the dead. It was more than closure; it was to give to the soil to make it strong for spring, and a new generation. Sometimes, Madara felt the weight of that generation on his shoulders, faces upon faces upon faces, staring at him, their hands cusped expectantly, pleadingly, and all of them wore Seijo's face, wore Izuna's face. The wind was like a cutting blade against his skin, the too-thin fabric of his robes. It was a welcome distraction, and since when became his mind so muddled with useless thoughts, even after a bloodshed like this? The wind carried the Hatake's words, but Madara only registered them belatedly. When they finally did, his head snapped up, and this sense of forlornness was replaced by a fierce rush of indignation.

"What?", he hissed, the sound so sharp it was almost lost to the storm.

Behind his back, Hikaku and Yakumi exchanged a long-suffering glance.

"What do you mean, mutt, 'the island off the mainland is Hatake territory?'" Madara had come to an abrupt halt, forcing the two younger Uchiha to stop in their tracks. They shivered in the cold, wrapping their gifted cloaks tighter around their shoulders -- they must have been insane leaving the compound without any means to defend themselves against this ludicrous weather, the wind whipping around their faces feeling like icicles.

 

[roxybirdie]

”No,”

Knowledge in exchange for knowledge was a plausible trade — arguably fair in his opinion — but honestly, Kakashi anticipated a swift rejection. Perhaps, it was an idealistic, bordering on impossible bargain, but regardless, Kakashi didn’t waste the opportunity. Political alliance aside, he had a feeling Uchiha Madara rarely proposed exchanges. The loss of knowledge was a momentary sting, but it wasn’t a true setback. While the establishment accelerated his plans, Kakashi didn’t need the Uchiha Clan Library to further his goals. When push came to shove, Kakashi was more than capable of formulating strategies for all possible contingencies.

”What do you mean, mutt, 'the island off the mainland is Hatake territory?”

He arched an eyebrow. “The eastern border of Hatake territory officially ends at the island,” Kakashi elaborated. A frigid breeze sliced through him, evoking gooseflesh. However, not a hint of his discomfort was evident on his face. His eyes upturned, curving into an infuriating eye-smile. “I don’t plan on attending your meeting. I’m, but a humble escort,” he reminded. Despite owning the strip of land, the Hatake clan left the responsibility of the island and marina to the civilian community. At this point, they were glorified landlords. A minor luxury, should Kakashi purchase something, was lower prices on the merchant ware. The silver-haired halfbreed had no intention of abusing his authority, but it was a beneficial gesture.

Kakashi glanced at the younger Uchiha shivering behind their Clan Head. “Maa, maa, I don’t think Yakumi-san or Hikaku-san want to turn into icicles,” he pointed out. He tilted his head, strands of unruly silver sweeping across his forehead. “I hear the Uchiha aren’t built for the cold,” he added. Kakashi averted his gaze, examining the marina. At their current distance, the former nomad spotted the large dock containing their ride to the island. Walking on water was a faster option in a tight situation, but now, it was a useless waste of chakra. Without the constant siphoning of his Sharingan, it took awhile for Kakashi to experience chakra exhaustion. However, he wasn’t keen on draining his reserves carelessly.

“Shall we?” Kakashi inquired, gesturing to the dock with a flick of his wrist.

 

[arbus]

Madara made a sound somewhere between a snort and a huff, so much like a congested horse that Yakumi's face lit up for the fraction of a second, as if he was about to laugh. A moment later, his eyes widened in horror, clearly realizing the consequences of such thoughtless behavior, and his mouth snapped shut again.

Of course, Madara thought, bristling. Of course that damned settlement was conveniently planted in Hatake clan territory, too, like half of fucking Fire Country! And oh, Madara had watched the mongrel's finger smudging over his map, and it had not even come close to the heap of lines and edges that was the representation of the small island beyond the shore. But he had known, hadn't he, the impertinent little brat, had kept that from him on purpose just to rile him up.

"I’m, but a humble escort."

Madara stared at him, and if looks could kill his would. Patience, he reminded himself, level-headedness. Those virtues lead to success.

He would not let his anger stir his actions and --

Hikaku and Yakumi exchanged another helpless glance as Madara took off with no more than a grunted "Get a move on", thoroughly ignoring the Hatake the whole rest of the way. If he pretended the nuisance was not there, then perhaps he would make it through their journey without actually attempting to strangle him. And that infuriating, insolent, fake smile!

"Madara-sama", Hikaku said, ever the level head of reason, as Madara's feet dragged to a halt before the only stone house in the village, barely coming to a stop in front of the wooden door he pounded his fist against. Hikaku very much felt the need to bury his face in his hands, and wished they would have taken Izuna instead, who had just as bad a temper, but one that was not so easily, so obviously stirred than his older brother's. He threw the Hatake a glance, nasty in a way that spoke of a slow-building, but palpable familiarity, a glance that could not be based on antipathy. Yakumi thought, in wonder, that it was much like a gaze he would throw Izuna if the other had done something stupid again.

The start of the negotiations with the ship master did not go down as planned. Madara, who was a wild-eyed, huffing apparition at the poor man's door -- the man, to his credit, had not flinched, but he stared like he wanted to grab for a weapon, the only thing keeping him being the sight of a Hatake over the Uchiha's shoulder-- demanded a ship at the ready and better an hour ago, pushing into the man's home without much fuss and no embarrassment at all. Somehow, all four of them found themselves in the ship master's study; the man, clad in a nightgown and more confused than intimidated, tried to explain to the Uchiha leader that, as much as he wanted to, he could not throw all the man needed to navigate the ship out of their beds in the middle of the night, and the merchant's would be very much asleep right now anyway, and --

But Madara was having none of it, and even though he was behaving like a stubborn old mule, to his credit, he got what he wanted, and fast: An hour of aggressive negotiations on Madara's part, and bewildered stammers on the ship master's, and they had their ship, with a crew to man it and the outlook of departing in mere minutes.

Arms crossed, Madara stood at the pier with gruff satisfaction written across his features.

"Oh my", Hikaku could be heard, mumbling.

"What if the crew had not shown up?", Yakumi asked. His tone was close to astounded. "Would we have ... you know ..."

"I doubt it", Hikaku replied. Because, by the looks of it, Madara, if necessary, would have been able to run the boat by sheer stubbornness alone.

 

[roxybirdie]

”Get a move on,”

If a single look could induce instantaneous death, Kakashi would be six feet under. Considering the agitation radiating from the elder Uchiha, Kakashi would be six feet under in pieces. Had Kakashi been a normal shinobi, he would of cowered from the intimidating aura surrounding the Clan Head. A proficient ambassador might of apologized for their deplorable behavior. However, Kakashi was many things, but normal he was not. Instead of cowering in the presence of the strongest katon user in the Land of Fire, Kakashi defied the older man without hesitation. Once the elder Uchiha and his convoy commandeered a boat, Kakashi followed. A few minutes later, the group of four arrived at the island, docked, and navigated to the ship master’s home. Kakashi had the decency to send the bewildered civilian an apologetic look before Madara bulldozed his way inside the ship master’s house.

True to his word, Kakashi refrained from violating the treaty by attending the meeting. He had a feeling the ship master might of been more cooperative — it didn’t escape him that the civilian stopped reaching for a weapon when he noticed a Hatake — but Kakashi maintained his distance. While the Clan Head negotiated with the ship master, the former nomad reflected on the pieces of information he gathered. For the past six months, the Uchiha clan demanded access to the Hatake lands. After further investigation, the Uchiha Clan wanted access to a route leading to the harbor. According to his great-great-grandmother, the route his clan owned was one of the most inconspicuous roads for a ninja since it extended directly through non-clan affiliated, civilian-dominant land. Next, the Uchiha Clan Head was currently negotiating with a ship master. Kakashi didn’t need to partake in the meeting to realize what the elder Uchiha wanted. The bigger question was why? Why assemble a ship and crew? What does the Uchiha want?

Out of nowhere, the silver-haired halfbreed recalled his unexpected capture and consequent imprisonment. While his visit was short, and he focused on escaping, Kakashi remembered memorizing the locations he frequented. On the outside, nothing was out of the ordinary. As one of the largest clans in the Land of Fire, and a noble clan to boot, the Uchiha compound exemplified the clan’s prestige. However, the tiniest, most insignificant details didn’t escape him. From the weariness in the clansmens’ shoulders — derived from his clones’ memories — to the lackluster condition of their gardens. The biggest indicator of all, on the other hand, was the moment Kakashi met the Uchiha Clan Head and his convoy at the border. Why would the Uchiha travel to the coast in the middle of winter without formal winter attire? Suddenly, it dawned on him.

“Maa, maa...” The elder Uchiha’s order to decamp in the middle of the night made a lot more sense. If the Senju realized what the Uchiha are facing ... it could lead to momentous casualties.

One hour later, the Uchiha convoy and Hatake ambassador stood at the pier, overseeing a ship about to set sail. “Maa, while you were negotiating, I took the liberty of reserving us rooms at the local inn,” Kakashi announced. A part of him wouldn’t be surprised if the elder Uchiha demanded they left the island immediately, but he reserved the rooms, nonetheless. As a precaution, Kakashi forewarned the inn keeper and paid in advance.

 

[arbus]

“Maa, while you were negotiating, I took the liberty of reserving us rooms at the local inn.”

Madara turned his head, looking at the Hatake practically for the first time since he had decided that strangling him would lead to nothing but inconveniences. He raised his eyebrows, then huffed -- rather passive-aggressively, though most of his anger seemed to have been washed away by the satisfying outcome of the 'negotiations' (which some people would rather call blackmail, but what did they know) -- and dropped his arms to his side. The gesture was strangely pacifying; as if the words had loosened that ever-present anger simmering so close to his surface. His shoulders drooped, almost unperceivedly, the shift in his muscles too subtle to notice with an unschooled eye. It was tiredness that dragged them down, that had wrapped around his bones like an unwanted, bothersome companion. Even his face seemed paler than it usually was, the shadows under his eyes much more pronounced.

He had not slept in almost three days, and all the chakra, all the rage in the world could not prevent his body from giving out on him. Such frustration, and if there were a jutsu to fix this Madara would not hesitate to use it.

So all he said, as he looked the Hatake up and down, was "Thank you. I appreciate that."

He would be useless journeying like this; he needed respite. Standing there, after the heat of battle had worn off and the endorphin rush of his anger was seeping out of him, he suddenly, inexplicably, felt bone-tired.

Now that he had the ship, his qualms were appeased for the moment. Only a couple of hours of sleep, then a talk with the guild of local vendors, to set sail with what he hoped to be a plentiful array of provisions. Three days to strike a deal that satisfied both the civilians and the Uchiha elders. Three days to prevent what could very possibly be the obliteration of his clan. Madara knew: One false move could start an avalanche of dire consequences. This was his responsibility, a heavy one, and he was none for self-doubt but now it quelled inside him, together with that nagging, never-ending sense of worry.

"We will stay in town for a couple of days. We might as well use the inn." He eyed the Hatake suspiciously. So far, he had kept his side of the treaty, had stayed out of their talks with the ship master. Even though it must be so painfully obvious what they were doing, what Madara was after. He had known that all along, that it would be impossible to hide his mission before the curious eyes of the Hatake, and that it would mean consequences for his clan, even though he did not fully understand them yet. Hikaku and Yakumi, on their part, seemed pleased at the outlook of sleeping in a bed (they had journeyed the land with a madman for three days, for kami's sake), and, peeved, Madara thought that they had nothing to complain about: At least they had gotten some sleep at their camp site, albeit it had been closer to a nap than a full night's rest.

The inn, it turned out, was a traditional wooden house, the former home of a large family, run by an old, small woman with huge glasses and grey hair like straw, tied into a tight knot in the back of her neck. As the Uchiha convoy entered, she stared at Madara like an overgrown owl, and he glared at her. She croaked: "Take off your shoes! Tsk. Where you raised in a barn?"

Madara's head perked, mouth dropping open to spit back -- it might or might not have been a death threat, because they were still standing in the damn genkan -- but Hikaku shoved his hand into Yakumi's neck and bowed hastily, forcing the other down with him. "Thank you for having us!", he half-yelled, drowning out the curses falling from his clan head's lips.

 

[roxybirdie]

”Thank you. I appreciate that.”

The silver-haired halfbreed glanced at the elder Uchiha. To the untrained eye, nothing in the Clan Head’s body language indicated exhaustion. The shift in position and looser muscles implied satisfaction. After negotiating with the ship master and acquiring a ship with a fully-assembled crew, smugness was inevitable. However, underneath the surface, Kakashi spotted the spiderweb fractures penetrating the composed mask. They were subtle, almost indistinguable to the unschooled eye. The heaviness in the man’s shoulders; the darker shadows underneath the man’s eyes; the pallorness of the man’s skintone. Had Kakashi been an ordinary ninja, he wouldn’t pinpoint the signs and piece them together. On the other hand, Kakashi was a former ANBU taichō. His sharp gaze spotted the seemingly insignificant details and assembled the truth. Uchiha Madara was exhausted. The Hatake wouldn’t admit it, but he was pleased the elder Uchiha decided against leaving the island.

It seemed the Clan Head wasn’t that stubborn.

”We will stay in town for a couple of days. We might as well use the inn.”

“Maa, maa...” Instead of elaborating, Kakashi turned around and ambled down the pier. Fortunately, while the inn was conveniently located close to the pier, it was far enough that the establishment wasn’t assaulted by the stench of fish. A few minutes later, the Uchiha convoy and Hatake ambassador entered the genkan. Without a word, Kakashi removed his sandals and placed them in the designated shoe rack. He bowed at the elderly woman, straightened his stance, and donned a pair of slippers provided for guests. “We’ll be staying for two days, Oka-san. Thank you once again for accepting us,” he announced. Since it was in the middle of the night, the inn keeper had every right to deny them entrance until morning. Hatake or not, Kakashi had a feeling the only reason the inn keeper didn’t kick him out for disturbing her sleep was because she adored his mother.

Said woman harrumphed, meeting the Clan Head’s glare with a baleful glance. “If you’re going to behave like an uncivilized hoodlum, shut the door. Do you want an old woman to catch death?” The elderly woman pivoted and returned to her private quarters, grumbling underneath her breath.

His eyes crinkled, betraying his amusement. “This way...” Without another word, Kakashi guided the Uchiha convoy to their designated rooms. He reserved a total of three rooms; one for the Clan Head; one for the younger Uchiha; and one for himself. “Maa, maa, I wouldn’t get on Oka-san’s bad side. From what my mother told me, she’s a spitfire,” he warned. With a lazy flick of his wrist, Kakashi bid the convoy goodnight and entered his room.

 

[arbus]

“Maa, maa, I wouldn’t get on Oka-san’s bad side. From what my mother told me, she’s a spitfire.”

"Hmph." Madara would hardly be intimidated by an owl-like old hag.

"In case you think she's a spitfire, you haven't met Hikaku's grandma yet", Yakumi provided, helpfully.

"That's what I was going to say", Hikaku complained. Fortunately, their bickering took place while they were entering their room, both so obviously delighted by their chance of a comfortable bed (with which they had not reckoned in this kamiforsaken night). Madara withdrew into the room the mutt had reserved for him, sliding the shoji shut with a satisfying click, and not a moment later he released the air held tightly in his lungs, a long rush through his nose.

The bedroll, spread and prepared on the floor already, could not look more welcoming, and as soon as he had stripped out of his clothes and his head hit the pillow, he was out, falling into the kind of deep and all-consuming blackness that opened up beneath one when exhaustion had thoroughly hooked its claws, relentlessly dragging him down.

*
​

Only a couple of hours; the routine, ingrained into his body since he was ten years old, was as unshakable as the laws of his clan. He was up before the first sunlight, quietly traveling into the surrounding woods to perform his katas in the piece and quiet -- like he preferred. It was his favorite time of the day, these moments he felt most level-headed, most at peace with himself as he strained his body through the exercises that would hone it, hopefully propel it to new heights. He washed himself at a small stream afterwards, drinking from its clear, cold water, before he returned to the inn.

Hikaku and Yakumi were both up by then. The sun had risen, shedding its wintery, watery light over the small village. Oka-san was serving them tea in the dinning area, and Madara took his place across from them, his eyes traveling to the doorway as if expecting the mutt to show up any minute.

"Miso for you?", the innkeeper inquired, though before Madara could even answer she had put the bowl before him. He squinted at her but said nothing; he would not give up the calm he had gained in his morning routine for a quarrel with the old hag.

"The meeting with the merchant's guild is in half an hour", Hikaku said superfluously. Madara nodded, drinking the heavy, nutritious broth from the bowl hungrily. Again, his eyes went to the sliding door.

Yakumi kept fiddling with the hem of his sleeve, radiating the nervousness that Madara did not allow himself to feel. Both young Uchiha were very much aware of what was at stake, and that awareness hung in the air like a solemn, heavy veil, shrouding them in silence.

 

[roxybirdie]

Click.

The moment the sliding doors shut, Kakashi heaved a sigh. He surveyed the quaint sleeping quarters, instinctively assessing the room for anything out of the ordinary. Once he deemed the quarters clean, Kakashi approached the bedroll. He unclasped his cloak, removed his chest plate, and unclipped Shōkin from his hip. After stripping off his outerwear, Kakashi placed his chokutō next to his pillow and collapsed on the bedroll. “Maa, maa...” The silver-haired halfbreed shifted, laying on his back. He gazed at the wooden ceiling, all traces of his lackadaisical mask gone. “It’s getting worse,” Kakashi murmured. The former nomad raised right arm, examining the flecks of blood underneath his fingernails. “I might not be able to snap out of it next time,” he muttered. Donning a new persona was a technique all competent shinobi learned. However, in the ANBU Black Ops, Kakashi connected it with his Sharingan. Instead of an ordinary mask, it morphed into a separate personality. The newly-transformed genjutsu technique thoroughly protected him from the mental ramifications of his darker and gorier missions. On the other hand, the backlash was equally detrimental.

In hindsight, a traumatized teenager inventing a powerful genjutsu technique was a recipe for disaster.

“Maa...” Kakashi lowered his arm and closed his eyes. A wave of exhaustion washed over him, evoking a yawn. Instead of resisting it, Kakashi drifted off. Unconsciousness unsheathed its claws and drug him under.

*​

Fortunately, instead of a night plagued by dark memories, Kakashi didn’t dream. He slept for a few hours, a rare commodity for a war veteran. After the first signs of dawn invaded his room, Kakashi awakened. Unlike a certain Clan Head, Kakashi didn’t technically leave his room. Once he applied a strong privacy seal on the floor, Kakashi activated his Mangekyō. He vanished in a swirl, transporting to his former teammate’s personal dimension. The modified privacy seal simultaneously released a burst of chakra and shielded the chakra flare stemmed from his Mangekyō. The seal was designed to project an illusion. To an outsider, Kakashi never left his sleeping quarters.

“I have a feeling something worse will happen soon...” Kakashi maneuvered through the bleak dimension, deactivating his traps and retrieving his scroll. Once he unsealed a inkwell and brush from his left wrist, Kakashi opened the scroll. “...Team Seven was never this lucky.” The silver-haired halfbreed plopped on the grey platform and catalogued the recent events, including his discoveries.

*​

By the time Madara and his convoy settled in the dining room, a certain Hatake ambassador remained missing. A few minutes before the important meeting, a shoji door opened. Kakashi stepped in, closing the door behind him. His wild mane glistened, indicating the former nomad utilized the inn’s bathing facilities. “Good morning, Oka-san,” he greeted, eyes curving upward. The half eye-smile, unlike his previous gestures, was genuine.

The elderly woman huffed. “You’re late,” she announced.

“Maa, am I? I wasn’t aware we’re suppose to eat at a certain hour,” Kakashi replied blithely.

Oka raised her ladle and waved it at the Hatake. “Enough lip from you, boy. Sit down and enjoy your miso soup,” she countered.

Kakashi raised his hands placatingly and took a seat. Once the innkeeper served him a cup of tea and a bowl of miso soup, Kakashi dipped his head respectively.

She harrumphed. “Just like your mother.” The innkeeper left the dining table, grumbling underneath her breath.

His lips twitched, but he knew better than to comment. Kakashi lifted the cup of green tea, bringing it closer to his masked lips. He paused, feeling two pairs of eyes on his person. The silver-haired halfbreed glanced at the younger Uchiha flanking his current seat. He arched an eyebrow. “Is there something wrong?” Kakashi inquired. His charcoal eyes crinkled, amusement evident in his gaze.

The younger Uchiha stiffened. “N-no...” Yakumi began.

“J-just...” Hikaku trailed, exchanging glances with Yakumi.

A chuckle rumbled inside his chest. “Don’t you have a meeting to attend to?” Kakashi questioned, lowering his cup.

 

[arbus]

Madara was the first to look up when the sliding door opened. He had long emptied his first bowl of miso and been served seconds. Silently, he observed the exchange before him, until his brows drew together in a vague, unspecified feeling of irritation that left him impatient.

“Don’t you have a meeting to attend to?”

"We do", he said, placing the now empty bowl onto the table and downing the rest of his tea. The mutt's face was of no interest to anyone, why even should it be, and it strangely irked Madara, that way Hikaku and Yakumi gawked at the mutt at any chance he might lower that stupid, pretentious mask. He rose, in one smooth motion, and beckoned the other two to follow, but not without throwing the mutt a harried glance.

"You don't seem to take your role as ambassador very seriously", he grunted, "if you keep your guests waiting like that." With that, he was out the door, robe trailing behind him. Yakumi scratched his head, Hikaku looked a bit confused, but they scurried to follow, before the ire of their clan leader landed on them.

And to think that he had seemed so ... relaxed when he had first entered the dinning area.

*
​

That same night

Hikaku and Yakumi returned to the inn with their heads fuming from all that talking. It was beyond Yakumi how anyone could stand to do this for all of their lives, haggling over the smallest, most insignificant details like that without even batting an eyelash once. Neither of them could remember having spent so much time in a stuffy room full of balding, bespectacled men wearing such expensive clothes, drinking sake and eating raspberries all day. They slumped down, groaning, onto the veranda, after they asked the innkeeper (as respectfully as they could, because Oka was intimidating) for a cup of tea.

The head of the Uchiha clan (the civilians in the harbor had learned about his presence by now, and though they had not much to do with the shinobi world, even they had heard of the infamous katon style user) was seen walking along the pier, that evening, a lonely figure on the landing docks against the setting sun, his back to the civilians, to the village, to the world, as he stared out into the sea for a very long time.

*
​

The second day

Negotiations were not going well. If it had not been so obvious by the way Hikaku and Yakumi returned, after another long day, with hanging shoulders, an air of desperation about them that was impossible to hide, the talk between the civilians would have carried the knowledge to the Hatake regardless. While the merchant's themselves did not talk about their negotiations with the infamous Uchiha, they did talk to their spouses, and seeing as the village's life was slow and uneventful, practically all information was passed from ear to ear, between housewives chatting excitedly or indignantly at the little market place, at the butcher's, or on the main street.

Madara's perpetual scowl was doing the rest -- he looked so dark and brooding that, when he passed the village's guard post to head for the woods that night, the civilian sentry on duty froze, his heart pounding hard in his chest at what he did not realize was the malicious, yet suppressed aura of killing intent.

*
​

The third day

Madara felt strangely numb. Normally, if he feared something, he simply summoned up the ever-close anger to overwrite the emotion, stemming his energy from the perpetual rage inside his veins. But somehow, he found he could not, and it left him absurdly immobile, motionless, with the knowledge to be helpless at the guilt's verdict.

He had thought about destroying them. About unleashing his rage, letting it out on those stuffy, prejudiced, dumb bastards, slitting one throat after the other until he stood to his knees in their blood. A tiny, small, dark part in him still wanted that, even now that the immediate indignation, igniter of his rage, had passed. But it would mean to disrespect the treaty (the only one ever concluded between the Uchiha and another clan in all of Madara's twenty years on this rotten soil) -- it would mean to betray the mutt (how strange, to even think of that) -- it would mean to dip his hands in so much blood it would likely never wash off -- it would mean war.

Regardless of what the world seemed to think of him, Uchiha Madara was not a monster. He did not want unnecessary bloodshed, especially not to satisfy a personal whim. But it was so infuriatingly frustrating, the world's refusal to look upon an Uchiha and see beyond the eyes, beyond the fire and blood and destruction. It was all his clan was, to the civilian population in this country. Tools, efficient enough to be hired for tasks too distasteful to be performed by themselves; but feared, not respected for it.

Madara looked upon his hands, sitting at the edge of the landing, his feet tangling over the undulating surface of the water. The sun was setting in the west, accentuating the ship that was prepared and ready to set sail. How foolishly proud of himself he had been, after having managed to hire a ship and a crew. A fool for thinking he would be able to handle this. A fool for feeling confidence when there was no reason to, and yes, he could just take, but for all those reasons he also couldn't.

The setting sun shed the last of its light across the sea, and in the twilight, in that short hour were day transitioned into night and was not gone but not fully there anymore either, he knew that this could very well be the end of his clan; his very first task as the clan's head, and he had failed in his responsibility.

No matter, he thought, gnashing his teeth. There would be another way. He would find one, instead of sitting here, wallowing in his hurt pride and his defeat. His fingers clenched until they were a tight, trembling fist. There would be a way. And if that meant he would have to make one himself, so be it.

 

[roxybirdie]

”You don't seem to take your role as ambassador very seriously...”

The silver-haired halfbreed waved his hand at the comment. “Maa, maa...” Kakashi raised the ceramic cup to his masked lips once more. “...I don’t seem to recall there being a rule that an ambassador must dine with their escorts. It’s a formality, but not a necessity,” he pointed out. He lowered the cup, invoking sounds of disappointment from the younger Uchiha. His lips twitched in response, but he continued, “Have you considered the possibility that I had your best interests in mind? I have a feeling you don’t like me, Madara-san, so wouldn’t a morning without my presence put you at ease?” Kakashi tilted his head, a glimmer of amusement evident in his charcoal gaze. “In that instance, I take my role very seriously.” Once the elder Uchiha and his convoy left, the former nomad lowered his mask and sipped his tea.

Unfortunately for Yakumi and Hikaku, the fear of invoking their clan leader’s ire overrode their perpetual curiosity. To their dismay, once they followed Madara, they heard the sound of sipping.

*​

Later Tonight

By the time a certain pair of teens returned to the inn, Kakashi was lounging on the engawa. From the corner of his eye, he spotted the younger Uchiha collapsing on the veranda. As they groaned in unison, the newly-affiliated Hatake closed the scroll he unsealed from his left wrist. “Maa, did you have fun?” he inquired innocently. Almost immediately, Kakashi was under the scrutiny of two baleful glares.

“What do you think?” Hikaku huffed.

Yakumi didn’t bother voicing his displeasure.

*​

Second Day

On the first day, while the Uchiha negotiated with the civilians, Kakashi helped around the inn. Despite the innkeeper’s crotchety, sharp-tongued demeanor, she had a soft spot for his great-great-grandmother. Fortunately, it seemed Oka developed a similar spot for him. However, deep down, Kakashi had a feeling it stemmed from how he acted and looked like his descendant. Unlike the Clan Head and his convoy, when Oka demanded to see his face, his instincts screamed to listen. She might be a small, elderly civilian, but Kakashi knew better than to ignore his instincts.

During the second day, Kakashi ventured inside the village. He purchased a few odds and ends at the marketplace, but the main purpose of his stroll was gathering intel. The Hatake clan might be considered glorified landlords, but they aren’t ignorant of the hustling and bustling of the civilian establishment. One of a Hatake escort’s — or, in his case, ambassador’s — main objectives are updating the information regarding the marina and village. If a Hatake discovered evidence of criminal activity violating the numerous of treaties they had with the civilian community, they’re advised to apprehend the threat before it tarnished the treaties. Without the direct route to the harbor, the Hatake clan would suffer substantially. His clan might be blessed with prosperous farmlands, but they needed the route.

*​

Third Day

“Maa, maa, is brooding a hereditary trait or is it something all Uchiha are taught?” a lazy voice drawled.

Kakashi ambled down the pier, taking a seat on the edge of the dock. He removed his sandals, placed them next to his side, and dipped his feet in the water. His chokutō was missing, the aforementioned weapon sealed inside the storage seal branded on his left wrist. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “I was surprised we stayed a third day. I thought your aggressive negotiations would work on the first day,” he mused. Kakashi glanced at the ship the Clan Head acquired. “It certainly worked the first time.” For a moment, the former nomad grew silent. He lifted his gaze, staring at the darkened sky. As the last remnants of twilight fell to darkness, he spotted the first sprinkling of stars.

All traces of his laziness vanished. “The Uchiha clan is on the brink of destruction,” Kakashi deadpanned. Truthfully, the silver-haired halfbreed didn’t need the gossiping wives of wealthy merchants to uncover the true nature of the recent negotiations. “It’s why you spent more than six months to negotiate with my clan. It’s why you’re determined to negotiate with a group of prejudiced old men who can’t see past the fire and brimstone associated with the name, Uchiha. Without it, the Senju will piece everything together and exploit it,” he elaborated. Kakashi withdrew his feet from the chilling water, ignoring the gooseflesh erupting on his calves. “If my assumptions are correct, your clan might not survive this winter.” Without another word, the war veteran pressed his fingertips against the seal on his left inner wrist. After applying a small burst of chakra, he retrieved a slim scroll. Kakashi placed the scroll on the wooden platform, donned his sandals, and rose into a standing position.

He pivoted, facing the direction of the village. “You have no reason to trust me and I gave you no reason to.” Kakashi tapped the scroll with his foot. “However, you can trust my clan. If you’re done doing things by yourself, the scroll should get what you came for,” he murmured. With a lazy flick of his wrist, Kakashi sauntered down the dockway, heading toward the direction of the inn.

Inside the scroll was a detailed report of all the information Kakashi gathered in the span of three days. From seemingly insignificant details to incriminating evidence. The art of politics was a delicate game and while Kakashi wasn’t an expert, he knew the only way to deal with dirty merchants was evening the playing field. Enclosed within the scroll was copies of treaties the Hatake clan had with the group of civilians the elder Uchiha negotiated with, including a formal letter written by his great-great-grandmother. Combined with the information Kakashi acquired, the scroll had the power to irrevocably ruin the lives of the prejudiced old men hellbent on opposing the Uchiha. Even if the civilians refused, the formal letter from his great-great-grandmother gave the old geezers an ultimatum.

Cooperate with the Uchiha and accept their negotiations or lose everything.

Included in every single enclosed treaty was a clause that enabled the Hatake clan to deal with oath-breakers however they pleased. Since the group of civilians violated the treaties, his great-great-grandmother chose a fate worse than death.

Despite his lackluster ambassador qualities, Kakashi meant what he said; the Hatake clan took care of their allies.

 

[arbus]

“Maa, maa, is brooding a hereditary trait or is it something all Uchiha are taught?”

As the familiar voice drifted to his ears, he looked up from his white-knuckled fist, dark eyes catching on the Hatake's frame. Madara wished to summon up some anger, an imperfect but nevertheless serviceable defense against the mutt's constant mockery, but he could not bring himself to do it. Perhaps it had something to do with the way the light fell to make the visible part of his skin glow almost ethereal, perhaps with the fact that he was unarmed. Madara watched him take off his sandals, the skin on his arms breaking out in goosebumps in an unfamiliar bout of empathy as the other's naked feet slipped into the ice-cold water. He averted his gaze quickly, back onto his own hands.

“The Uchiha clan is on the brink of destruction.”

Madara stiffened. The words brought a relentless tension into his shoulders, made his spine rigid, his breath fastening as his pulse quickened. It was the truth, of course it was the truth, but to hear it be spoken out loud, so bluntly, was like a slap in the face; fear clawed its nasty fangs into his heart and squeezed.

“If my assumptions are correct, your clan might not survive this winter.”

Not if the Senju found out; a possibility looming more like a certainty than a likelihood on the horizon, after the encounter in the woods, and if Madara would not set out in the morning at the latest, he would leave the compound defenseless -- no one but him could stand up against Hashirama, and he had always respected that silly, idealistic man, but war must be weighing down on the Senju, too, and Madara knew they wanted it to get over with, they wanted to be done with all the wars and the fighting and the death.

The question he kept worrying over like a sore tooth: Would Hashirama go so far as to annihilate them, with all his talks of peace, of a better future?

Maybe it was a sign of what those past years had done to Madara, what the loss had cost him, the toll it had taken on his sanity, his mind, but he simply could not be sure anymore.

The dim glow of an activated seal made Madara look up, as if pulled out of his reverie, and a slight frown flitted across his face at the ingeniosity of applying a seal on one's wrist. The Hatake did not stop to surprise, to impress, displaying one shrewdness after the other. His eyes followed the scroll as the mutt placed it on the mossy wooden blank, and the wood creaked under his steps as he moved.

"If you’re done doing things by yourself, the scroll should get what you came for.”

His hand did not shake when he reached out, when he took up the small scroll to slide it open. But when he was done reading, had finished piecing the parts together -- when he realized what it meant -- he could no longer suppress the tremble in his fingers.

He had not uttered a single word in that exchange. His eyes followed the mutt's retrieving figure until it was swallowed by the dark, and even then he kept on staring at the spot the other man had vanished, for how long a time he could not tell, until he finally slipped the scroll into the sleeve of his robes.

" ... you can trust my clan."

For some reason, it was a hard thing to breath, his chest suddenly tight with a concept he had long thought lost to him. That spark of hope, of joy, as innocent as a child's laugh, brought upon a smile on the Uchiha's features, unguarded and genuine, even if it only lasted for a heartbeat.

*​

The Forth Day

Madara was smiling. He stood on the pier, arms crossed over his chest, as he watched the crew busy like worker bees loading the cargo onto the ship. That smile had an edge to it; a grim satisfaction, angry and smug, because there had been nothing more rewarding than to rub those plump faces into the inescapable fact that they would strike a trading deal with an Uchiha, and as it dawned on them -- awfully slowly for men who thought themselves to be so quick-witted -- it had been a particular joy to see their faces fall, grow pale with the realization.

Madara was determined not to stall his delay; both Hikaku and Yakumi would travel on the ship, oversee the journey that would take them to a small port nearer to the Uchiha compound, a journey that would take a good week as they would have to transport the cargo by foot for a long distance over hillocky terrain. He had come to the pier to oversee the progress, and now was turning to Hikaku to give him the rest of his directions.

He had not seen the mutt since the evening prior, but he was sure the other would have his way to find him, to ambassador his way back across the Hatake territory.

 

[roxybirdie]

Fourth Day

Yesterday evening, prior to his impromptu meeting with the elder Uchiha, Kakashi intended to confront the despicable merchants responsible for violating the treaties. He assembled the scroll for the sole purpose of punishing the prejudiced old men. However, before he left the inn, Kakashi overheard a conversation between Hikaku and Yakumi. The absolute hopelessness and resignation in their tones halted him. While he uncovered the true nature of the negotiations, Kakashi never realized how — underneath the unquestionable united front — desperate the Clan Head and his convoy were in their meetings. The silver-haired halfbreed wasn’t blind to the preconceptions associated with the Uchiha name. In a way, it made his blood boil.

Instead of confronting the loathsome group of men, Kakashi navigated to the pier. He approached the elder Uchiha, offered his scroll, and left. Originally, Kakashi intended to expropriate all monetary assets and convert it to Hatake property. However, accepting a trading agreement with the Uchiha was a worse punishment. Should the merchants attempt to circumvent the negotiations, they would face the wrath of the Hatake clan. His great-great-grandmother mentioned it in her letter. His clan might be considered glorified landlords on the island, but the civilian population simultaneously respected and feared his clan.

*​

“Maa, maa, I didn’t know Uchiha Madara could smile,” a certain ambassador drawled.

Kakashi ambled down the pier, every inch of his frame languorous and unassuming; a stark contrast to his shrewdness the previous night. “I see negotiations went swimmingly,” he commented, eyeing the cargo loading on the ship. The former nomad handed a large bento covered in a starfish-patterned cloth to Hikaku. “Oka-san made this for the ‘too-skinny brats’. I believe she was referring to Yakumi-san and you,” he announced. Kakashi patted the bento. “There should be enough for both of you,” he added. His eyes curved upward, charcoal hues glimmering with amusement. Without another word, Kakashi stepped back.

“High chance of snowfall later today, so I recommend donning your cloak before we leave,” Kakashi pointed out. The aforementioned cloak might be speckled with blood, but the silver-haired halfbreed doubted the elder Uchiha was keen on freezing. Kakashi was currently sporting his own cloak, the thick fabric enveloping his lean frame. Even if the cloak obscured the clan markings on his sleeves, his silver coloring betrayed his clan affiliation.

The war veteran pivoted, facing the direction of the ship. He folded his arms across his chest, forearms vanishing underneath his sleeves. Crewmen noticed the Hatake standing on the pier, but continued loading the ship. White puffs exuded from his masked lips. Kakashi suppressed the urge to readjust his clasp. The Hatake might be resilient to harsh tempatures, but it didn’t mean the halfbreed liked the cold. On the contrary, Kakashi wasn’t fond of winter.

 

[arbus]

Speak of the devil. Madara did not bother to reply to the tease (he was smiling often and radiantly, thank you), turning his head to watch the mutt's approach. How could a man, so obviously capable, so precise and accomplished, walk like a weedy scarecrow, ready to be blown away by the lightest breeze? It was beyond Madara, that display of feign weakness, although he assumed it could have its advantages.

"I see negotiations went swimmingly."

At that, Madara made a content sound, releasing breath through his nose in what almost was a laugh. Hikaku's eyes grew wide in surprise as the Hatake handed him the bento, then a smile broke out on his face. Both younger Uchiha expressed their gratitude, telling him to thank the innkeeper for her trouble. "See", Yakumi said as they walked off, "I told you she has a heart of gold. They always do." -- "Bullshit", Hikaku replied, cradling the bento, "yesterday you said you were never so scared by the sight of a ladle before."

Madara shook his head at those two, and could not help but feel a form of relief to be rid of their antics. Their initial awkwardness had melted away with the days spent in his presence, and while he welcomed that, he could honestly do without the sass that seemed to have replaced it. The mutt was bad enough for a lifetime of headaches as it was.

When his younger clansmen were out of earshot, Madara turned to face the Hatake. The gaze of his eyes was intent, a half-scowl clouding its features, but it was a look of earnestness more than one of anger. He pressed his arms to his side, and bowed.

A moment passed. The breeze carried the yells of the workers from the docks to their ears, brought goosebumps and the wet smell of the sea.

There were many words of gratitude to be uttered; words about generosity, debt and repayment. But Madara refrained from using any of them. He was silent, when he straightened again, his eyes lingering on the other's masked face. He extended his arm, and for a brief moment, placed it on the mutt's shoulder, before lowering it again. A heartbeat passed, then his eyebrows shot up.

"No bento for me, then?"

 

[roxybirdie]

”...yesterday you said you were never so scared by the sight of a ladle before.”

As the younger Uchiha left, a fleeting chuckle rumbled inside his chest. His eyes crinkled, a hint of warmth evident in his charcoal gaze. The fabric of his mask stretched, indicating a hidden smile. Unbeknownst to the adolescent pair, Kakashi suggested a travel bento to the elderly innkeeper. Instead of rejecting his notion, Oka agreed. Considering her offhand comment, the silver-haired halfbreed had a feeling she would of made a bento without his influence.

From the corner of his eye, Kakashi observed the elder Uchiha. All of the sudden, the Clan Head bowed. His eyes widened completely. Caught off guard, the former nomad pivoted, facing the direction of the older man. While his mask obscured the majority of his expression, his charcoal hues betrayed the genuine surprise evident on his face. Kakashi anticipated a multitude of things, but not this. The Uchiha Clan Head bowing in the presence of a half-blooded Uchiha? The single, seemingly insignificant gesture was profound; far more powerful than words. He understood the silent message.

”No bento for me, then?”

Once the elder Uchiha clamped a hand on his shoulder, Kakashi snapped out of his stupor. He raised his left hand, rubbing the side of his head. It throbbed lightly from the vicious thwack. “Maa, maa, I asked ... she whacked me with a ladle,” he replied. The silver-haired halfbreed lowered his hand. “I might of manipulated her into making a bento for the others. She didn’t appreciate being manipulated,” he admitted. Kakashi retrieved a smaller bento covered in a narutomataki patterned cloth from the folds of his obi. “I made my own.” Without another word, the former nomad handed it to Madara, shifted, and sauntered down the pier.

With a lazy flick of his wrist, Kakashi gestured to a small boat near the end of the dockway. “Our ride is here,” he announced. The Hatake hopped off the dock, landing inside the boat. “I assume you want to beat the snowfall, ne?” He tilted his head back, charcoal meeting obsidian. A spark of mischievousness and something undetermined was evident in his lackadaisical gaze.

 

[arbus]

“Maa, maa, I asked ... she whacked me with a ladle.”

Madara smirked, a little smugly, at the words. The mental picture they evoked were profoundly satisfying for some reason -- perhaps because the mutt's near constant display of blatant disinterest provoked such a reaction, as did at least eighty percent of the words coming out of his mouth -- and he wished he could have witnessed that particular exchange, suddenly much more fond of the old hag than he had been during their stay.

He blinked down onto the bento the Hatake handed to him, a tad dumbfoundedly. The expression was quickly replaced by his patented frown, however, and with a small trod in his step to catch up to the mutt, he spat: "And what are you going to eat then, heh? I don't want your meal." He froze, for a moment, as the Hatake's eyes met his. Something in the way he looked at him had shifted, changed so subtly it was almost (almost) impossible to grasp. Powerful enough to stop him dead in his tracks, at least, but then the frown deepened, and he sprang on board swiftly, with such force it made the small boat wip delicately. "You don't understand a joke when it dances on your masked nose, do you, mutt?", he huffed, extending the clothed bento to the other man. "Also, what kind of cloth is that? How old are you, five?"

He retrieved the cloak from its storage scroll then, donning it in what some would call a rather theatrical fashion, and moved to stand next to the oarsmen to instruct them to take off.

*
​

The watery light of the morning gave way to a dull afternoon, veiled by heavy clouds. The first snowflake drifted to the ground around the time they had entered Hatake clan territory proper, but soon, they were covered in snow, heads and shoulders and backs white. Their breath fanned in white clouds into the air, and it was mostly the only noise, as Madara kept a steady pace, pressed forward with a determination and speed that was evident not only in his face, but his very movements. All of his leaps, his twists and sharp turns spoke of urgency, as they flew across the tree crowns like ghosts.

So it was perhaps a surprise, after that long a time running, when Madara's feet skidded to an abrupt halt, and without notice he jumped to the ground.

"Fucking cold", he muttered under his breath, two feverish spots high on his cheek, speaking of exertion or agitation or both. The downfall had become so heavy, thick white flocks were blocking the view to the next tree, and the world was covered in a growing blanket of white. He was taking heavy breaths, as he looked at the mutt. "How much further until the border?"

 

[roxybirdie]

”Also, what kind of cloth is that? How old are you, five?”

As the elder Uchiha hissed and spat — out of nowhere, the Clan Head’s unruly mane reminded him of a spitting kitten, prompting Kakashi to swallow his snort — the silver-haired halfbreed arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. Silently, Kakashi accepted the bento, storing it inside the folds of his obi. He flicked his wrist, signaling the oarsmen to move. “Maa, maa, I never knew patterned cloths had an age limit,” he replied. The former nomad tilted his head, charcoal hues curving upward. “Had I known, I wouldn’t of made you a bento. Mighty rude of you to decline a gift from an ally, Madara-san. I worked so hard on it too,” he added. A pout was evident in his tone, but his eye-smile betrayed his amusement.

*​

”How much further until the border?”

Unfortunately, time wasn’t on their side. Once the Uchiha Clan Head and Hatake ambassador crossed the sea, passed the marina, and traversed the Hatake route, the crisp morning transformed into a frigid afternoon. As the elder Uchiha and younger Hatake ventured beyond the flat plains and disappeared within the trees, a light sprinkle of snowfall ravaged the land. A few hours later, the light sprinkle transitioned into heavy snowflakes. During the first stretch of their journey, Kakashi followed Madara, matching his unrelenting pace with ease. The unlikeliest pair resembled blips of color, maneuvering through the forest terrain silently; akin to spirits drifting through the woods. Suddenly, after an undetermined amount of time, the Clan Head leaped off a branch, landing on the ground. Without a word, Kakashi joined him.

Instead of answering, the silver-haired halfbreed surveyed the forest. Considering the density of the snowfall, it wasn’t surprising Madara switched to a flatter terrain. “We passed the second landmark outside of the border. Once we pass the next landmark, the border should be close,” Kakashi pointed out. He pivoted, approached the elder Uchiha, and pointed west. “There’s a cave close to the next landmark. We should stop there and wait until the snowstorm lets up. It’s getting worse,” he warned. At this point, it was too dangerous to continue their journey across the branches. In spite of his keener senses, his eyesight wasn’t infallible. Additionally, the howling winds made it difficult to discern scents.

The former nomad lifted his hood, blocking the harsh wind. He adjusted the clasp of his cloak, pulling the thick fabric closer. While his fingerless gloves shielded his palms, a reddish hue enveloped his fingertips. Kakashi circulated chakra through his fingers, nullifying the needle-like stabbing sensation. “We should move,” he announced. All of the sudden, the hairs on the back of his neck stood. The newly-affiliated Hatake shifted, scanning the white terrain. He had a feeling something worse was about to happen.

 

[arbus]

Madara looked at the mutt. „No“, he said, air wheezing out of his lungs as he spoke, „we will keep going.“

His dark eyes turned crimson as his sharingan whirrled to life, the pinwheels of the Mangekyo drifting over the mutt's frame; he looked about as frozen as Madara felt, the tips of his fingers and ears a tender red. Madara's own face felt numb from the constant, icy wind whipping against his skin. Opening his mouth to speak was hard; his jaw felt stiff, eardrums pounding with faint hurt. The mutt's suggestion was the rational route to take, of course. Their vision was impaired by the drifting snow, as were their other senses. And he was right -- the storm was growing worse by the minute. But Madara could not afford to dally.

Starting with the horse, his hands formed into familiar signs; his stiff fingers working through them with less dexterity than usual. Chakra curbed, the flame he breathed formed into a ball small enough to fit into the palm of his hand, where it stayed, as a faint stream of pure, unadulterated chakra molded it into a softly kindling flame.
"Hold out your hand", he said, but without waiting he grasped the Hatake's wrist, stretching out his arm palm up so that the flame wandered over, dancing across his skin and the glove.

Immediatly, the soft warmth spread between them, strong like a bonfire, hot against their chests and arms and faces.

"You have fire affiliation, correct?", he said, even as he worked the flame over the mutt's hand. Encapsulated in chakra, it did not singe, not burn; it merely radiated a warm, pleasant glow. "This is better than using chakra to regulate body heat. It lasts longer. Is gentler." Madara's pinwheel eyes found the mutt's face. How strange it was for him, to have a non-Uchiha not shy away from this gaze. "Use chakra to elevate it, and it will help us navigate. As I am not accustomed to these lands, you will take the lead." He stepped back, waiting for the other to recommence their travels.

 

[roxybirdie]

”No ... we will keep going.”

His charcoal eyes swept over the small clearing. The fabric of his mask flexed downward, indicating a frown. As the snowflakes grew heavier, the forest transformed into a sea of indistinguishable white. He surveyed the terrain once more, but the relentless snowfall combined with the unforgiving gales impaired his vision. Kakashi pivoted, facing the direction of the elder Uchiha. Had the consequences been less dire, Kakashi would of rejected the ludicrous notion without hesitation. On the other hand, whether he acknowledged it or not, Kakashi understood the Clan Head’s perseverance. From the corner of his eye, the former nomad fixated his gaze on the surrounding trees. A familiar heaviness settled in the pit of his stomach. Slowly, all traces of his lackadaisical demeanor vanished. Something was wrong.

All of the sudden, the older man’s eyes illuminated a brilliant crimson. Kakashi met the Clan Head’s Mangekyō directly, not a hint of apprehension evident on his expression. While the specific Sharingan sparked darker flashes long buried, self-preservation and determination trumped the echos of the past. Without a word, Kakashi lifted his wrist. However, before he raised it completely, Madara seized it.

”You have fire affiliation, correct?”

Out of nowhere, warmth engulfed his frame. Kakashi examined the fireball flickering above his outstretched palm. He flexed his fingertips, manipulating the amber-hued flame. It danced along his palm, slithered around his wrist, and returned to its original position. Instead of biting his flesh and scorching his glove, it radiated everlasting warmth. “Maa, you remembered,” he said, recalling the elder Uchiha’s previous fireball. Parting flames without a fire affiliation was possible — anything was possible with the right amount of chakra control — but the elegance of his countermove hinted his secondary nature.

Once Kakashi fed a regulated stream of chakra inside the fireball, it elevated higher above his hand. It increased in size a bit, but not enough to destabilize the fireball. The newly-affiliated Hatake lifted his arm, shifted, and ventured west. “The next landmark should be roughly five kilometers from here,” he announced. In spite of the severe snowstorm ravaging the clearing, the fireball basked the Clan Head and ambassador in warmth. Instead of exstinguishing, the chakra-infused flames remained flickering.

 

[arbus]

Nakano River, Eleven Years Ago

„Come on, what is taking you so long?“

„Give me a damn minute!“

„Madara, pray tell, is it happening to you again?“

There was entirely too much glee in Hashirama‘s voice, in that way it had when it was on the brink of giggling. Madara wished to the gods he could polish that dimwit‘s face, but right now, he was kind of busy.

"You do not have to wait for me. Go ahead, I‘ll catch up in a minute.“

A silence. And then, Hashirama was hovering next to him, fucking peeking over his shoulder, his face screwed up in a grimace of concentration.

„Hm, I don‘t think a minute will cut it“, he announced, „and you shouldn‘t push that hard, that doesn‘t look very health—"

The rest of that sentences was smothered by the back of Madara‘s hand, curled in a tight fist, rammed against Hashirama‘s smug face.

Twenty minutes, a lot of howling on Hashirama's part, a bloody nose and a successfully emptied bladder later, they sat on the big, sun-warmed rock on the east side of the river, basking in the midday sun with the sleeves of their yukatas rolled up to their shoulders. Such lazy summer days were Madara's favorites; with the crickets singing in ear-deafening crescendos, the stream of the Naka and the rustling of the leaves in the wind a soothing background voice to their conversations, or companionable silence.

*​

Present Day

With satisfaction, Madara witnessed the mutt‘s expert handling of the jutsu; even tweaked with neutral chakra to keep it controlled, he displayed no difficulties to adapt, and form the katon into an even larger shape, leading it along his body as if he had trained for it. It had taken Izuna a week to do this, and something inside Madara, a dark unnamed thing, curled up and dormant, lifted its head drowsily. Curiosity, maybe.

He was excited, he realized, and did not know if it was from how saturated the air felt, how heavy the smell of earth was underneath the blanket of snow, from his haste to return to the compound that had his heart beating fast or from his companion, who seemed to excel in everything he did, who was so promising that even his halfbreed status turned and twisted in something new, something interesting rather than despicable. But the look on Madara's face remained grim, only that edge to his lips betraying his thoughts as it was so close to satisfaction, a sign of how much he was in his element in this adverse circumstances.

Thriving in them, and in that chakra-ladden air that grew thicker with each breath as they flew through the storm, invisible to anyone that did not bear the sharingan, his chakra flared as if in response, fire red and burning, and the cold seeped out of his bones and his limbs, not from the ball of fire the Hatake was carrying but from the energy that had shifted the air. He did not realize how fast his breath went, the fever spots on his cheeks intensifying into a bright red.

They had barely crossed the landmark, and now the hair in Madara's neck were standing up, the only warning before, through the thickness of the storm that even the Mangekyo had trouble spotting, the silhouettes of a dozen men appeared. But Madara did not need his Mangekyo to recognize the aura of the man before him; the friend that had become his fiersest enemy. His arm extended, signaling the Hatake to stop, even though he must feel it too, the power radiating from a short distance.

"Uchiha Madara!", that familiar voice yelled, barely audible over the storm.

That presence. It could only mean one thing. A diversion. A ploy to keep him distracted. While the white-haired Senju launched his attack, probably at that very moment, at the defenseless Uchiha compound.

And just like that, Madara saw red.

*​

What did it mean, the presence of the wood style user, that God of Shinobi?

It meant two things: The compound was under siege. His clan was in mortal danger.

It meant Hashirama had thrown all his high-flying philosophy to the wind, or the storm, for the sake of destroying them as long as he had the upper hand.

*​

Those thoughts pounded in Madara's head, and it was the only thing he could think as he launched his attack, and the rage was not even that anymore: It was all-consuming, white-hot, burning him up from the inside out for a betrayel he knew he should have expected but didn't, not really, not in his heart.

His stupid, naive, unteachable fucking heart.

"HASHIRAMA!" The scream was a growl was a warning was a threat, and the next moment his fist connected with the Senju's palm, and in a flurry they enganged in a fierce fight, drowned by snow and the howling storm, and Madara had no idea what was happening around him, just knew he had do hit, to do harm, to destroy, for what that man had decided to do to him.

"Madara, listen --", Hashirama uttered, but his words, pleading in tone, were muted by the wind, carried from his lips unheard as he met the Uchiha clan head blow for blow, defenisive, trying to get him to listen.

​

 

[roxybirdie]

While it was a few hours shy of dusk — had Kakashi been aware, he might of pushed harder for shelter since traversing a snowstorm during nightfall never ended well — daylight was almost nonexistent. As the snowstorm intensified, the forest was shrouded in darkness. In the midst of the frozen tempest, a ball of light penetrated the unforgiving flurries. The unrelenting flames hovering above the silver-haired halfbreed’s palm basked the younger Hatake and elder Uchiha in a warm, amber glow. In spite of the ongoing warmth radiating from the chakra-infused fireball, frigid gales sliced through his slender frame, akin to vicious claws sinking into his flesh with the malevolent intent of ripping him apart. Kakashi ignored the biting sensation and focused on the pathway leading to the next landmark.

Each step was a challenge. Traveling on the ground was safer, but the icy gales are harsher on the ground compared to the trees. Rising snowdrifts obscured the route leading to the upcoming landmark. Had Kakashi been an ordinary shinobi, he might of lost his sense of direction. On the other hand, as a former ANBU taichō and member of the Hatake clan, Kakashi learned the art of tracking underneath extreme conditions. Despite his recent affiliation to his clan, Kakashi memorized the route his great-great-grandmother presented him during an extensive patrol. Half an hour later, the Clan Head and ambassador passed the first landmark outside of the “official” eastern borderline; a monumental rock formation in the shape of a lopsided shuriken-like outline.

The moment the unlikeliest pair bypassed the landmark, the hairs on the back of his head stood. His instincts flared, urging him to stop, to defend. All of the sudden, an overwhelming sensation of wrongness washed over him. The previous gut feeling intensified, to the point Kakashi almost destabilized the regulated chakra flowing inside his fireball. Out of nowhere, the final puzzle piece slotted into its place. They’re being watched. Immediately, his hackles raised.

No, they’re being hunted.

Kakashi opened his mouth, about to warn his companion, but without warning, a powerful chakra signature invaded the clearing. On the opposite side of the clearing, surrounded by a dozen silhouettes, a single individual stepped forward. Thick flurries concealed the individual’s form, but his sharp charcoal eyes spotted a hint of crimson armor. The individual’s presence was immense, far superior compared to its comrades. The vigorous chakra radiating from the taller individual reminded him of nature itself. While Madara was fire and brimstone, the individual was woodland and life. It took him awhile to connect the dots.

”HASHIRAMA!”

In hindsight, disregarding the possibility of Senju Hashirama leading a direct assault was foolish. After the scuffle in the forest a few days prior, Kakashi anticipated a potential ambush. Before leaving the island, the silver-haired halfbreed planned accordingly. However, out of everyone, Kakashi never anticipated Senju Hashirama leading the ambush. A part of him wasn’t certain if he wanted to laugh at his stupidity or curse his rotten luck. When did anything in his life go right?

Once the elder Uchiha lunged, Kakashi was surrounded by a fleet of Senju. He surveyed the convoy, examining the mixture of male and female shinobi. The former nomad flexed his fingertips, manipulating the fireball hovering above his palm. It twisted around his hand, slithered around his wrist, and returned to its original position. “Maa, maa, I don’t suppose we can talk about this, ne?” Kakashi drawled. Regardless of his lackadaisical tone, his charcoal gaze was razor-sharp and unyielding. Instead of answering, the Senju closest to him shot forward. Without warning, the fireball flickering above his hand grew.

With his unoccupied hand, Kakashi weaved a few hand signs one-handed. Silently, the silver-haired halfbreed morphed the fireball into a smaller version of Katon: Gōryūka no Jutsu. The fireball transformed into the shape of a dragon’s head, opened its maw wide, and lunged at the fleet of Senju. Without another word, Kakashi jumped back. A total of twelve shinobi opposed him. The odds, compared to the previous scuffle, was substantially worse. His senses, while superior, remained impaired by the severe snowstorm ravaging the clearing. Despite the exceptional disadvantage, Kakashi survived two wars — technically, he died at the end of the second war, but that wasn’t the point — for a reason.

Slowly, every inch of his frame illuminated a brilliant violet. Lightning chakra crackled over his frame, erasing all traces of the snowflakes soaking his cloak. Kakashi pressed his fingers against his left inner wrist, summoning his chokutō. “I don’t want to fight you, but ... I don’t have a choice, do I?” he huffed wryly. Before the Senju could react, the silver-haired halfbreed stabbed the snow-covered ground. All of the sudden, the lightning chakra encompassing his frame surged down the blade, seeping inside the earth. The ground erupted violently, fissures rushing forward and aiming for the fleet.

 

[arbus]

"Affiliations with the Hatake clan", Hashirama was saying, his feet skidding over the ground as he blocked off a chakra-enhanced push. Madara's palms were burning hot, even through the thick layers of wool and leather that protected Hashirama from the cold; the fire in his eyes was a burning rage, and he looked almost mad with it. "You knew I had to take measures!" But the other was not listening to him, was not listening at all; Madara lunged, again, and it became harder to maintain this defensive position in the face of the others onslaught of taijutsu attacks. The thick snowstorm engulfed them, and Hashirama's eyes traveled to the faint glow of fire for a moment, its outlines growing and eating away at the snow. He regretted it immediately, as he felt his opponent's fist connect with his breast plate. There was a fierce crack, and then the armor splintered and broke.

"I don't want to fight you, for kami's sake!", he shouted, right into Madara's face as he allowed the other to draw nearer. The air was saturated not only with the blazing fire that was Madara, that chakra that burned so bright it left a taste of burnt ash on his tongue, but there was the smell of ozone, the air as thick and tense as it grew before a thunderstorm. He saw the shadows of his people disperse, evading an attack -- they had instructions to stay on the defensive, but Hashirama knew how angry they were, how stricken with grief over their lost comrades. And the fight had erupted so suddenly, without a chance to talk due to that damn snowstorm, and --

"Ggh." Madara had managed to invade his space, using this one moment of negligence to his advantage, and his shin had connected with Hashirama's torso -- now devoid of any protection -- hard enough to have him lose balance. He stumbled, used his half-fall to evade a fire ball aimed to burn him up alive, and retrieved deeper into the forest. He had not wanted to engage in the middle of this storm; they had stumbled across each other accidentally, had meant to follow and wait for the right opportunity, but they had lost all sense of direction, and the storm only seemed to grow fiercer around them.

*
​

The wind made it hard to breathe; Madara gnashed his teeth, followed Hashirama as the other tried to evade him, clearly following his goal to prevent him to return to the compound. How Hashirama could sink so low was beyond Madara; his head was spinning with rage, and he did not think anymore, he just acted.

The taste of ozone was like a pleasant companion to his quickened pulse, and he drove forward, the pinwheels of his eyes spinning violently as the skeleton of his Susano'o grew around him, granting him greater range as the arms lashed out at Hashirama, who seemed to have a hard time navigating the storm at all; his lack of visual prowess was so very evident now, in the heart of the snowstorm. Underneath Madara's feet, the earth shook. He lashed out, going for the other's head -- cut off his head, burn him alive, rip out his heart -- when a root shot up from beneath the ground, exploding violently into the air, snow and earth bursting everywhere. Madara jumped, turned, the Susano'o breaking as the root pierced his side. A dull pain, throbbing through his entire body, then nothing, and he grunted, blinked, his hand twitching to go for the wetness against his robes but instead he forced himself to keep his focus, and he formed hand signs for another katon jutsu.

It ate away at the vicious root, but Madara was already scanning the perimeter, haste and something chased in his red-black-spinning eyes as he searched for the other man.

*
​

The Senju soldiers went hard at the silver-haired man shrouded in lightning. It was hard to see, to locate, but their advantage was in their numbers and they knew how to work together. It was an onslaught of jutsu of all elemental natures aimed at the Hatake. A bout of shuriken was blown off by the wind, but they kept going for him, one after the other and multiple attacks launched at the same time, aiming to get the Hatake off his feet, to prevent him from doing them any harm. The Senju never had any bad blood with the Hatake clan, which was seen as withdrawn, neutral, keeping mainly to themselves. But the alliance with the Uchiha was a statement, all the provocation the soldiers needed not to hold themselves back; not after what happened to their comrades, their friends, their kamidamn family.

*
​

A hand wrapped around his throat; squeezing.

Will you listen to me, you stupid, stubborn man?

Around his chest, which was absurdly tight from an invisible clasp.

I am here to talk.

Warm wetness spread against his side, with each throb of his heart, seeping into his clothes were it immediately turned cold, uncomfortable. The wind howled in his ears like the laments of the dead.

There is no siege. You are being paranoid.

And his hand drove up, palm first, smashing right into Hashirama's chin and knocking his head back. It drove the Senju backwards, but the grasp around Madara's throat, his chest, did not lessen, and he coughed as his knees hit the ground, burying into the thick layers of snow. He suddenly understood that it was not a hand around his throat at all; it was hard to breathe, his airways obstructed by something else, and he coughed hard and long until he spat phlegm into the snow.

He raised his head, but he was alone. Hashirama was gone, and so was his entourage; so was the mutt. It was dark, his head pounding and tears streaming down from his Mangekyo eyes, vision blurry from the snow and the wind and the hurt behind them.

*
​

It had been Akari's scream that had lured Hashirama away; suddenly panic-stricken, he followed the noise of the ongoing fight, back to where he had left his soldiers with the Hatake, in the belief they would be easily able to subdue the other man, without causing him any harm. But now it seemed his people were in trouble, and he would not allow any of them to get hurt over his own bad decision making -- after all, Tobirama had warned him, but neither he nor Hashirama could have seen the snowstorm coming. And had Madara been bleeding? Kami, in the chaos of this storm, he had not even been sure what was happening.

Hashirama returned to the spot he had left, and under his skin pulsed the nature chakra, ready to strike.

 

[roxybirdie]

Breath in.

In the heart of the frozen tempest, the silver-haired halfbreed summoned an earth wall with Doton: Doryūheki. Unlike the previous technique he utilized against Pein, the tall earthen wall was built for defense, not imprisonment. The moment the wall erected behind him, it blocked a powerful katon and suiton combination technique. A Hatake capable of elemental techniques outside of raiton release was uncommon, but Kakashi cared more about surviving than hiding his complete arsenal. He leaped on top of the wall, evading a volley of shuriken. Without warning, Kakashi twisted to his left, parrying a downward slash aimed at his ribs.

Breath out.

Once the blades connected, his charcoal hues gleamed an unholy violet. Before the Senju swordsman could react, purple lightning surged down the blades, aiming to electrocute the shinobi. The Senju jumped back, but the violet chakra scorched his right palm. Kakashi leaped off the wall, dodging another sword aimed for his neck. With a single hand, he weaved a sequence of one-handed hand signs. The moment his sandals landed on the snow-covered ground, the snowflakes fluttering on the ground and around his feet swirled around him. It melted and morphed, transforming into a smaller, but deadlier version of Suiton: Suiryūdan no Jutsu. The water dragon opened its maw and lunged at the large torrent of flames summoned by a female Senju. As steam permeated the air, Kakashi divided his chakra and formed two suiton clones and one raiton bunshin. The clones shot forward, instinctively knowing their purpose; diversion.

Breath in.

During a moment of reprieve, Kakashi clutched the right side of his ribs. In spite of the frigid weather ravaging the clearing, the familiar substance seeping past his fingertips was warm. The former nomad was powerful, and based on his onslaught of advanced techniques, he was stronger than the fleet of Senju combined. However, their impeccable teamwork, combined with the severe snowstorm, granted them the upperhand. Even the mightiest of ninja fell at the hand of lesser shinobi unified. They, under no circumstances, are to be underestimated. From the corner of his eye, Kakashi spotted a fireball aiming for his head. Without a word, the silver-haired halfbreed pivoted, coated his arms with lightning chakra, and sliced the fireball in half. Once he parted the flames, two torrents of fire jetted behind him in opposite directions.

“H-how—“ The Senju breathed, disbelief coloring his tone.

Breath out.

On the outside, Kakashi remained resolute. He blocked, parried, and evaded. Besides the gruesome slash on his right side and minimum bruising, his superior agility alone prevented more grievous injuries. The former nomad danced across the small clearing, resembling a blip of silver in the midst of the snowstorm. On the inside, however, Kakashi repeated a single mantra. In and out. The seemingly insignificant phrase grounded him, crushing the overwhelming hysteria threatening to overtake him. Had the fleet of Senju not succumb to grief and rage, they would of noticed a profound aspect in the Hatake’s defense; no matter how powerful the technique — and the Hatake unleashed several higher-leveled or advanced techniques — they never aimed to permanently maim or kill. Half of his techniques were summoned to block equally powerful techniques. Despite the panic simmering underneath the surface, Kakashi refused to don his alternate persona.

As long as he refrained from ending a life, Kakashi had no need for his ANBU mask.

All of the sudden, a monumental presence entered his radar. The overpowering sensation of nature collided against the crackling taste of ozone. For a moment, Kakashi noticed he subconsciously released his killing intent. He pivoted, facing the direction of the Senju Clan Head. Out of nowhere, flashes of a similar, but different Senju surfaced. Instead of the older man’s youthful and very much alive appearance, Kakashi glimpsed at cracking skin and blackened sclera. He swallowed thickly, banishing the projection. The Clan Head in front of him wasn’t the Edo Tensei Shodaime summoned to aid the Allied Shinobi Forces against a certain Uchiha. “Maa, maa, I don’t suppose we can call it a day, ne?” he drawled.

A grim frown marred his face. “I won’t let you hurt my clansmen, Hatake-san,” Hashirama announced.

He surveyed the clearing, pinpointing the twelve clansmen surrounding him. While the lack of daylight and thick flurries impaired his vision, Kakashi detected the hatred, rage, and grief radiating from the fleet of Senju. In spite of his impairments, his battle-honed instincts enabled him to fight in the extreme conditions. “Are you willing to risk war with the Hatake clan for the sake of retribution?” he inquired. The silver-haired halfbreed shifted, fingers crackling with purple lightning chakra.

“You’re already our enemy, mutt,” spat an elder Senju. The older swordsman, Kensei, managed to penetrate the Hatake’s defense and inflict the gash on his right side.

Kakashi lowered his chokutō, but his stance remained defensive. “I don’t want to fight you, Senju Hashirama,” he declared. He glanced at the Senju fleet itching to tear him apart. “Nor do I want to fight your clansmen.” Suddenly, it dawned on him. If Hashirama abandoned his fight to defend his clansmen, where was Madara? Without warning, images of the elder Uchiha surfaced inside his mind. He recalled the man’s stubborn perseverance and unusual sickly pallor. He assumed it stemmed from the cold weather, but ... what happened to the Uchiha Clan Head?

“I didn’t come here to fight,” Hashirama admitted.

Underneath his mask, a frown marred his lips. “If you didn’t...” Kakashi trailed, realization dawning on his expression. He stepped back, scanning the clearing. It was too dark and stormy to pinpoint the older Uchiha with his eyes. He focused on the man’s chakra signature, searching for the familiar sensation of fire and brimstone. There. Without another word, the younger Hatake weaved a few handsigns. He vanished underneath the ground with a Doton: Moguragakure no Jutsu.

While the Senju fleet anticipated a counterattack, Hashirama detected the Hatake’s chakra signature. He was heading away from the fleet ... and closer to Madara.

A few minutes later, Kakashi emerged from the snow-covered ground. Shivers trickled down his spine. A combination of his recent technique and blood loss siphoned all the warmth in his body. While he defended himself against twelve shinobi and gained the upperhand, Kakashi couldn’t fight in the severe snowstorm for much longer. Gripping his right side, the former nomad approached the elder Uchiha.

 

[arbus]

Not much more than five minutes could have passed since he lost sight of Hashirama. Madara made a point to count the seconds in his head, remain aware of the span of time as of the many battle-related data he kept measuring in the back of his head, like his father taught him, at all times, even through the worst of his rage. But he could not immediately stand, could not follow, because he had to cough up more of that thick, ill-tasting sputum first, and it shook his entire body. He was heaving with the pain inside his chest, and suddenly, confusedly realized that he was sweating; the hair in the back of his neck were wet, sticky, and a drop of sweat trickled down from his hairline, catching in his brow before it fell into the snow.

He did not break a sweat; not in a spar like that, not with that unsatisfying use of a Susano'o that had dispersed at the slightest of counter attacks. He screwed up his face in disgust of his own incapability; he had fought weakly, inadequately, so much so the damn Senju had managed to graze him, inflict a wound.

Madara stemmed himself up at that thought, veins alight with indignation, anger, fuel to his every move. What the fuck was wrong with him? He was about to move, to find that despicable traitor and punish him for all the fucking broken promises, all those false ideologies, when he saw a figure emerge through the thickness of the storm. Madara's eyes, pounding, sticky-wet with droplets of blood, narrowed at the sight of the Hatake, approaching on unstable feet, shivering and clearly worse for wear. His gaze fell onto the way the mutt clutched his hand against his side, took in the slash in his yukata, and he much rather would allow the ground to open up and swallow him into eternal hell than admit that a pang of worry shot through him, kicking up the adrenaline that had been subsiding in his system.

"Where is he?", he spat, because he was not ready to let go of his anger. If the Senju had retreated, this was Madara's chance to move, and he would have to enhance his steps even further, fly blindly through the storm and hope for the best, but he would make it home, and if Izuna knew what was good for him, he would hold the compound until Madara arrived to kick the white-haired Senju's ass to the moon.