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He prays.
Sasuke Uchiha prays and prays.
As they approach Konoha after his battle with Naruto at the Final Valley, his body on a stretcher and his chakra sealed away for the meantime so he doesn’t run away before he gets a trial and sentence, slipping in and out of consciousness, Sasuke Uchiha prays and prays for someone to come and take his life. For someone to stop things, for anyone to make things different. Or, at the very least, have mercy, he'll even take pity—kill him before he crosses the gates of Konoha.
The next time he opens his eyes, he’s laying in the forest.
The sunlight slipping through the thick canopy blinds him for a second, enough to force his eyes shut once again, and when he grimaces and tries to twist his face into the shadow, pain shoots up his neck and that’s when he realizes his everything hurts. His skin still feels caked in dirt and blood, every muscle burns and every bone aches. The mere act of breathing, lungs pushing against bruised ribs, feels like it takes a titanic effort. His arm is still missing.
Great, he thinks, a tired bite as sarcastic as he can manage right now. Lost, confused and alone. History does repeat itself and the irony is not lost on him.
Nevermind, he has to keep moving. He can’t just sit around waiting for someone to come get him, it’s never been his style.
Problems, solutions. Problems, solutions.
First steps.
Getting up.
Fuck.
Whatever, fuck it, he needs to get up, or at least sit to study his surroundings.
It takes him a groan and clenching his teeth so hard that the action makes his jaw pop but he manages to sit with his back against a tree and breathe through the sudden nausea assaulting him.
He’s far more prepared by the time he opens his eyes now.
It’s a forest, a completely innocent and boring forest, including a gentle breeze and a couple of birds twittering in the distance and everything. He’d feel relief if it wasn’t so insulting. Who dumped him here? They did think he was dead? Don’t they know who he is? What kind of amateur kidnapper lets him keep his sword? Or his eyes?
Focus, Sasuke, he thinks. Problems, solutions. Problems, solutions.
Food, water. Information. Shelter.
Water, shelter, information, food—yeah, better in that order. Priorities, you know.
He tries to stretch his chakra awareness as far as he can and the effort makes the ground sway under him. He could be surrounded by enemies and he wouldn’t have a clue since he can’t feel anything beyond a few dozen meters. Well, he hasn’t recovered, so he supposes he couldn't have been unconscious for long, which means he couldn’t have gone far from Konoha, which means he could potentially still be in the Land of Fire.
Luckily, there’s no one around to see him try getting up and promptly crash back down before he actually manages to stand.
There’s no road but if he keeps quiet, he can hear the sound of water running nearby so he picks a direction and starts walking. Maybe he’s hallucinating, ears not yet fully functioning after spending days around explosions, but either way, he has to start somewhere.
Thankfully, it seems his instincts haven’t betrayed him yet because after ten minutes that feel like a week, he can drop to his knees by the river and duck his whole head in. The sudden biting cold is heavily bliss, the taste oddly familiar.
The hair on his nape stands up and a shiver runs down his spine exactly thirty seconds in.
He emerges, blinking water out of his eyes, just in time to stare down at an armor-clad man with a sword and red eyes.
Sharingan eyes.
His heart skips a beat.
His breathing falters.
The ground sways beneath him but it’s not the blood rushing to his head after pulling out the water that causes it.
“You are trespassing on Uchiha territory,” the man says, sword in hand, and his face is awfully familiar to the one he can see in the mirror, pale skin and black hair. “State your name and purpose or die an intruder.”
Maybe he is hallucinating.
“Sasuke,” he replies eventually, voice hoarse after hours and hours screaming and inhaling battle-dust. “I’m… I’m lost.”
And it feels like an understatement…
Wait—
Uchiha territory?
Maybe he died before he reached Konoha. Somehow bled out on the way in. It doesn’t sound like such a bad idea, such an unpleasant dream.
“The crest on your back,” the man continues, still not lowering his sword. “Do you have a family name?”
The crest? Oh… Right, the faded Uchiha fan stitched on the back of his clothes, half-covered in mud and half-burned during battle.
And the words get stuck on his throat because it’s impossible but there’s too many coincidences—the familiar taste of the river, the familiar armor of the man, the implication that the Uchiha are so many and so powerful that they have territory and the force to defend it against intruders. It’s absolutely insane but less than forty-eight hours ago, the dead walked the earth, he traveled through dimensions and he battled a goddess and won. It feels like anything is possible.
Something tightens in his chest, something that makes his hand shake against his will.
It’s a spark of hope he hasn’t felt in a long, long time.
Were his prayers answered? After ten years of begging and pleading at the universe to help him?
“I’m—”
And his voice gets stuck on his throat to the point he has to clear it to try speak again.
“I’m an Uchiha… I’m Sasuke Uchiha.”
The man lowers his sword.
“Forgive us, but we will have to check on your identity when we get to the camp,” the man says, stepping forward and offering Sasuke a hand to stand up. "However, until then, welcome home.”
⧭
When he opens his eyes again, the first thing he sees is the wooden roof. The first he feels, beyond insurmountable pain, is absolute horror. He must have passed out on the stranger a few minutes into their walk, how embarrassing! How dangerous!
Still, his priorities haven’t really changed, so now he has had water and shelter, it’s time to properly assess his situation.
It must be some kind of house or cabin, although his room is barely enough for the futon on the floor and some space to his left for someone to sit. If he’s right and what’s above him is actually a window, night has fallen.
The bandages on his stump are clean, new, and it smells like one of the many salves Orochimaru made him study that one time. His clothes are still the same and his whole body still feels dirty, but he can move his face without feeling like a layer of dirt cracks with each expression.
He takes full advantage of the mug beside him and chugs the water down after deciding that it isn’t poison. If they wanted to kill him, he’d be dead.
His sword is gone.
The sliding panel of the door has no lock, but he has a feeling it wouldn't be welcomed to just wander off.
He’s proven right when, a moment later, Madara Uchiha walks right in.
Sasuke flinches, he can’t help.
His eyes widen and his body tenses up, ready to fight with a single mug and his teeth if he has to, but—
Madara Uchiha, the Ghost himself, candle in hand, takes a step back and raises the hand not holding the candle in an appeasing gesture.
Sasuke’s stomach twists.
Gods, he might throw up.
Madara steps closer, standing by the end of the futon, and although his expression is severe and wary, it’s not angry or bloodthirsty.
Now closer, he looks young. Maybe just a year or two older than Sasuke is now and if he tries hard enough, he might even be able to see them training together in the Compound.
“They told me your name is Sasuke Uchiha,” he greets and he sounds exactly the same, exactly how Sasuke heard him less than a week ago—a low and smooth voice. “Is that true?”
It hits Sasuke then. This is no house or cabin, not even an infirmary—this is jail. Until further notice, he is a prisoner. War times, he supposes.
“Yes,” he answers. What else can he say?
“I don’t know any Sasuke and I know every man, woman and child of the Uchiha Clan,” Madara continues. “Where are you from, Sasuke Uchiha?”
It occurs to Sasuke that he must be real careful about this. The man who found him by the river, which he guesses is actually the Naka River, said Uchiha territory, meaning the Uchiha and the Senju still haven’t made peace and founded Konoha. Is Madara the head of the Clan? Has Izuna died yet? What year is it? Has Zetsu already made contact?
“The Land of Fire,” he replies eventually.
Madara steps closer, close enough to crouch beside Sasuke and it hits Sasuke that Madara doesn’t see him as much of a threat at all if he’s so careless. Maybe he doesn’t know the full extent of the power of the Rinnegan and that Sasuke could easily teleport out of here if he had enough chakra.
“Were you born with those eyes?” Madara asks and the charm is wearing off and Sasuke is starting to get tired of being an enemy.
“I was born on July 23rd to Fugaku and Mikoto Uchiha in the Land of Fire,” he begins, steady and only with a hint of anger. “My brother was Itachi Uchiha. I awakened the Sharingan at seven years old when my family was massacred and I gained the Mangekyou after my brother died. I’ve been at war since I was twelve and I’m no thief. Do you need anything else?”
Madara stares at him for a moment, studying his face, before he asks a single question in a contemplative tone, ever so slightly brushing some hair away from Sasuke's eyes with his index finger to reveal the Rinnegan. “How did you get that?”
Sasuke doesn’t miss a beat. “Fainted in battle and woke up with it.”
“Must have been a very strange battle, Sasuke Uchiha,” Madara sighs before standing up.
He doesn’t say anything else before he walks out and rips a paper seal from the wall outside the room. Then, he leaves but comes back a few seconds later when he must have noticed Sasuke didn’t follow.
“Well, are you coming?” He asks, tone dry yet mildly amused.
Sasuke still feels mildly sick to the stomach but follows anyway.
Outside, he’s almost certain that he actually died. Maybe he drowned in the river.
Uchiha.
Uchiha everywhere.
It’s a war camp, that much is clear, with every man and woman dressed in gear, ready to fight, and carrying themselves to rest with injured limbs and there’s little to no color in between all the brown and grey of the earth but there must be at least a hundred people that look like him and he has no doubt that every person here possesses the Sharingan. They’re all strangers yet they’re all kin.
He stumbles back and if he wasn’t for the wall behind him to support him, he would have fallen to the ground.
He’s not sure he’s breathing, not with the sudden lump in his throat choking him.
Out of the corner of his eye, he can feel Madara giving a strange look. “You have been far away from home, haven’t you?”
For too long, Sasuke thinks, sniffling and roughly wiping a rogue tear that dared fall with a shaking hand. For far too long.
⧭
The first thing they do is tell him he needs new clothes, eyeing his chest, and it hits him later, as he watches and realizes clothes are much more modest here, that it isn't only because his current clothes are hanging on by literal threads but because he must look like some sort of perverted exhibitionist. (It's certainly… an experience tying a fundoshi with one arm but he manages eventually).
They have to cut his hair, a matted and sticky mess with blood and sweat. It's easier than to spend an hour wrestling with it trying to detangle it, especially since it will be his own five fingers doing the work because he refuses to bother any stranger with it. It’s a struggle not to feel self-conscious with hair that doesn’t even cover his eyes in a sea of long-haired Uchiha, even more so since he can’t cover the Rinnegan and has to wear a makeshift eyepatch not to cause mass panic or put a target on his back as he heals. Either way, he’s spent more than half his life ignoring wandering eyes that want to make him feel ashamed and has long trained his body to not flinch at the stares.
They leave him alone for the most apart, probably thinking he was captured by some horrible, horrible people that cut his hair to torture him and managed to steal his eye before he escaped, it’s probably the same incident where he lost the arm, and Sasuke won’t bother correcting them for now. It’s good to build a reputation, where yeah, he looks like a beaten down alleyway cat but somehow, somehow, has enough guts to survive and live to tell the tale.
Apparently, the Uchiha don’t wear armor, say it weighs down them and hinders their speed, so the second thing they get him, after he insists he can fight, is the next best thing: battle robes, flexible and durable garments that almost cover him entirely except for his head, hands and feet. He won’t just sit still after Uchiha die by the dozen in the front lines. It’ll take him a little while to get used to fighting one-armed, but practice makes perfect. It certainly helps that the Clan seems to have suffered a great loss recently and he tries not to think too hard about the dead he inherited the robes from.
They hesitate during the whole affair, pity in their eyes as they stare at his empty sleeve, but he proves himself and gains their respect after his first battle. Beaten down alleyway cats can still fight after all, missing one eye and one arm.
And lastly, since makeshift cabins and tents are full, they set him up to share with Madara. The first few days, it makes his skin crawl and it doesn’t help he notices neither of them sleep a wink, but he actually does see the purpose. After all, he still came from nowhere and has a massive chakra signature he can't bother hiding properly when all of his efforts go towards healing and getting used to living a century in the past, everyone has the right to be suspicious about him, and there’s no better guard than the head of the Clan.
They come to a quiet acquaintance after Sasuke catches him and Izuna —who is still alive, thank Kami— pouring over battleplans, whispering long after the candles have started to die out, and Sasuke recognizes the place they’re talking about. He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, but he can’t help but intervene and tell him to pick somewhere else. The terrain is soft, too soft, it’ll turn into mud as soon as water hits it and everyone relying too much on speed will slip.
Both brothers freeze and stare and ask from where exactly he obtained that knowledge, and Sasuke simply replies he fought there once. He did, really—he just doesn’t mention it was an errand for Orochimaru and that he wasn’t the one relying on speed.
Days later, a battle is won and the victory is the Uchiha’s.
It doesn’t earn him a spot in the war council, but it earns him Madara’s ear after dinner as they play some shogi before bed. Sasuke doesn’t win, but it’s a close match, close enough for Madara to ask him to play again some other time.
⧭
It hurts, it hurts like a bitch, it hurts like it hurt at the Final Valley as he laid bleeding on the stone awaiting death, and it’s stupid, how can something that’s not even there hurt, but it’s his reality and he can’t sleep, not while gritting his teeth to avoid making noise and overheating despite the autumn chill, sweating despite the fact he’s shivering.
He can’t breathe, not in here.
Fuck it.
As quietly as he can, he slips outside, dropping by the wall, leaning his head back and watching his breath condense, clutching the remaining limb close to his chest with his hand.
It’s drizzling ever so slightly, early rain, and he’ll get wet soon enough if he doesn’t go back inside but he doesn’t really care, not when he feels like burning up.
A couple of minutes must have passed, or an hour, there’s not a single soul around to tell him the time and the darkness of the sky remains the same, but he feels Madara walk out and take a single glance at him before stepping back inside and remerging with a small corked vial he offers to Sasuke.
“A drop will give you at least four hours of sleep, you look like you need them,” he says, blunt, voice still somewhat rough after getting woken up in the middle of the night.
And—Sasuke stares, blindsided. Taken aback by the sudden kindness.
He doesn’t know what he expected of Madara Uchiha but it wasn’t this. He supposes it makes sense, he hasn’t gone mad yet, but the fact remains.
Maybe the offer is practical. You know, so Madara can sleep knowing Sasuke is sleeping too and not plotting his murder, but a part of Sasuke knows it comes from a place from care as well. Battle-rage and bloodthirst and all, you must still care for every clansman if you are the head of the Clan and Sasuke is an Uchiha after all, whether from the future or not. Maybe he is just kind still and hates to see those who are kin in pain, spy suspects or otherwise.
Madara does him the courtesy of ignoring the faint shake in his hands while he takes the vial.
It’s a quick affair, taking the cork with his mouth and dropping it into his lap while he wipes his pinkie on the rim of the vial, gathering a drop before taking it to his lips and putting the cork back on.
He gives the vial back, he could still be plotting murder and having something to drug Madara’s would be quite dangerous.
Thanks are skipped. Instead, Madara takes one quick glance at the empty streets of camp and says, avoiding to look at Sasuke’s form by the wall near his feet before he goes back inside, “You should get back inside before it kicks in and you freeze to death out here.”
He won’t freeze, it’s not cold enough for that, but maybe it’s the thought that counts. Either way, Sasuke takes one last breath, watches it come out in a white puff of light-blue smoke as if it’s fire and gathers the strength to step back inside.
He’s out like a light as soon as his head hits the pillow. Pain, briefly, forgotten.
The next morning, everything still hurts, yet he can’t help but think he can't die just yet.
⧭
It's not much, but it certainly helps his cause that one of the few cats around camp seems to take a liking to him. The entirely black cat except for a few white spots on her belly and missing a good chunk of her left ear starts tailing him around and the naturally mistrusting Uchiha look at him a lot less like an enemy and a lot more like kin.
He doesn’t know if the cat has a name, but he calls her Shadow regardless.
⧭
It’s a strange thing, to be proud. To wear his family’s crest and stand tall. Throughout his life, he’s been arrogant and he’s been smug, but never actually proud. He wore the sigil nonetheless after the massacre, even after the whole village whispered about his Clan, but it isn’t the same. That was spite, that was a refusal to let them die despite the shame, but this—
This is pride.
This is fighting and smirking when the enemy trembles at the mention of his name.
⧭
It’s the third week in a row that Sasuke wakes by Madara getting up in the dead of the night. At first, he didn’t pay attention and tried to go back to sleep, and he got curious when he did the same exactly a week later at the exact same time and went missing for the exact amount of minutes.
It’s not like Sasuke to ignore his instincts. The third time, he gets up and follows Madara.
Madara, who probably knows he’s been followed because it’s not like Sasuke is trying to hide himself too hard and yet allows it anyway.
He doesn’t go very far.
Near the edge of their camp, close enough to the river to hear it but not to see it, sits a large stone with the Uchiha sigil carved in, with candles and various flowers laid around it. Under the silent moonlight, Madara kneels before the stone and lights three candles that had gone out, blowing a well-aimed small flame miraculously without hand signs..
He settles his hands on his lap and bows his head, chin to chest, and Sasuke can’t hear it from here but he knows somehow that Madara is praying.
Asking for strength maybe, for guidance. Maybe just wishing some peace to whoever the candles are.
He hums over so slightly, a slow tune no one would hear unless it was as silent as the middle of the night usually is, and sways almost imperceptibly a few times. Whatever song it was, Sasuke doesn’t recognize it and it ends far too quickly for him to learn.
The quiet is so that he is startled when Madara speaks, softer than Sasuke has ever heard him.
“Do you pray, Sasuke?”
I used to, he thinks, chest tightening. Once a week, Mom would take me and Itachi to the Naka Shrine, before it was just me and Mom, but I was too young. I never paid enough attention, I only wanted to go back to sleep or use the morning to train. Even if I hadn’t stopped going after the massacre, I could have never replicated anything, not a single prayer or chant or proper rite. I used to talk to the dead sometimes, asking for strength when my own faltered, but it’s not the same as praying.
“No,” he replies, just as low. “I don’t.”
I don’t know how.
He goes back to the house. Madara doesn’t follow him.
For days, he dreams of the Naka Shrine burning, burned by Itach and burned by Naruto and burned by Madara and burned by himself and burned over and over again until it’s naught but ash scattered in the wind.
⧭
He should miss things, miss Konoha and miss his friends and more, but he doesn’t. Not really. It’s not that he thinks they’re better off without him, it’s just that he never really had any attachment to them. He felt betrayed by Kakashi so he severed that bond quite young, he was proud of Sakura and the Shinobi’s she’d become but his affection doesn’t go beyond his admiration, and Naruto—well, he misses Naruto. He misses Naruto like he misses a limb but he knows the wound will heal, just as he knows that he never would have been happy with Naruto as Hokage.
⧭
The first time he cries blood here, sliding hot down his cheek, Madara stares, worry in his eyes as he offers a mildly clean bandage to wipe his face and says, more gently than warranted, "Save your strength, Sasuke."
⧭
He catches a glimpse of it sometimes, on still water and polished metal. His brother’s eye on his face. It looks just like his own, tired and pitch black.
“You are quiet today,” Madara comments, pushing aside the map on his desk and heavily sighing through his nose. As if Sasuke was a very talkative person to begin with.
With his eyes closed, pretending to sleep and clearly failing, Sasuke doesn't deign him with an answer.
“Pensive,” Madara continues. “What is on your mind?”
Sasuke’s eyes open and slowly shift to Madara on the other side of the room. “What is this, an afterthought interrogation?”
“I’ll have you know I don’t conduct such things under my own private roof. My question remains. What is on your mind that weighs on you so today?”
“Nothing.”
Gaze returning to his work, Madara adjusts the candle on his desk so the flame illuminates his map better. His voice comes out far more solemn this time.
“Whatever it is, it's a heavy burden. I can tell in your eyes.”
It’s a petulant move and quite honestly it makes him feel like an ill-mannered teenage brat, but he closes his eyes nonetheless. If the world is hidden from him, he’s hidden from the world.
“Those are my brother’s eyes,” Madara continues, “and the eyes of every clansman out there, eyes that have seen war. Grief.”
“Well, so do you,” Sasuke cannot help but reply, taking the hint of Madara’s hypocrisy on the back of his throat.
He chooses to interpret Madara’s silence as confusion.
“Carry a heavy burden,” Sasuke clarifies.
“Don’t we all, Sasuke?” Madara sighs. “Don’t we all?”
And he looks young, thoroughly exhausted but terribly young still, and Sasuke is forced to remember Madara is just a few years older than he is.
Madara studies the map until the candle burns out and Sasuke pretends to sleep until the candle burns out.
⧭
It’s certainly not his specialty, but then again, practice makes perfect. Orochimaru gave him a very thorough and complete education, so he knows some healing and it’s nice to feel useful when he’s not in battle. He can’t do stitches one-handed but he can triage and do rounds while the more seasoned medics handle the worst. It takes a lot of him, training new skills but he’s always been nothing but a diligent student and it’s all worth it at the end of the day when a little twelve-year-old Uchiha thanks him after keeping him awake, and therefore alive, after a heavy concussion.
⧭
It’s probably not wise to get drunk with Madara Uchiha but he doesn’t really care, not right now when the candles burn so low.
It’s probably an anniversary of sorts, since the whole Clan, including bright-eyed and fierce Izuna, seem subdued and burdened by the weight of whatever happened today, and he gets his answer after dinner, in between Madara staring at the shogi board for a whole minute and drinking straight from the sake bottle.
“Tell me about your brother,” he says without looking up.
That’s when Sasuke remembers. Madara used to be one of five.
And it hurts. That last thing he wants to talk about is dead brothers but… he’d understand. Maybe, of everyone in the world, in the time-space continuum, Madara would understand.
“He’s dead,” Sasuke replies, taking a swing from his own bottle.
Madara waits and Sasuke—Sasuke lets himself spill through the cracks.
“He died for me.” It’s little more than a whisper but in the silence, it’s enough. “He did horrible things to protect me but I didn’t know why so I hated him for it. He thought he died protecting me.”
Madara raises his gaze, tone solemn. “Did he?”
Sasuke thinks of Danzo and the other elders of the Council, the Third Hokage and ANBU and Root, and the rest of the whole damn Shinobi system and the sheer terror he felt in his veins at the thought of returning to Konoha.
In the end, he whispers, “He tried.”
Madara takes a whole minute replying, even softer than Sasuke.
“So did I.”
⧭
It’s been a couple of months and he’s settled in well enough to start planning what the hell he is going to do about the future.
Problems, solutions, Sasuke. Problems, solutions.
Why attack the symptoms when he can attack the root?
Where to start, what was the first domino to fall that set the chain reaction of the next century?
Yes, the Ootsutsuki, but where did they start?
It huffs a low laugh when he finally realizes.
It’s almost ironic that Sasuke sleeps under the same roof as the first domino, even after all this time.
⧭
"How did you lose the arm?" Madara asks one day over dinner.
Sasuke can’t help but freeze, if only for a split second but, even without the help of the Sharingan, Madara catches it. However, he waits in silence and the mild manners will never stop surprising Sasuke. He knows Madara is smart, calculating, as clever as hunger, and patient as well but Sasuke always thought the battle madness was the usual, that the shouting and weapons-swinging came with the package, but he was wrong.
"I told you,” Sasuke replies, tone even as he picks some scallions. “I fought."
"Whom?"
Sasuke plays dumb, glancing up with a purposely confused frown.
Madara doesn’t take the bait and calmly clarifies, “Fought whom?”
Sasuke sips some water.
“They must have been powerful,” Madara continues, laying down his chopsticks and leaning back on his hand, dark eyes studying his every movement, “to match you.”
Realizing he won’t stop pressing until he says something, Sasuke solemnly replies, food settling heavy on his stomach, “They are—they were.” How would he even begin to explain that sure, Naruto is alive but, to Sasuke, he might as well be dead? “For what it's worth, he lost the arm too."
"I still don't know who he is."
Sasuke stops to think for a moment, staring down the table and gathering the strength to force tired words out his mouth.
His reply is little more than a sigh. "Let’s just say he was my own Hashirama."
It’s as close as it can be to the truth.
Madara sobers up, whatever smug curiosity he had runs away from him as he understands the sudden grief in Sasuke’s shoulders.
"Was it a tie?" Madara whispers, perhaps hoping he can beat Hashirama one day.
Sasuke thinks of panicking at the thought of returning to Konoha, the other elders of the Council, Naruto’s dream of becoming Hokage intact, the utter lack of change to the Shinobi system, and the fact no one will ever know how Konoha slaughtered an entire Clan after manipulating and using a thirteen-year-old child. Sasuke thinks of losing, wholly and entirely.
"No."
And it’s as far as their conversation goes.
⧭
“Spar with me,” Madara says and it’s an offer despite the phrasing of an order and, how could Sasuke possibly deny him? Who would miss a chance to spar with the Madara Uchiha?
He takes Sasuke at least a mile away from camp and Sasuke, knowing how messy it can get, lets him.
They’ve seen each other in battle and although Sasuke is still getting used to fighting with one arm and weaving signs with only five fingers, Madara doesn’t have the Eternal Mangekyou.
It ends up with Madara pressing him to the ground, twisting his arm behind his back, and although it’s cold out there, his skin is flushed hot. They’re practically steaming and not just their breath.
In the end, they change the landscape only a little and decide to stick with Taijutsu from now on.
⧭
As he moves his Knight on the shogi board, Madara slowly asks, voice low and careful, almost… caring, “What happened to your family?”
Sasuke’s eyes inevitably flicker towards his own Silver General, the sacrificial piece.
“Does it matter?”
As always, Madara is insistent, as though Sasuke is a puzzle he must solve lest he goes crazy. His remains the same, nonchalant and nosy, stone cold. “What happened to you afterwards?”
Sasuke moves his Golden General instead, possibly costing him the game but he doesn’t really care, not right now, and lifts his gaze, mirroring Madara’s tone, “What would you do if someone massacred all of the Clan?”
Madara’s spine goes rigid, black ice in his gaze.
“Do not mention that possibility before me, never again, not even as a jest,” he says and, although it’s calm and steady, this is the steel-tone threatening Madara that Sasuke remembers. ”I would annihilate whoever did it, slowly and painfully, no matter how long the wait took.”
“What if it was someone dear to you that did it?”
“They wouldn’t. Some other force must have been at play and I’d lay revenge on them instead until my very last breath and perhaps even haunt afterwards.”
And he says it with much confidence, such… faith.
And Sasuke stopped believing in anything except hatred a long time ago but maybe, just maybe, he can believe in something again.
It’s impossible to control the skip of his heart, the hopeful stutter, and it’s even worse trying to reign in the small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.
“Why?” Madara asks, taking in Sasuke’s expression and seemingly just processing the dilemma Sasuke presented him.
He mirrors Sasuke’s move, grabbing his Golden General, possibly costing him the game too. A mischievous glint shines in his gaze, half-hidden yet burning in the candlelight. For now, both their sacrificial silvers are perfectly safe.
“No reason,” Sasuke replies, pushing his Rook. “It only feels good to know we agree.”
“Indeed.”
⧭
Izuna approaches him one day, as he’s hanging the sheets from the infirmary to dry in the sun and wind.
He wordlessly starts helping him and Sasuke waits for him to gather courage to say what he clearly came here to say.
“I’ve never seen my brother get along with anyone so well outside of direct family,” Izuna casually comments and Sasuke bites back a remark about how he never saw his brother be a child and play with Hashirama by the river.
“Is that a compliment?” Sasuke asks, tone neutral as he straightens the sheets so the ends align.
“I’m not sure yet.”
Izuna hangs a pillow case and comes to stand directly beside Sasuke, who has no real desire to look back and have this conversation right now but he does it anyway. Rip the bandage off instead of peeling it slowly.
“We’ve come to trust you these past few months, I won’t deny that,” Izuna begins, uncharacteristically serious, “but surely you understand if doubt sometimes creeps in. It’s hard to completely trust strangers, especially if they are Uchiha from the Land of Fire that nobody knew about.”
Sasuke nods. Spy work can take years even, so he understands.
“It is my duty to worry about my brother,” Izuna continues and Sasuke understands that too, “so I must ask, what are your intentions with Madara?”
It’s not a threat, not exactly, and Sasuke has a feeling it depends on what his answer is.
He takes a moment to gather his thoughts, he doesn’t know either what his intentions are.
“I mean him no harm,” he replies and that’s true enough, he’s kin and no matter their evil deeds, Sasuke has always had a soft spot for kin. “He carries a heavy burden and I mean to lessen it in whatever way I can.”
“Years ago, my brother’s heart broke when he had to say goodbye to Hashirama Senju.”
Sasuke knows, he heard the story of how Madara gained his Sharingan from Hashirama himself, but doesn’t mention it.
With dark eyes that betray wisdom beyond his years, Izuna makes his final point, “I made my mission to ensure that never happens again. So I ask you, Sasuke Uchiha, to not break my brother’s heart. Uchiha love runs deep, let us not twist it into hatred.”
It is a threat, in that kind-mannered way of his, but it is also a plea. Sasuke understands both and knows he has no intention to break any heart in any way, especially if everything goes according to plan.
He gives one firm nod to Izuna, whose shoulders relax at the gesture, and together they hang the rest of the sheets, sleeves wet and enjoying the gentle breeze.
⧭
Amidst screams and blood, he makes the decision to summon Aoda. Worst case-scenario, he does the Summoning wrong and ends up in Ryuuchi Cave, from where he can easily be sent back, and best case-scenario, Aoda can carry the wounded here back to the camp faster than they can run and he saves a bunch of clansmen.
He doesn’t want to do it here, specially since he certainly has questions time-travel that he hopes Aoda can answer, and he hasn’t had the space to do it, he can’t just summon a giant snake in the middle or near to camp without someone noticing and he certainly can’t just disappear without explanation. Either way, desperate times require desperate measures.
It works, not only as intended but it also as an incredible distraction that gives them a minute of advantage.
He certainly doesn’t miss the amazed look Madara gives him as he orders Aoda and goes back to the battle.
⧭
If Sasuke thought that was something, he wasn't prepared for when they finally battle the Senju, after almost a year of Sasuke being here, and he meets Madara’s heated gaze when he wraps the Susano’o around himself, teeth bloody as he charges against Tobirama inside flaming purple bones.
(He doesn’t miss Madara direct the same kind of heated look at Hashirama, though that one is mixed with a lot more rage).
⧭
He thinks about leaving Naruto a letter, to find after the war and ease his heart, but if Sasuke changes things like he plans to, Naruto should have never met him so they never developed any relationship. Hell, Naruto might not even be born.
It doesn’t mean it doesn't hurt.
⧭
“When was the first time you met death?” Madara asks in a whisper, voice solemn as they sit by the river, thin slice of moon reflected in the water.
In any other context, Sasuke wouldn’t have understood the question, but right now, after knowing they sent an eight-year-old to battle and he didn’t come back and Madara had to break down the news to his parents, Sasuke understands.
When was the first time you saw the dead?
And this, he hasn’t admitted this to anyone, back then in the present or now in the past.
“My mother and father,” he replies, just as low. “Bled out on the floor in front of me.”
Madara whirls around to look at him, eyes widened ever so slightly, breathing faltering for just a second before he goes back to stare at the river instead of Sasuke’s profile. Still, though he makes no sound, Sasuke catches his lips mouthing, Gods.
He doesn’t say anything else, content in their silence, but Madara soon offers secrets of his own life.
“I’m sure I was younger but I believe I was three, the first time I remember seeing a body,” he says, pulling some grass. “One of my cousins, when he was being carried out from the infirmary after battle.”
And once again, Sasuke thinks they’re done with the questions but Madara Uchiha is full of surprises.
“The first time I killed someone I remember more clearly,” he continues, opal gaze far away. “I was five and it was my first real fight, with the Senju nonetheless. A reconnaissance mission gone wrong. And I remember it was a teenager, not too much older than me at the time, but to me, he was a fully grown man. I stabbed him in the neck. What about you?”
And Sasuke thinks for a moment, thinks about it real hard, but eventually replies, “It’s complicated.”
“How so?”
“Well, the first time I killed someone could’ve been anytime between the ages of twelve and sixteen.”
He hadn’t even hurt anyone before he made Genin. A little while later, he’s certain he killed Naruto during their first fight at the Final Valley, snapped Naruto’s neck when he slammed him on the ground, he heard the crack of bone, but since the Nine-Tails miraculously saved him, Sasuke’s not sure it counts.
He injured countless others running errands for Orochimaru and training, but never made sure people were dead. He didn’t have the time to witness people bleed out after a well-placed stab and even then, he couldn’t be completely certain since sometimes Ororchimaru took some of the people to experiment on and he took them alive.
He doesn’t really count that one Akatsuki member, partly because he blew himself up when he realized he wouldn’t win the fight but mostly because he simply doesn’t care.
No, the first time he killed someone in conscience was Itachi. He was dying anyway but he wouldn’t have died if Sasuke hadn’t had gone to aid in his boot-licking Konoha-honoring suicide. He would’ve found the way to step before Sasuke and provoke him into murderous rage and Sasuke, ignorant of his plans and his scheming, would've gone along with it.
He wonders if it makes him a kinslayer, the worst kind of scum he knows an Uchiha can be.
A Clan-killer.
Itachi was one, that’s clear, and if he killed Itachi, it makes him one too.
Oh, Gods, he’s a kinslayer. The thought makes him sick.
His first true kill and he turns his eyes towards his brother.
What does it matter that Itachi was dying anyway? The end result is the same.
He’s dead and Sasuke survived, for better or for worse.
It must show on his face, because Madara doesn’t ask anything else.
⧭
The day the snow melts and they’re certain it won’t snow again, Madara cuts his hair. Only the ends, as per tradition to prepare for spring, to say goodbye to winter and begin anew.
"Who's cutting yours?" Sasuke can’t help but ask.
"Izuna does mine and I do his," Madara calmly answers, snipping split ends.
"And as Clan head, you do everyone else's that have no family or friends."
Madara’s only reply is an affirmative hum.
And Sasuke, well, Sasuke must be feeling a little bit out of his goddamn mind at the thrill of feeling the sun properly against his skin after months of too many clouds and rain if he’s willing to tease Madara Uchiha.
"Oh, so you agree,” he snaps, mock-offended, twisting his neck to frown at Madara behind him. “I have no friends."
Madara huffs a laugh, ever so softly, and pushes Sasuke’s head to look ahead again. "Not quite."
⧭
Tobirama tells him, as the battle is dwindling and he’s covering the retreat, as Izuna does the same with their own forces, as Madara —vulnerable, kunai sticking from his thigh— kneels on the mud before him, as Sasuke rushes forward to stand before Madara, as lightning crackles through his sword
Tobirama tells him, voice faltering, horror taking over his face as he realizes that Madara means more to Sasuke than a simple Clan head would, “Gods help you.”
And Sasuke, near feral and covered in blood head to toe, ready to fight until they’re the last two on the battlefield, snarls at him but before he can spit out flames, the Senju turn tail and run.
He helps Madara walk all the way back to camp, arm in a firm grip around his waist so he doesn’t fall.
⧭
For the second time in his life, he’s surrounded by Clan but this time, he has the awareness and knowledge to apprentice it. He has known grief now.
As such, he soaks it up like a sponge.
He learns so much of Clan, so many ceremonies and traditions and culture it’s overwhelming most of the time but he wouldn't trade it for the world. The entire world is at war and he hates it but he’s never felt more at home.
Apparently, learning Fire Style and earning the Sharingan for the first time are worthy of festivity and it's a source of bright light in a blood-soaked reality. His chest tightens when he drinks the first sip of soup, pepper burning his tongue just right, after nine-year-old Toson breathes fire for the first time. He witnesses on the front row besides Madara and Izuna as everyone, including them, gathers and bows before fourteen-years-old Yumiko, her two recently earned tomoe and the scarf of the younger sister she’d lost clenched in her first.
He never knew the Uchiha had cuisine, spicy glass noodles and peach-filled pastries and orange-cinnamon wine.
He never knew the mid-air double kick he’s practiced his whole life is apparently a signature Uchiha move.
He never knew the Uchiha don’t really differentiate between Shinobi and kunoichi, a soldier is a soldier, a fire-breather is a fire-breather, a Sharingan is a Sharingan.
Hell, he never knew they accidentally invited the fireworks.
The gods are real here, his gods. Gods and Goddesses of fire and sun and justice, Uchiha deities that were simply lost in Konoha and he never properly met.
He thought it was a myth, that people could be sun-blessed, given the gift of Amaterasu. He and his mom used to joke about it, that she was sun-blessed because her skin never burned, no matter how pale it was or how long she spent outside. Here though—
It scared him, the first time Madara caught flame. He did it like it meant nothing, wrapping his whole hand on fire to light a few candles and giving Sasuke the fright of a lifetime. At his reaction, Madara simply gave him a pitying look and said, “I imagine there were no sun-blessed people in your family.”
Indeed, there hadn't been. He doesn’t remember any of his relatives being immune to fire, and he and Itachi certainly burned easily.
Madara isn’t even the only one, if the woman dancing wrapped in flames to honor Amaterasu during the Summer Solstice gives him any indication.
He fire-jumps for the first time in more than a decade. He remembers it vaguely, being scared at first when he was a child because, well, it was actual fire he had to jump through, but he remembers watching Itachi and some of his cousins do it and eventually gathering the courage to hold onto Mom’s hand and leap.
His enthusiasm waned when Itachi stopped going and he never did it again after the massacre.
They’re celebrating the Spring Festival and it’s been a tough year, winter was hard and he can no longer count how many people they’ve lost since he arrived, but that is what tonight is for.
They mourned the dead as the sun set, solemn as people recite the names, with Madara speaking those of clansmen who had no family or friends left to remember them, and then, as soon as someone spotted exactly three stars —the number of tomoe in the standard Sharingan— in the sky, they lit the bonfires.
When he was a child, he never actually internalized the meaning of fire-jumping, he just thought it was for good luck and it was fun. It made his father proud, smile for a little while. He understands now.
When you leap, the fire cleanses you. It takes away your back luck. Your sorrows and your grief. Your sins. You jump over and over again until you feel lighter, until you feel like you can jump even higher without such a heavy burden on your shoulders.
As head of the Clan, Madara is given the honor of the first jump, barely a step over a small fire to open the festivity, his feet barely leaving the ground—followed by the small pack of children here at camp. They have no place in the war but the war has no place tonight here either.
With Shadow settling by his feet, head on his ankle and enjoying his stillness, Sasuke watches them gather heart and put on brave faces before running and successfully crash into the arms of their parents and siblings on the other side.
There’s music and fire everywhere warming an otherwise cold spring night and although they don't have as much food as they used to, the caramelized tomato skewers are seasoned to perfection and he even has a cup of wine for some blood to rush to his cheeks.
The bigger fires are for the most experienced adults, to put on a show for those younger, and Sasuke can only shake his head and huff a laugh as Izuna is the first one on the line to challenge his friends to jump and flip in the air at the same time.
He’s not really surprised when Madara soon comes to stand beside him, silently watching the Clan enjoy itself with his own cup of wine.
“Afraid of fire?” He asks, tone teasing, and if anyone had told Sasuke two years ago that he’d be teased by Madara Uchiha, he would have called them insane.
He sips calmly and tries to slow down his rapid heartbeat. “Never.”
“Afraid of flying then.”
His gaze burns Sasuke’s face, but Sasuke refuses to please him and look.
“I’ve fallen from higher.”
“Prove it.”
“Is that a challenge I hear?”
“Well, it’s only a proper challenge if it’s taken.”
And Sasuke has to close his eyes for a second because he and Madara have been doing this song and dance for too long yet not long enough. This—this fiddling with the line between friends and acquaintances, between friends and allies, between friends and something more and it’s driving Sasuke insane. The dam will break eventually, the glass will spill, and he doesn’t know what he will do when that happens.
Sasuke downs his cup, careful not to spill on his kimono gifted just yesterday by Madara, and stares Madara in the eye, far too close to be two clansmen just challenging each other to fire-jump. This close, the pleasant smoke and ash scent that follows Madara everywhere wraps itself around him and it takes way too much effort nor to deeply inhale and breathe him in.
“Are you calling me a coward?” Sasuke asks and he’s never said those words without anger, he’s never said those words with… want.
And Madara, dressed in his finest kimono yet with his hair as wild as it’s always been, fire reflected in the opals of his eyes and smirk tugging at his lips ever so slightly, shrugs with on shoulder and replies, “Are you?”
Sasuke pushes his cup into Madara’s hand in the way no one would dare to do to the head of the Clan and steps to the closest bonfire.
It’s big, practically his height, and people part for him, half curiosity and half respect.
A spark of fear is ignited in the pit of his stomach, memories of the family and Konoha rushing to the forefront of his mind, but he glances at Madara, staring intently at him by the sidelines and focuses.
There’s little else to do but jump.
He gathers some chakra, closes his eyes and leaps.
He flies.
For infinite seconds, he flies as close to the flames as he can get, feels the heat graze him and rip the darkness from him, and then lands on the other side, feet steady on the ground, safe and sound. Shoulders lighter.
When he opens his eyes, he meets Madara’s amused gaze as he offers him his cup back, filled again, and a spicy-honey cake.
Hoping everyone believes the pink on his cheeks come from the heat of the fire, Sasuke holds back a smirk and takes both gifts, fingertips gracing warm skin.
⧭
It’s the little things that lead Madara on eventually. The accumulation of them, of strange facts about Sasuke Uchiha that simply don’t add up.
He is an Uchiha yet was afraid of Madara.
He knew little to nothing of Uchiha traditions and gods yet knows how to summon the Susano’o and control the dark flames.
He has a contract with the snakes of Ryuuchi Cave when not even the Senju have Summons.
He has mastered a jutsu no one in the world has seen before, wielding storm and lighting like a blade.
Fuck, he can even teleport.
If Madara didn't know him—if Sasuke arrived in the midst of a losing battle, Mangekyou blazing and commanding the heavens, dangerously beautiful and equally lethal, Madara would instantly believe him a god.
Just who is this man?
And why does the mystery of him feel like it keeps Madara alive?
Izuna calls it obsession and lately Madara’s inclined to agree with him. Even the Senju have made a note of his presence and power, commanded Tobirama to attack him directly to assess him. Madara sent him straight back to camp. It’s not only that he wanted to keep the element of surprise in battle for as long as possible, but there was also this strange tightness in the chest that growled and snarled, that wanted Sasuke far away from prying eyes. That wanted to keep Sasuke under his roof and with him at dinner, that wanted to study him for hours as they played shogi and sparred, and it’s possession and obsession and maybe even lust but it’s more—it’s—
It’s the fact that if anything happened to him, Madara would mourn a whole future with him. Would mourn a lifetime.
Somehow, somehow, Sasuke has made himself unexpendable and Madara doesn’t know a single real thing about the man.
He knows how he takes his tea and knows his favorite shogi openings and knows exactly when his chakra starts to wane in battle but he doesn’t know anything about his family except for their names and the fact they’re dead. He doesn’t know anything about how he lost his arm. He doesn't know anything about the haunted looks he gets sometimes, doesn’t know anything about his nightmares except they’re about his brother.
He doesn’t know anything about Sasuke Uchiha that’s not superficial and it’s driving him insane. Crazy enough to gather the strength to get up in the morning in a world that feels so cruel and hopeless nowadays, if only to prod and poke and try to unravel the mystery of the Uchiha stranger.
He asks, he has to before he does something even more reckless.
“Where are you from, Sasuke?” He asks one late evening as they sit by the river, backs against the rocks, cool despite the summer heat. They’re supposed to be on patrol but even the Senju sleep for a few days after fighting, they can spare an idle hour or two to look at the stars, hear the water run and have an honest conversation.
Sasuke, smug bastard that he is, huffs a laugh and continues to stare at the night with a teasing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’ve asked me that question ten thousand times and the answers will always be the same. I’m from the Land of Fire.”
Madara keeps his tone steady and serious, eyes tracing Sasuke’s slender profile. “I mean, where are you really from?”
He must notice something in his tone, something that sobers him up and erases the smirk from his face.
He stares at the stars one last time and he glances at his hand on his lap and then at the river.
“I am from the Land of Fire,” he begins, ever so careful, “just maybe not this one. Not right now.” He turns to look into Madara’s eyes, coals on coals. “Do you believe?”
In what? Madara wants to ask but he knows what Sasuke means. Do you believe in the Gods, in miracles, in powers greater and beyond this world?
“No,” he replies, “not anymore.”
“I didn’t either, but I have no other way of explaining it.” And then, even softer, “Would you believe me if I said I come from the future?”
No is already on the tip of his tongue but… Sasuke has been right about everything so far, battleplans and whatnot, and, in a way, it would explain some of his strange ways.
Slowly, he answers, “I might have to be convinced.”
“I don’t know how I ended up here, all I know is that I am from approximately a hundred years from now on.”
“Prove it.”
Sasuke doesn’t miss a beat. “You and Hashirama Senju have a dream. And you haven’t abandoned it like you make people believe. You want to build somewhere people, especially children like your brothers were, can be safe.”
And this… this Madara hasn’t spoken of such a thing to a soul but Hashirama. Ever.
Beyond the somehow horrific realization that there is life after war, curiosity burns inside him. The mystery of Sasuke Uchiha unraveling before him and setting him alight.
“Tell me,” he blurts, leaning closer ever so slightly despite the fact their shoulders are already touching.
Sasuke’s eyes widen, beautiful Rinnegan reflecting the moonlight. His breathing falters. “Do you believe me?”
“Tell me.”
“I can’t tell you everything, I don’t know the specifics, the names of battlefield and generals and dates, and even if I could, I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. Things… somewhere along the way, things went wrong with your dream. I can’t tell you everything, the implications and deviations and risks are far too great, and I can tell you what’s necessary to fix things.”
Disappointment is sour on the back of his mouth but he gets over it quickly. If he were in Sasuke’s position, he’d do the same. He cannot blame him.
Then, as fierceless as he feels next to Sasuke nowadays, he asks for the third and final time, the plea a soft rumble in his chest as he shares a breath with Sasuke.
“Tell me.”
So he does.
So Madara’s blood goes cold.
For the first time in his life, Madara turns the Sharingan onto kin—to gaze into Sasuke’s memory when Sasuke’s words fail him.
It’s war, over and over again. The dream turned into a nightmare. Blood. Blood, blood and more blood. Crimson soaking their streets and their houses and their future. Sasuke paints a clear picture in broad strokes. It’s just death and the eventual demise of their Clan and his own descent into madness.
He can’t let that happen.
He won’t.
He destroys the Uchiha Tablet the very next day.
⧭
Watching some of the few children around here drag Madara Uchiha by the hand to oversee some of their training while Madara smiles, Izuna comes to stand beside him in the shade and crosses both his arms over his chest, taking a deep breath and saying, without tearing his eyes away from him brother, "I don't know how you did it, Sasuke, but you breathed fire back into my brother's soul when not even I could pull him out of hopeless darkness we were all sinking into, and for that, I have to thank you."
No, Sasuke thinks as Madara glances back at them and mock-glares at them, silently ordering them to stop whatever devious conspiracy they’re devising between them, it was him who saved me.
⧭
If you asked him, Sasuke wouldn’t be able to pinpoint the exact moment it happened but he knows the result. Madara braids Sasuke’s hair every morning and that’s just their reality.
Where it was once horribly short, it now reaches his waist.
He didn't struggle with it much as it grew, it wasn't long enough to get in his way during battle, but eventually it did and he didn't want to cut it again but his braid was loose and sloppy since he only has one hand. Madara is fine with long hair, he's that much of an expert, but Sasuke never learned from childhood to fight like that.
As such, to avoid unnecessary casualties, you know, Madara had made it his personal mission to intervene, snapped he didn't need Sasuke dying just because his hair got into his eyes.
And now, well, Sasuke lives with a braid thrown over his shoulder, often decorated with either a ribbon or a charm. His favorite is the small red and white uchiwa fan pendant, gifted by Madara during the last harvest, the last proper autumn moon glowing in the sky.
⧭
Once, a long time ago, he thought Madara an absolute genius—granted, he still thinks that but doesn’t prepare him for the sheer curiosity of Madara’s, seemingly so powerful and persistent that it’s bursting out of his pores. An insufferable itch he cannot properly scratch.
He asks a question about the future every single day, meaningless and senseless things since he knows Sasuke already told him what’s crucial and can’t tell him more.
He demands an immediate and complete schematic of the sewage system of Konoha that Sasuke doesn’t know a single thing about.
Confusion takes over his face for at least an hour after Sasuke explained electric light.
He scowled for a bit once Sasuke drew him as best as he could the current fashion trends, which involved a lot more uncovered skin, but heavily sighed and gave up in the end, grumbling about never understanding the youth.
Although, the idea of black nail polish leaves him intrigued at the very least.
A smug grin takes over his face when he asks if Sasuke was courting someone and it stayed on his face after Sasuke replied, how does that have anything to do with the future?
⧭
As it happens, it happens after a battle with the Senju. After Madara and Hashirama left the battlefield to lower the chances of collateral damage to their Clans, and Sasuke and Izuna were left to wrangle their troops back to camp once both sides were too tired and sporting losses too heavy to keep fighting.
Sasuke is about to send a search party when Madara finally returns, rage taking over his face but looking no worse for wear.
Izuna warns him to let him cool off for a little while before trying to talk but Sasuke’s never truly been one to wait.
Once again, he ends up with his back against the floor, after a brief exchange of punches that didn’t even connect, Madara’s exhausted and grieving hundreds and Sasuke has been barely able to force himself out of bed lately, knowing it was two summers ago that last time he ever saw Naruto, covered in blood and bruises and half-dead.
And maybe they’re both missing other men too much and maybe this is all temporary because they will die anyway before Sasuke even has a chance to change the course of history and maybe this has been a long time coming.
In between the rage and grief and baring their necks to each other’s teeth, their lips crash together and fan Uchiha flames.
If they fuck on the floor like animals and feel completely hollow afterwards, there’s no one to witness.
⧭
It’s only a month later that Tobirama charges to run Izuna with a sword and it’s only thanks to Sasuke’s Mangekyou that he manages to throw a kunai just in time for Izuna to flinch and turn, Tobirama’s weapon missing his vitals by a single inch.
He heals but the overuse of the Mangekyou is catching up with both brothers. Sasuke knows because, less than two weeks ago, he helped wipe sake off the table he shares with Madara at dinner after Madara didn’t quite measure the depth and distance between his hand and the cup and bumped it.
They’re going blind and they know it and it pains Sasuke in his bones to suggest it but he does it anyway. They ask how he knows it will work and he replies he just knows, keeping the information that Itachi was half-blind and it still worked to himself.
Three days later, Izuna is alive yet completely blind and Madara has obtained the Eternal Mangekyou.
In the end, Sasuke’s hopes aren’t unfounded.
He asks Madara personally, just laying in bed together, if he would make peace. Izuna lived, this is where Sasuke’s knowledge starts to become unreliable, so he must ask how many miracles they can perform before the Gods decide they’re far too gone to deserve them.
Madara agrees.
Disgusted with himself and near tears with the weight of the Clan on his shoulders and still feeling his heart at the bottom of his stomach from when he heard Izuna cry out in pain in the battlefield, Madara agrees and twenty-four hours later, they reach out to the Senju to negotiate.
⧭
Madara and Hashirama shake hands as they make peace and, behind Madara, Sasuke stands right besides Izuna.
Kin.
⧭
They hold a funeral. A proper funeral, not some quickly arranged burning after battle so the bodies didn’t rot nor a small ceremony in the middle of the night because it was all they could afford with the resources at hand. They have no dead, not currently, the war is over, at least for them, and the last victim should have been Izuna, but it seems to make no difference.
Their doors are locked to outsiders for the night and, despite the truce, only Uchiha are allowed to attend. Sasuke later understands why.
It feels as though everyone has been running up and down assembling things, cleaning everything up and looking for their best clothes, but as soon as the sun starts setting, they slow and quiet down.
Sooner rather than later, it feels as though the whole Clan is reunited before what Sasuke can only assume is a shrine. It’s a simple stone, facing east so the rising sun hits it first thing in the morning, but not like the big boulders he saw during the war, no, this one has been carefully chosen and polished until it formed a tall block. From his place relative far away from it in the crowd, it would look like any other rock, but when he activates the Sharingan, out of mere curiosity to look further, he realizes.
It’s names.
Hundreds and hundreds of names are carved in the stone, enough to be more than a thousand.
It would take him hours to read them all.
His chest tightens, though he doesn’t why. Something twists his guts.
Madara, as the head of the Clan, steps forward and kneels, like Sasuke saw him do so long ago in a war torn forest, before laying a simple bowl by the stone and lighting up the timber inside with a quick breath.
Then though…
Then there’s the singing.
It’s just a small voice at first, barely even there, perhaps from a little girl, but it echoes in the silence of the night. People join up by the dozen, seemingly knowing the words from memory, and Sasuke has heard this somewhere, he swears he has, but he doesn’t know from here.
The chant, a prayer and a farewell and mourning wail all in one, swells up and he can’t believe this, this lump in his throat and the sting in his eyes.
It hits him on the ending note, the memory. Gods, he’d forgotten. How could he have forgotten? He used to hum the song to himself, half-dead during bad nights at the Compound, where not a single soul made a single sound for blocks—just a little tune he remembered his mother used to sing to him as a lullaby. He never learned the words, it was never written anywhere, yet here he is, listening to them for the first time all over again.
All around him, kin sing and cry, away from prying eyes and finally, finally putting down the burden of grief everyone had to shoulder during the war—grandparents grabbing their children’s cheek in a two-handed grip and kissing their foreheads like when they were young, spouses clinging to each other as they realize they both survived and this is the first day of the rest of their lives, siblings absolutely sobbing in each other’s arms. It’s strangers hugging strangers, smiling as they weep.
It’s a sort of mass psychosis, he would frown upon it in any context, and yet tears escape his eyes.
He can’t help it, he just can’t.
It’s over. Beyond the war and the few friends he lost along the way, the truth finally dawns on him. He did it. He changed the future—the Clan will live and the road to make sure children like he once was never have to learn the art of violence and soak their hands in blood.
He wishes his family was here to see it.
He wishes his family were here.
His mother and father and brother, his grandparents, his aunts and uncles, all of his cousins.
To tell them he did it, to tell them he’s finally done something good to make them proud. He avenged them, at last. Now they can rest.
Now they can rest.
In the distance, he catches Madara and Izuna still hugging, gripping each other with both arms, fingers digging into their clothes so hard it might rip—clinging to each other as though they were children, as only the last two of a whole family can do. When they part, it’s only to rest their foreheads against each other’s, and maybe this is the first time Sasuke has seen Madara cry at all. He smiles nonetheless, clearly content and painfully relieved at having his brother with him.
What surprises Sasuke though is that they let go eventually. He wouldn’t, he’d cling to kin tooth and nail until his bones ached and then a little while longer. While Izuna jumps to hold onto his friends, with tears in his eyes and blinding smile, Madara walks towards him and Kami, Sasuke doesn’t want to but he shrinks nonetheless, all five fingers digging into his shoulder and gazing to the side and face half-scrunched up with the urge to burst into tears.
His breath is knocked out of him when suddenly Madara wraps him in his arms and brings him close to his chest, to that comforting fire-scent of his and the inherent warmth of his skin that he can feel though his clothes no matter the season, and it’s all it takes for the damp to break, for the tight-coiled wire inside his chest to snap.
A sob rips out of his throat as he clings at Madara’s, arm around his waist and face buried in the crook of his neck, crying like he hasn’t cried since he was a child and had lost everything that ever meant something to him—crying like his ribs aren’t cracking under the weight of the biting grief he’s finally letting go.
So, Sasuke Uchiha weeps and later looks at the stars with eyes clearer than they’ve ever been.
⧭
It’s a gentle and fragile thing, spring in the newly founded Konoha.
A thin balance between him and Madara, Madara and Hashirama. They must tread it carefully lest it shatters.
Hashirama is named Hokage, there’s little Sasuke can do to change that, the man is insufferably charming after all, but Sasuke makes sure to stick his nose where it doesn't belong, specially in meetings between Hashirama and Tobirama. Madara tires of those meetings easily, quickly exhausted by sitting idle and discussing politics, but Sasuke and Izuna easily manage to counter Tobirama’s influence.
It’s not exactly gratitude Madara offers when he returns to the house they silently decided to share, but it's similar enough. Painfully tender. The tea brewed to perfection he’s received with, the almost-smile and slow blink he’s given, the firm fingers digging into his shoulders and later warm lips kissing the crook of his neck.
⧭
He learns Madara never actually wanted to be Hokage, he just wanted to be equals with Hashirama—he just wanted to avoid the Uchiha being sidelined when he was no longer in the world and maybe his paranoia was not only planted there by the Ootsutsuki.
⧭
He asks one day, after he catches Madara drinking atop the cliff a week before Hashimara and Mito’s wedding.
“Do you love him?”
And there’s no judgment or jealousy in his voice, he’s always known Madara loves Hashirama, even before he got here. He knew the second Hashirama sat down before him and told the story of how they met as children by the river with nothing but fondness and sorrow in his voice, he knew the second Madara shouted Hashirama’s name across the heavens in that strange mix of intimacy and rage only those who know someone else’s guts can.
Face betraying nothing, Madara drinks from the bottle and sighs.
“I do love him,” he eventually replies, eyes on the setting sun and voice soft, “and I think I always have and always will but… I don’t think I would have been happy with him. There is… blood in the water. There’s too much blood between us.”
And Sasuke understands because he remembers Naruto, he remembers the feeling of broken knuckles and copper in his mouth.
Seated beside Madara, he steals the bottle for a sip and leans his temple on Madara’s shoulder. Quiet company.
⧭
He comes sooner rather than later in Konoha, Zetsu.
Sasuke knows he hadn't had contact with Madara before, Madara told him as he spilled the future by the river, Zetsu probably waiting for tragedy to properly strike, for Izuna to die and finally leave Madara alone, a stranger amongst friends and kin at last to approach him.
However, he doesn’t know if Zetsu felt Sasuke’s presence once he showed up or even if he felt the Tablet break and therefore whatever spell it held over his Clan, but the point is that one day, as he's getting to go to bed, Sasuke’s chakra shivers, as though something cold slid up his spine, and he knows what it is and what to do before he's out the door.
"He's here," Sasuke whispers, body frozen rigid, eyes glancing everywhere in the room as he stretches his chakra not to loose Zetsu. "It's him, he's here.”
Across the room, Madara understands, chakra flaring and features steeling.
"Gather the Clan," Sasuke snaps at Madara as he rushes to pick his sword, heartbeat rising yet still in sleeping clothes. "Tell Izuna to get the Senju."
And Madara—they've reached a point where Madara doesn’t question his instincts, a point where Madara doesn’t ask who they're fighting or why, but when and where.
Instead, he simply grabs Sasuke's wrist before he bolts off their house and says, "Don't go alone."
"Someone needs to keep him here, he can't get away."
Only the gods know when or if Zetsu will be back.
Madara knows this perfectly well and trusts Sasuke to hold himself in any fight, but half of Madara's expertise comes from having time to plan and right now Zetsu did have the element of surprise.
It doesn't stop Madara from arguing, despite his fingers itching to the gunbai and scythe. "I'll go with you."
There's no time for this, either Sasuke compromises or risks losing Zetsu. "I won't fight until I get back-up."
Madara knows it's time too, he's known it for years.
He wraps a hand around the back of Sasuke’s neck, presses his mouth against his in a sharp kiss and goes to get his weapons as Sasuke storms outside the door.
Whatever he expected, it wasn't this.
Zetsu, this... creature who has manipulated generations of his family, alone and weakened.
He recognizes Sasuke and snarls at his presence.
Sasuke doesn’t care, not when barely a minute later he's sided by the power greater than him, Madara and Hashirama, and feels the rest of their Clans follow in the near distance.
It doesn’t change the fact it's a mighty battle they must take away from Konoha unless they pummel through the recently built houses and streets.
"You destroyed my family," Sasuke growls, mouth tasting metal, blinking away dust to stare at Zetsu below him on the ground, half his head cracked open but still breathing.
Zetsu replies with a feral grin, teeth stained with blood, "And I'd do it again."
He's lost and he knows it, alone against hundreds of the most powerful ninjas in the history of the Shinobi world.
It's the first proper fight together, Uchiha and Senju standing side by side as allies instead of adversaries, and perhaps nothing bonds people quicker than a common enemy, especially if it threatens the fragile peace they've built with Konoha.
In the end, Sasuke watches with a smug grin as Zetsu melts onto the earth, steaming and sizzling as the soil absorbs him, knowing he won't emerge ever again.
The forest around the battlefield will grow again eventually except for this patch of earth and Sasuke will carry the weight of the what would've happened in the future forever, but—
His dream has come true, a dream he never knew he had. It's beyond rage and revenge, it's beyond blood—it's peace, it's what laid beyond violence and perhaps that's what he's been chasing his whole life.
And now he has it, heart at ease as he looks with new eyes to the stars in the sky and trudges back home side by side with kin, family, friends and more.
⧭
It’s a rare thing, since he has now kin to share the burden of battle with, but he still overexerts himself from time to time and feels his eye burn and something thick run down his cheek, cooper taste creeping into his mouth.
It’s a rare thing and it hurts like a bitch but he allows himself to enjoy the moment afterwards, where Madara slows down at the back of their little force while Izuna leads the vanguard and stops for a few moments to gently wipe the blood tears from Sasuke’s face. Press a tender kiss, hidden from prying eyes, to Sasuke’s cheek.
⧭
They catch a thief, an eye-thief, and Sasuke witnesses the whole affair in the background.
Ryutaro Uchiha —old by any standard, he was a friend of Madara’s father and he was one of their elders— went missing. He didn’t show up for dinner with his granddaughter, Yuuko, his only living direct relative, and somehow, she immediately felt it was wrong, alerting her friends, and the news eventually reached the whole Clan. Uchiha don’t simply go missing.
Due to the early warning, they sent out every search party they could assemble and eventually caught one man, no older than thirty, and when they searched his memories, they saw him attack Ryutaro and steal his eyes before implanting them on himself. Ryutaro’s body was found at the banks of the river a few miles away. Long cold. Sasuke doesn’t think he will be forgetting the way Yuuko wailed when they delivered the news.
Hashirama tries to dissuade Madara from punishment, which Sasuke didn’t know at the time, but Madara would not be dissuaded. Hashirama, or anyone else not an Uchiha, wouldn’t understand what stealing means.
With his chakra sealed away and blindfolded, the thief is brought to his knees before Madara, Yuuko beside him and the whole Clan around except for the young ones. Sasuke understood all too well—whatever was about to happen, it was going to be violent.
He is granted the courtesy of being asked his last words but he only glared with a pair of Sharingan eyes he didn’t know how to properly use, a futile move since he was facing Madara Uchiha of all people, and spat at his feet.
It’s like falling, in a way—as though jumping off a cliff and watching the ground come close in slow motion.
Carefully, one hand holding the side of the thief’s head, Madara digs his fingers into one eye socket and pulls.
The thief’s howls of pain echo in the night.
He repeats the process with the other eye and by then, the thief has completely passed out.
Something twists in Sasuke’s stomach at the scene, at the blood in Madara’s hands—something in between nausea and fear but wholly tinted by a sense of… vindication.
Ever so carefully, Madara wraps the Sharingan eyes into a red cloth and folds the fabric exactly three times before delivering them with both hands to Yuuko. Sweet and trusting Yuuko, who tries to be strong but despite her efforts, a sob rips out of her throat as she receives the eyes.
They carry the thief’s body away, possibly to leave him in the woods with some bandages around his head and some water. Whether he lives and learns from his mistake or dies, it’s up to him.
It’s cruel, yes, but it’s justice.
An hour later, they finally burn Ryutaro’s body, complete once again after Yuuko placed his eyes atop his stomach, protected by his hands placed upon them. She lights the pyre with tears in her crimson gaze and it wouldn’t surprise anyone if she awakened the Mangekyou.
That night, Sasuke dreams of ripping the Sharingan out of Danzo’s head and each and every eye in his arm as well with his own hand. It’s as satisfying as his death.
⧭
All four —Hashirama, Tobirama, Izuna and Mito— eye him warily as they discuss potential allies and Sasuke accepts or rejects them before they even finish reading the intel.
Madara, who only came after Sasuke insisted, simply sits relaxed beside him, with a lazy draped arm draped over the backrest of Sasuke’s chair and his foot playfully nudging Sasuke’s under the table. He’s sure everyone in this meeting can tell but since Sasuke has not let the temptation distract him, they must let it slide.
It has gone like this for the past hour: Sasuke voices his opinion on the discussed Clan, Madara supports him, Izuna joins in to support them both, and Mito, Kami bless the woman, becomes the voice of reason and Hashirama follows soon after for both his wife and eternal rival, and lastly, Tobirama has no other choice than to accept since he can’t win alone against five, not in this kind of fight.
So far, they’ve accepted the Nara, the Yamanaka and the Sarutobi, have plans to reach out to the Akimichi, and have totally rejected the Shimura. They’re willing to accept the Hyuuga too, but only if they stop using the Caged Bird Seal. When Sasuke explained what it was and how it worked, calling it barbaric practice, Mino was horrified that seals were used in such a manner and backed him even before Madara did.
Sasuke makes a mental note to reinforce the defenses of Uzushio, send her a fruit basket and invite her for tea sometime. What a charming woman, Sasuke was pleasantly surprised not all Uzumaki were loud and boisterous idiots.
It’s not the only change he proposes. He can’t stop the Academy from rising but he can put some limits and aim at Hashirama’s soft heart. Sasuke asks how would he feel if his child was a prodigy and died on the battlefield before he reached double-digits, Hashirama didn’t reply, and so, no children under the age of eight will enter the Academy and no one will be named a Shinobi until they are ten years old, no matter how powerful or skilled they are. It will set them back for a little while since other villages have no such rules but Sasuke doesn’t care and argues that the adults job is to watch over those children, not the other way around, and it’s the bare minimum but he’s confident he can raise the age over time.
The idea of a secret unit to operate in the shadows is raised but he shuts it down immediately, raising concerns on how that would function within the hierarchy of the village, who could control who, what if their leader and the Hokage had different opinions and began battling in the shadows with treachery and assassins, and surprisingly, it’s Tobirama who agrees with him first, his dislike of the Uchiha working in Sasuke’s favor as he probably pictures Madara as chief of imaginary ANBU.
He brings the matter of Tailed Beasts to the table and building a temple somewhere, so they can be allies of the village instead of slaves. The Tailed Beasts haven’t been imprisoned yet, since it was Konoha’s idea in the first place, so they haven’t developed any true rage and resentment, so, although with a little wariness, the table thinks it’s a wonderful proposal.
He fights to divert a third of the funding for the protective walls to start a hospital, highlighting the long-term importance of mandatory healing courses for all Shinobi. Everyone here has lost too many people to battlefield wounds that could have been healed if only they had had enough medics so it’s not hard to get them to agree.
Lastly, he argues and argues about the economic system, saying that yes, for now they could charge for their services but it’s not a good idea in the long run unless they want to keep fighting old wars for centuries to come. Villages such as Konoha will serve the purpose of defending the land until overall peace can be settled and then, their power will be diminished and become a village as normal as any other. Violence cannot be their only export. They can’t keep amassing weapons and powers until they want the rest of the world to do the same. They can’t keep suspecting their own shadows of betrayal. They must not only strive for the end of war, they must strive for true and everlasting peace.
Hashirama stares at him for a long, long time with new eyes. Sasuke has never truly spoken a lot with the man besides a few chance meetings in the new streets of the village, he had guessed the man paid as little attention to him as Sasuke did but maybe he was wrong.
“You are a very strange yet wise man, Sasuke Uchiha,” he says as they all walk out the small office building that Sasuke knows will eventually be the Hokage Tower, stars already shining in the night sky. “I had never properly heard of you until little before we signed peace. Where are you from?”
He offers a small smile as Madara, with his own smirk, comes to rest a hand on the small of his back and walk them home.
“The Land of Fire,” he replies over his shoulder, softly slapping Madara’s chest with the back of his hand after he snorts a laugh.
⧭
Although Izuna is completely blind and has taken to wearing a bandage to protect the place his eyes used to be, he and Sasuke still look eerily similar, even as grown men. Izuna may be an inch or so taller and Sasuke’s shoulders just a little broader, but their hair is the same shade of black and of more or less the same length, and their pale complexion is also practically the same too, as well as the shape of their faces, their chins and cheekbones, so it's rather easy to try get on Tobirama's nerves all day by switching, for no other reason than to annoy him. Hashirama lightly scolds them but often fails to hide his chuckles, and Mito straight-up thinks it's hilarious, inviting him and Izuna for lunch and Sasuke is so glad he befriended this woman.
It's been—Kami, it's been more than two decades since Sasuke felt light enough to pull a prank on someone.
The wait wasn't worth it, but maybe, sometimes, it was, Sasuke thinks as Tobirama chases Izuna across the village and prepares to startle Tobirama from behind, asking where the hell he is rushing to. He's already anticipating the shocked expression on his face and the subsequent glare and giddiness bubbles in between his ribs.
⧭
Just because the Senju and the Uchiha signed a peace treaty and settled down together, it doesn't mean the rest of the world stopped fighting, so Konoha must keep fighting too to settle borders and protect those who have no army nearby.
Their Shinobi are at a great disadvantage, few in numbers and spread thin, seasoned adults getting working overtime, Sasuke watches more than half the Clan spend their time outside the village than inside, but after a few years, his gamble pays off.
If only by virtue of being older, Konoha Shinobi gain ground. While other villages still send terribly young children to battle, Konoha sends teenagers with the exact same set of skills, but they are taller, bigger, faster and stronger due to getting those extra years being just a child and waiting before getting sent to the front lines.
Other villages have no choice but to copy the model if they want to keep up.
As the wounded coming in are older and older, Sasuke has faith that there will be no children fighting grown-ups' wars in the future.
⧭
He hears whispers of it once, the will of the flames, what he will become the Will of Fire in the future, and he shuts that shit down immediately. He arranges for a lesson to be added to the Academy’s curriculum that highlights the importance of teamwork, of camaraderie. Emphasizes the importance of family, kin and precious bonds and buries all that boot-licking loyalty to the state and the village deep underground. No mission is worth it if you lose those dear to you.
The village can be rebuilt anywhere else in the world, but no one can grow you a new family. No one can replace your friends.
⧭
It’s the anniversary of the peace treaty between the Senju and the Uchiha and it’s not something they really celebrate. They commemorate it, yes, it’s a rather ceremonial and somber day of mourning the dead, while the actual festival is in a couple of days, the official anniversary of the founding of the Konoha.
Sasuke doesn’t worry when Madara says he’s going to visit Hashirama in the evening, but he does worry a little when Mito, of all people, comes knocking on his door near midnight.
A little anger furrows her eyebrows as she asks if Hashirama is here but it fades when Sasuke replies that no, he thought Madara was with Hashirama at her place. They’re nowhere in the village, she already searched everyone, and they both left their weapons and armor at home so they couldn’t have gone to spar.
As he wraps a cloak to leave the house, he goes through all the places Mito has been and can only come up with one hidden corner she couldn’t have checked.
Lo and behold, Hashirama Senju and Madara Uchiha sit atop the cliff overseeing Konoha, bottles strewn around them—rosy-cheeked and loose-limbed, completely and absolutely shit-faced.
In any other circumstances, Sasuke would’ve worried but then he hears Madara’s laugh, a sharp bark in the silence of the night, and Hashirama’s own chuckles turning into tears as he holds onto his stomach.
It shouldn’t, but a sense of fondness spreads through Sasuke’s chest at the sight.
Mito wears a similar expression, although half-hidden in annoyance and exasperation, as Hashirama beams at her, features lighting up as though she’s the sun, and sweeps her off her feet as he wishes Madara a good night.
Shaking his head, Sasuke comes to stand beside Madara, who wraps a hand around Sasuke’s thigh and practically smushes his face in it.
Huffing a small laugh, Sasuke gives a couple of pats to the mop of the spiky hair and sighs, “Alright, time to go home.”
⧭
There’s no Second Shinobi War on the horizon and it feels like he can finally breathe right after years and years of breathing on half-lungs.
⧭
He remembers that he was once afraid of rain, of lighting and thunder. He never thought about it much when he was a child, but suddenly he was alone, a single soul among blocks and blocks, and the roar of the sky was too sudden, too loud, too close. He remembers vaguely curling up in the covers, trying to muffle the echo despite the sound rumbling in his ribcage.
Then, he wielded a storm as a weapon, he was the one scaring others. He was beyond simple mortals, he could command the sky and direct its sparks into a single target, as though a shark smelling blood miles away.
Now, well, now he sits on the steps of his and Madara’s house, knees tucked in, wrapped in the thicket blanket they have and clinging to Madara’s arm, knowing that what awaits him inside is a warm bed and a warm meal. He sighs as lighting strikes in the distance, briefly closing his eyes as the thunder approaches and cracks, raising the hair on his nape. He doesn’t need to be afraid nor install fear anymore. He’s safe—alive and safe and loved.
⧭
He realizes one morning, waking up late because apparently that's the normal circadian rhythm of the Uchiha when there isn't a war going on, as the sunlight sneaks in between the cracks of their curtains—as he catches Madara's peaceful face.
What Sasuke once thought was a permanent feature, that Madara was practically born with them, is fading.
The seemingly inherent eyebags and puffiness is slowly but surely disappearing and at that exact same moment Sasuke realizes why.
He's sleeping. They're both sleeping. Fairly often and enough for the first time in years. Sure, there's meetings that go on for far too long and there's nightmares and occasional fucking into the wee hours of the night but they no longer have to stay up and wake up at sunrise.
It's not the only sign of time passing them. Sasuke remembers finding exactly two gray hairs on Madara’s head, shimmering silver in the reflected sunlight of the snow.
His wrist creaks a little in the morning, especially as the weather comes down, the winter rain. Years and years of wielding the gunbai and the scythe slowly catching up, both quite heavy the last time Sasuke tried to lift them.
Not only that, Sasuke feels time on himself. Sometimes, when the seasons change too fast, the muscles of his good arm spasm, causing him faint tremors, and his bones ache—lightning running through him for too long and frying up his nerves.
His sight is wavering ever so slightly, he sees crystal clear with the Sharingan and the Rinnegan and even with his normal eye but he can't read up close for too many hours without a headache. Madara tells him he could get glasses, he's not the first Uchiha to need them and he won't be the last, but Sasuke still holds on a little too strong to his pride.
Although pride doesn't have a place in their bed right now, not as Sasuke snuggles up closer to the warmth of Madara's body and decides they can wake up even later than usual.
⧭
They offer him the title of Hokage. Not to Madara, not to Tobirama—to Sasuke. Hashirama wants to settle down, enjoy his family, his kids, the prosperity he’s worked too hard to build, and Sasuke rejects him out right.
It’s an honor, yes, and he’d probably be a great Hokage but it’s just… he’s tired of politics. He’s tired of fighting, it takes too much of him, and after everything he’s been through, he likes to think he deserves a break to actually enjoy the village he helped build.
As such, it’s actually Izuna who steps up, fierce yet easy-going Izuna, and despite Sasuke being the first choice, it’s not hard to agree on the fact Izuna would do much better than Sasuke.
The ground sways a little under him during the ceremony, when that stupid square hat gets passed and Sasuke gets to witness an Uchiha as the leader of Konoha.
He has no doubt that it will accidentally start a cycle where the next Hokage will be a Senju and an Uchiha after that one and so forth and so forth and maybe this is what Sasuke has been dreaming his whole life.
⧭
“Marry me,” Madara whispers in the middle of the night.
Sasuke’s heart stops beating altogether.
He doesn’t really process the words, doesn’t track them right, not naked as the day he was born and still enjoying the pleasant ache in his body, not with his eyes still closed and nose buried in the crook between Madara’s shoulder and neck, his own thrown over Madara’s chest and Madara’s arm lazily draped over his waist, legs tangled together in an impossible mess.
He has to blink and raise his head, stare for a few seconds to make sure he heard right.
Madara says it again, as if he needs to.
Quiet in the dead of night, he whispers again, war-torn voice that Sasuke never knew could be so gentle, “Marry me.”
His breathing stutters.
What?
His mouth forms the word, though he’s not sure it actually comes out.
It seems like Madara is going to repeat it a third time, and maybe as many as it takes for Sasuke to hear it, but Sasuke doesn't let him. Instead, he throws himself over Madara, bodies as close as they can, and presses his lips against Madara’s in a fierce kiss that he hopes conveys his answer.
Madara’s arm tightens around his waist, impossibly so, to the point Sasuke’s ribs ache and he has to pull away to inhale a full breath on squeezed lungs but it’s worth every second because as soon as he opens his eyes, he catches a frankly besotted look on Madara’s face, fondness tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Is that a yes?” He asks, that smug bastard, only to hear Sasuke say it.
He indulges, of course he does, with a matching grin, although his voice carries his now future husband's gentleness.
“Yes.”
It’s a single exhale and his breath shakes the foundations of the earth.
Beneath him, Madara chuckles, moving whole mountains on their bed with the little laugh-quakes, and Sasuke sinks into warm skin, a tidal wave crashing and melting on the shore.
—
His eagerness to learn Uchiha marriage traditions is quickly dimmed when he finds out that they actually skipped the first step: consult the family. If Sasuke had wanted to propose, he could have consulted Izuna and asked for his blessing, but Sasuke has no one to be asked, now or in the future, and therefore Madara has no one to consult with.
Perceptive as he is, Madara notices, of course he does, and does what he does best: come up with a plan.
He introduces funerary rites to Sasuke.
Sasuke knows what everyone does, leaving some flowers or some kind of other offering by the grave and saying some kind words but that’s it, and tries not to flinch too hard at the pity that flashed in Madara’s eyes when he explained.
Now the Clan has finally settled, they can build a shrine for the fallen in the war. At least once a week, Madara visits the altar for his close family, his brothers and mother and even his father. Sasuke knows it exists but he’s never wanted to intrude.
Nearby, Madara arranges for a shrine to be built for Sasuke’s own family. He’d do it for the whole Clan, since Sasuke mourned them for years despite everything, but it would even receive stranger looks than if it was just three people.
A couple of days later, Sasuke kneels before the engraved names of Itachi Uchiha, Mikoto Uchiha and Fugaku Uchiha. Madara accompanied him here but stayed outside so Sasuke could have a moment alone.
And Sasuke doesn’t know where to begin, peace or the fact he’s getting married?
It’s too much to synthesize, the words too heavy, but he vows to tell them everything one day—that despite the pain, he survived and managed to find hope at the end of violence, that he somehow broke the cycle that resulted in their deaths, and that he’s happy. Oh, Kami, he’s happy.
In complete silence, he leaves the three big and bright mandarins Madara gave him before, three fire blossoms to give to the dead so they can light their path whenever they are and fight their enemies if they find any.
He’s supposed to leave a sunflower during the Summer Solstice, but he missed that so Madara helped him gather the traditional flowers for autumn: crimson fireweeds, rare as they are, tied together by a small black ribbon. He’ll leave red and white plum blossoms in the spring.
Later in the evening, Madara steps forward while Sasuke hovers by the entrance and kneels before Sasuke’s family—bowing deeply, forehead to the floor, and offering an old uchiwa fan to the shrine. Sasuke found out only a minute ago that it’s the exact same fan that his father proposed to his mother with and that it might as well be one of his most priced possessions along with the gunbai passed from generation to generation through heads of the Clan that has kept him alive all this time. To give up the fan now—
Worthy of the weight of being leader of the Clan, he respectfully asks permission and blessing to marry Sasuke as Sasuke tries to swallow past the lump in his throat and blink away the sting in his eyes.
Silence is his only answer.
Sharply inhaling, Sasuke steps forward and kneels beside Madara, lopping his arm around the crook of Madara’s elbow and leaning his temple on Madara’s shoulder. Madara simply twists his face until he can finally press a gentle kiss on Sasuke’s forehead.
—
They’re supposed to exchange gifts during the ceremony and Sasuke wants to slam his head against the wall. What the fuck so you even give to Madara Uchiha as a wedding present?
He secretly, or he hopes it’s secretly, enlists Izuna and Hashirama’s help and to give them credit, they do come with some good ideas but Sasuke rejects them all because they’re just not perfect.
Call him crazy, he doesn’t care, fuck you, but he wants something that Madara can show off, that he can carry visibly on him and tell everything that Sasuke has a claim on him.
Madara already does that, it pleases him greatly when Sasuke walks around with a ribbon or charm he bought on his hair, so who can blame Sasuke for wanting to do the same?
Charm for the gunbai? They’re not at war anymore, so weapons of that caliber are rarely used nowadays. Family heirloom? Sasuke’s only possession from the future were his clothes and they were burned within the week of being here. Ribbon for his hair? He wears it loose. Necklace? He’s never worn any. Ring? It bothers him to wear things that make his hand movements clumsy. Pedant? His ears aren’t pierced.
Oh, Kami help him.
—
They marry in autumn, and it’s questioned a little in the entirety of Konoha to say the least, why not marry in spring or even summer? But Madara is not having any of it and Sasuke doesn’t really care about the date as long as it happens. Either way, it takes him by surprise, something squeezing in his chest, when Madara picks the exact day Sasuke first arrived here so long ago, a dead man walking and barely.
Not once has Sasuke witnessed a full-blown wedding among the Uchiha, so he doesn’t know what to expect and yet Madara is there every step of the way, a warm and steady hand on the small of his back when things get overwhelming.
Despite everything, the ceremony itself is fairly simple.
As the Hokage of Konoha and highest ranking person in the Clan besides Madara himself, Izuna acts as their priest before the shrine and asks the Gods for their blessing, and of course, there’s the traditional sake, his arm and Madara’s interlocked as they sip three times from three cups of three different sizes.
That is as far as the common traditions go.
Firstly, their clothes, tailored kimonos for the occasion, are the perfect mix of red and black plus a hint of white, Uchiha colors. They could’ve done headpieces but decided against it—not that Sasuke minds, he’ll forever enjoy the sight of Madara’s wild mane and melt under the feeling of deft fingers carefully braiding his hair.
To finish the ceremony, Izuna hands his brother a white candle and Madara holds it up between him and Sasuke, who raises his hand to cup Madara’s so they both hold the candle.
He’s not exactly nervous but he cannot help the way his eyes quickly glance at Madara’s and stay there until Madara offers him a firm yet gentle nod.
Sasuke closes his eyes and breathes in, gathering just the right amount of chakra.
The idea is to light the candle with Fire Style without the flames of the spouses overshadowing each other, it has to be inherently balanced between them with no previous accord or foreword. Whichever way the ritual works it’s considered an omen—if it’s too bright and someone ends up burned, it means it will be a tumultuous marriage, but if the candle struggles getting lit it means the union is weak and won’t last long.
Without the need of signs after so long, Sasuke opens his eyes and breathes out.
His small flame clashes with Madara’s for a split second, rising as though to burn them, but it’s over before it’s dangerous.
As the heat between them dissipates, Sasuke stares at a perfect little flame between.
A grin breaks over his face.
In response, Madara simply blows the candle and holds it away before leaning forward and tilting up his chin to press a firm kiss to Sasuke’s forehead. If only because he can, Sasuke sneaks a kiss to Madara’s cheek.
Later, they place the candle between them on the table when they sit down with the rest of all the guests, basically the entire Clan plus Hashirama and Mito, both of whom left the kids at home with Tobirama. Shadow, old and frail as she is now, decided to emerge from her cocoon at their house and settle right beside Sasuke’s thigh, nosing into the warm as Sasuke spares a few moments to scratch behind her ear.
Before they begin to eat though, Madara grabs the traditional persimmon —it’s a peach as red as they can find during the summer— and quickly peels it, however, he gives it to Sasuke to raise between them. They’re already seated far too close, shoulder to shoulder and thigh to thigh, so it’s not hard to lean forward, stare at his husband above the fruit with a little more heat than necessary, and, at the same time as Madara, bite.
It’s messy, juice dripping around his mouth and his chin and some of it even runs down his hand but he doesn’t care, not when their little crowd applauds and finally digs it, not when Madara chuckles and wipes some pulp of the side Sasuke’s nose before offering him a napkin.
It’s food as good as any but it’s somehow even tastier, soup and glass-noodles spicier and pear-pastries even sweeter as his husband —his husband— draws mindless patterns on his knee under the table.
Eventually though, when the plates run out of food and people grow satisfied and every single guest has congratulated them, they have to get up. There’s one more tradition and it’s one Sasuke has been looking forward to since it was explained to him.
They go back to home to prepare, change into clothes that are a little more practical than the current fancy kimonos but no less grand or meaningful, but as Sasuke finishes untying his first layer, Madara calls his name.
Tone careful. “Sasuke.”
Sasuke turns around and feels his heart skip a beat.
In Madara’s hands rests a small box, plain wood painted black with the outline of the Uchiha crest carved on the sliding lid, no bigger than the palm of his hand.
Sasuke recognizes it for what it is: the gift.
The newly-wed spouses are supposed to exchange gifts, they can be given at any moment so long it’s at the same time and they had decided to wait until they were alone, after the closing of the wedding, but Madara couldn’t wait any longer, if the expectation and love in his gaze is anything to go by, and there’s something thrilling about being the cause of Madara Uchiha forsaking his plans and his patience, even after all these years.
Inside the box Sasuke finds a plain red ribbon, maybe a little old but definitely well-kept, and he understands its meaning once Madara confesses in a low whisper.
“It was my mother’s.”
And Sasuke—it feels like Sasuke is home.
Accepted wholly just as he is, a dream of his that he’s had since he has memory.
Perhaps it was mere practicality at the beginning, Madara being his guard, but it grew into trust that grew into fondness that grew into a home, no matter their blood-soaked sins and war-rage they’ve learned to leave behind. It’s more than sharing culture and rituals, it’s more than giving away most priced possessions and asking a blessing from the dead, it’s acceptance from kin—it’s sharing a past, a present and a future. Indeed, it’s home.
Heart in his throat, Sasuke runs to grab the package below his side of the bed and some of his nerves are eased when a hint of surprise takes over Madara, who probably searched for his gift just as Sasuke looked for his. Neither of them succeed, not with the presents hidden in plain sight.
After he unwraps the light purple cloth, Madara is met with exactly two things: an uchiwa fan and a simple cloak. In the handle of the fan rests a small stone, not bigger than the nail of his pinkie finger, and a mirror of that same stone is the main piece of the charm on the clasp of the cloak.
Sensing there’s something more, especially due to the similarities in the stones in the otherwise ordinary gifts, intimately drawing anyone’s eyes against the plain colors, Madara inspects them closer.
A small gasp escapes him when he realizes.
“Impossible,” he breathes, glancing at Sasuke but quickly looking back at the stone, fingers hovering over them, as though afraid to touch them. “Are they…?”
Only a little smug, Sasuke nods. “They are.”
It’s chakra.
It’s his chakra made physical, swirls of red and purple frozen in round, transparent crystals. He doesn’t know if they actually contain his essence, he can’t feel his own chakra, but it seems Madara can.
“You are,” Madara begins, awe plain in his features as he raises a hand to hold Sasuke’s face, and it seems he struggles a little to find the right word before it escapes his mouth in a whisper, “a wonder of the world.”
Sasuke’s not one to blush, he won’t be caught dead blushing in public but there’s no one here but Madara as witness and he might be the only person in Sasuke’s entire life that he’s completely trusted with secrets.
Their vows as they exchange the gifts are quick, they must return to the wedding before their guests start becoming impatient and wonder where they are and if they should leave or send someone to fetch them and potentially get traumatized, but they are no less honest.
They’re both trying to hold back lovesick grins and failing miserably.
“To ensure your sight is forever clear and your heart’s aim is true,” Madara whispers.
“To keep you forever cool during the summer and warm during winter,” Sasuke replies.
By the time they leave, they’ve changed into custom-made sparring robes, black with crimson flames embroidered on the hems, and with Sasuke’s hair tied into a simpler braid with a plain red ribbon, a little old but definitely well-kept.
They do not return to the venue though, but instead rush towards the nearest clearing outside Konoha. They’re going to need the space.
The guests are already waiting for them to arrive and it’s actually Mito, Kami bless this woman and her brilliant mind and her even more brilliant wedding gift ideas, who greets them first, quietly but excitedly asking Sasuke how did it go and smirking when Sasuke simply smiles and nods.
Before he and Madara part, Izuna comes to offer them a small bowl of dark ash. Sasuke dips a finger in it and presses once to the center of Madara’s forehead and then runs that same fingertip down his bottom lip down his chin down the hollow of his throat in a straight line as the ash fades. Madara does the same and it’s a struggle not to indulge and take a lick to his finger.
A minute later, as the setting sun dyes the sky pink and the evening breeze begins picking up, Sasuke and Madara stand on opposite sides of the clearing. At the same time, Izuna —having passed the bowl to Mito— and Hashirama step forward to carefully deliver the swords to Sasuke and Madara respectively and then step back to stand beside the rest of their guests on the edges of the clearing while Sasuke and Madara walk towards the center until exactly three feet apart.
The drums start and so the sword-dance begins.
It’s partly a show for the guests and partly fun for the newly-weds, to prove they are compatible and perhaps even show off—a more active version of lighting the candle. No jutsu of any kind is allowed, not even the Sharingan, and they can only fight with the swords provided, no other weapons, and must stay inside the designated area.
It’s not mandatory, but when Madara asked if Sasuke wanted to do it, it’s optional after all, Sasuke only threw him a deadpan look.
Until now, Sasuke thought of it more like an actual fight, nothing more than a spar with a crowd, but, as his blood rushes through his veins and feet slide along the grass unconsciously matching the beat of the drums, it realizes this is more dance than battle.
It’s balance, it must be to work. It’s lighting the candle, it’s biting the fruit, it’s exchanging gifts—it’s, well, dancing.
Blow for blow, attack and deflect, charging in and running away. Metal against metal. Heart to heart. Eye to eye.
It wouldn't work with anyone else.
Sasuke wouldn’t want it to work with anyone else.
There’s actually no time limit for sword-dance, legend apparently says it can last for days if the couple wishes for it, and they haven’t even broken a sweat but, as stars show up in the sky and he catches the heat in Madara’s dark gaze reflecting the faint moonlight and begins to feel a little too much blood rushing south, Sasuke decides this fight has gone long enough.
He puts a little more speed to his attacks, knowing Madara can handle it, and almost smiles as the drums struggle to catch up with him, a quick rumbling in the air as they sense the climax of the fight is near.
His trust is absolute when he leaves his side open for a split second, enough for Madara’s sword to dip under his arm and around his waist, avoiding stabbing him by an inch, as Sasuke’s arm comes around his neck, pressing as much as he can of his body to his husband’s. Nose to nose, sharing the same breath.
The freeze just as the drums halt, the last of the sound echoing in the night.
Indeed, they are kindred spirits. Twin flames.
It takes them but a moment to detangle themselves from each other, bow and accept the applause, haphazardly throw their swords to Izuna and Hashirama to catch and finally leap out of there.
By the end of the night, he has, at last, broken a sweat and probably needs a bath, they both do, and perhaps even change the sheets but right now, Sasuke can but melt into Madara’s warm skin. If he died right now, he’d die a happy man and maybe for the first time in his life, he’s terrified of death and maybe that’s the whole point.
He wants to live like this forever and now, and after everything has been said and done, he can. His shoulders are free of burden, old wounds scarred over. It’s no longer surviving out of spite, hasn’t been for a long time—it’s living, against all odds. Living and loving. No blood, no violence, no war—sometimes pain but only the pleasure kind.
He’s alive. Gods, he’s alive. It almost makes him want to burst into tears, it takes his breath away. It’s overwhelming in the best of ways.
Sensing something in his mind, like he always has ever since the beginning, Madara, thumb lazily rubbing up and down the side of his waist, searches his face, searches with the same curious eyes that stared and asked him so long ago, where are you from, Sasuke Uchiha?
And Sasuke simply shakes his head, doesn’t bother hiding a smile, and leans forward to gently press his lips against his husband’s.
As Madara tightens his grip on Sasuke’s waist, Sasuke fails to keep kissing him due to the stupid and frankly soppy smile on his face and thinks, it doesn’t matter where I’m from, what matters is that I’m home.
The End