Naruto 1. Chapter 1: Morality

**A/N: **Hello lovely readers and welcome to my newest project. I am _extremely _excited to write this, more than I can even explain in words, and this is only the beginning. The chapters will probably fluctuate in length, but most will be twice this size. Okay..where to begin..

Okay, first and foremost this is an AU that will follow a lot of canon ideas and morph them to this reality. Secondly, while the beginning has some obvious hashimito references, this story is _HASHIMADA._ And I am _not _going to morph Mito into some jealous, angry uzumaki who wants the senju d. Trust me. I will do justice to her character. This story is my new baby and I want to cradle it with love and affection, not completely rewrite the basis of these characters.

Explicit material will probably occur much later..just a warning. And no, hashirama wont always be topping.

Oh, and the cover is one of many works by senju-swag on tumblr who I will shamelessly promote because she is amazing okay?

I don't want to bother you with any more authors note, so just go on ahead. Please review, message me, let me know what you think, ect. I want to know **all **of your lovely opinions, suggestions, and criticism.

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Death was an inevitable part of life; good could not coincide without evil and only some of the world prospered while others failed. Opposites not only attracted to one another, but also thrived in a world where the other survived. While this was not true of his entire life, Hashirama could not deny the principle had done quite a bit of work in his forty-nine years of living.

In his youngest years he had stood before his father, set in his stubborn ways, and balanced out the fiery passion of the battlefield with a more hopeful, idealistic vision of life. While his three brothers debated among themselves, whether it be a silly thing or the more typical conversation about the future, he was the one to give them playful words of hope, stating that it would simply work out in the end.

Befriending a boy from the opposite side of the war was no different.

When they sat by the river, speaking of hope and freedom from the wretched hands of battle, and when they found condolences in each other during times of loss and pain, they had been closer than ever. But the times they sat on their hill, looking out to the forested earth and imagining the many houses and streets that would one day flourish was arguably the highlight of those days.

And then they sacrificed the needs of their clan in an attempt to save one another from a sneak attack on opposite sides of the rushing water.

They had been young, yet had seen far too much war for their age and lost so much family that they couldn't help but want peace. In that aspect, and many more, they were similar. They both held such a firm belief etched deep into their personality that created a big part of who they were as they grew older. However, they did not fully escape the inevitable law of nature. That was impossible, even for the most powerful yet broken of his clan, Madara Uchiha, and the sacrificial leader of his people, Hashirama Senju.

The later years that followed were some of the worse of his, and imaginably his best friends, life. Fights that ended badly, words that were spoken in the heat of battle, things that never should have been said. People that had fought for no other reason then to win. Petty things, really. As much as he had felt the thrill of the fight during that time, he had also always known how to keep it in check.

During their final battle, and even much of his life onwards, however, he felt nothing but pain.

The consequences showed profusely in the later years of his life. After he had done what was necessary, slayed the only true friend he had ever truly cherished not only for his family and village, but for the ideals that he and Madara had held before he fell into the darkness, Hashirama had been in a miserable state. Carrying his heavy body, burdened by the armor and weapons his friend had on him, to konoha had not been the easiest of tasks, however that had nothing to do with weight. It was the tears that clouded his vision as all of these memories resurfaced.

Many great accomplishment had happened in the twenty years that Madara had been gone that undeniably brought joy to him. But true happiness was rarely felt even as he married his wonderful wife shortly after, who gave birth to great children and who in turn had given him an adorable, yet not without some slight corruption, granddaughter. Life for both him and the village continued on, yet every time he looked at the average merchant, the happy newlyweds, and typical families scattered amongst this peaceful place they called home he was always reminded that he had killed a man so important to him in order to ensure this. There was no peace without sacrifice, and it was in these years that he realized just how much he valued this long lost friend of his.

These were the things his thoughts lingered on during his last, shallow breathes.

His battle skills were still one to contend with, of course, but not nearly as strong as he was thirty years ago. Experience usually made up for that, but one of the amazing things about this world was that the next generation tended to surpass the ones before them, and now was a prime example of it.

He supposed as far as deaths went, this one was rather nice. He had been attacked by the enemy during an ambush, one that had taken a full army to bring him down and had driven him deep into the thick forest. It was glorious enough; honor wasn't the highest on his list of priorities anyways.

He entrusted Tobirama to take care of Konoha no matter how devastating his death would be. And while the family he would leave behind would be saddened, he was sure they would recover. Mito and his sons would surely pull through, and because he had died protecting his village he had no regrets..save one.

He could not save Madara from the darkness.

This was the one thing that plagued his mind as he laid back against the stump of what used to be a large, healthy oak. It had been so many years, yet the pain of piercing a blade through his friend never left him. Sometimes he found himself selfishly wishing he had been the one to perish, but in his heart he knew the outcome was simply meant to happen. If it had not, the lives of countless others would have been needlessly sacrificed. So if he could not have had a completely happy ending in this life, he at least had the afterlife to look forward to.

He vaguely wondered if his old friend would be there, waiting to either kill his soul or salvage the friendship they once had.

His body was becoming weaker by the second. He tried to save himself with healing chakra, but the wounds were too extensive and poison too potent — while he worked on one organ, another was failing. He was struggling to keep his heart beating despite knowing enough of his own body to realize his life was ending.

_I guess.. I might not be as ready to die as I thought. Looks like I don't have much of a..choice though..but I will be seeing my old buddy, at least. I wonder what he's up to..probably with his brothers..never did get to meet them all. I wonder what his mothers like. He never would tell me much about his family..well..death is a pretty good way to find out..._

"You seem eager to die, laying back as if you've given up. I never would have imagined you to do such a thing, Hashirama Senju."

Although surprised by the sudden voice, he was too tired and worn down to do much more than flicker his eyes open in acknowledgement. She was an elderly lady with pale, wrinkly skin and a bright, thin face framed with wisps of silver hair falling down to her waist and piercing blue eyes.

"Don't be. You've life still in you, have you not?"

"Who..are you..?" he breathed out, at this point using every last bit of his chakra to push air into his lungs.

"I..am no one. My purpose is simply to help you."

"My..body..might be beyond help"

"Nothing is beyond help." She stated simply.

"Are you..a friend of Konoha?"

"I have no friends."

He considered this strangers words, suspecting some sort of motive but far too weak to question her. A gust of wind suddenly rushed through the air, strands of his hair blowing in his face. His limbs were too far gone and useless — he couldn't brush it aside if he wanted to. He could only watch through half lidded eyes and past messy pieces of battle damaged hair as she stood tall.

"This could..be worse. At least you're not..my wife. She would kill me..for dying like this. Very picky woman, she is. "

A flash of amusement passed through her worn eyes "Oh? Must be a horrible wife."

Despite the insult, a small laugh left his lips as he tried to shake his head. "Strong willed..maybe. Not horrible. I wouldn't have..married her..if I didn't love her."

It was relatively quiet then, aside from his slight wheezing. She knelt down beside him with a soft look.

"Do you want to live?"

No matter how strange this woman's words were, a light of hope shone in his eyes."If you can heal me..I would appreciate it.."

"I can't."

"Whaaaa..?"

"You said it yourself, your body is far gone."

A sulky pout appeared. "Ah..well..a lovely chat to have before..my death..at least."

"Do you believe in time travel?"

He gave her a look of disbelief at the sudden change of topic.

"I will assume that is a no."

"It might exist..but it would be impossible without consequence..and..highly forbidden..."

"Negativity is not an option, not in your condition. If not time travel, then what about alternate _dimensions_?" she asked, emphasizing the last word with a weighted tone.

Despite the deteriorating of his body and the numbness that was overtaking his limbs, these words brought out a certain alertness within the dying man and he began to study her closer. She appeared twice his age with a frail, thin body that was by no means healthy. Bones protruded from her sagging skin, connected by joints that were nearly as lifeless as his at the moment, and prominent wrinkle lines spread across her lips.

"Anything is possible," he clarified. "..Why..do you ask?"

A soft, sweet laugh burst from her upturned lips. "The hokage should be at least a little smarter than that, don't you think?"

"Dimensions," he repeated to himself. A heavy silence delayed the inevitable. "Who are you again, exactly?"

"I have no name, not anymore."

"A private person, then." he answered, shrugging it off as he leaned back into the tree and closed his eyes. He was in a great deal of pain, far too much to pester an old woman, and if he was going to die he at least wanted to be comfortable. A cough racked his body, blood spurting from his lips, and he momentarily gave up on his lungs. They were far past the point of no return and at this rate internal bleeding would kill him before the poison. It was a miracle he remained as composed as he did.

"Do you not understand my words?"

"I do."

"Do you realize I am offering to perform a jutsu on you that could send you to another time, another reality?"

"I do."

A small pause.

"And you choose death?"

A small smile.

"No matter how kind your offer.. this jutsu sounds too immoral. No one..should be able to control the world.. the very order of life. If this fell into dangerous hands..much like other forbidden jutsu..the results could be devastating."

"But you are not dangerous hands! You are hokage of Konohagakure, the strongest shinobi alive!"

"Not for long" he joked, blood pooling in his torn clothing to prove his point.

"You will not just die."

"Hm?"

"You will _not _just die. You have too much to live for, too much left to do. I refuse."

He sighed softly, though honored by her determination to save him.

"If you would use...this technique you claim to have...disregarding a dying man's.. wish.. then you are no friend.. of konoha."

"_You _do not understand_. You _are no friend to anyone if you give up. Do you _realize_ how many lives you can save by accepting this gift? I can send you back as many years as you desire, send you to a place where you can create a completely different future. You can right any mistake, any misgiving. _You can save the human race from inevitable destruction that you do not see because you are blinded by your sense of morality!"_

Her words rang in his pounding head, over and over they thumped and trotted around, bringing utter chaos wherever they wandered. As much as he tried to act for the good of everyone, he was no saint. Temptation eagerly pulled at him wherever he went, though it never pierced through his determination, and at his weakest he was most vulnerable to these "what-ifs". The very prospect and idea she presented moved him in directions it shouldn't.

What if he could save his parents? His brothers? His friends?

What if he could save_ Madara_? If he could stop everything that brought darkness into his life, the loss of his brothers and the loss of respect from all of his clan, of every man who betrayed him..

He could make the world a better place. This village..it was prosperous and peaceful..but could he keep it that way? Could he, assuming he chose death, trust the future hokage to the place he called home? _Yes. _

He made his brother swear to do whats best for the village, to never show prejudice and to always instill kindness and hope in every person. While no man was perfect, this was something he trusted. But trust was not the same as happiness and would not save all the lives lost in the past.

Still, he could not stomach the method to gain this.

"I'm sorry, Hashirama."

He was only half aware of the echoing voices in his head as the man, on the brink of death, was suddenly warped into a collective darkness. He was unaware of what took place afterwords, barely recalling the numbing sensation that overtook his beaten body as his last breath left him. There was no pain or struggle, merely unwanted acceptance as he was sucked away to whatever place in his past she had chosen for him.


	2. Chapter 2: Purpose

**A/N: **Chapter 2! This is where you all actually figure out where this story is headed, aside from the millions of things I'm going to throw at you later on. Mwahahahahhaha~

I hope you enjoy this nice little chapter. I can't give a definite time or schedule for updating, especially with as much homework as I'm already getting in school, but the more reviews I get the more motivation I get. Feel free to tell me what you think, okay? Next chapter will be _long_, and I'm talking two, three times this size, so naturally it will take me longer.

Okay. Here we go.

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"Are you listening, Hashirama?"

"Hashirama!"

He focused on the small, callused hand frantically waving in a blur of his vision until his eyes slowly focused and began following the contour of the young boys thin arm all the way up past his shoulder until finally reaching a gentle face he hadn't seen for many, many years.

"Are you alright? You've been spacing out for awhile."

Hashirama could have responded in many ways, however every single one of them died deep within his burning throat and the pounding in his head was now no match for the beating of his aching heart.

"He's fine, Itama." Tobirama assured coolly, however concern briefly betrayed his tone as it flickered in his expression. It was not unlike Hashirama to seem momentarily distracted and lost in thought, but seeing him speechless was a bit odd.

His eyes wandered to both faces in front of him as if relearning their young innocence, comparing it to the Tobirama he knew**—**technically******—**only yesterday. A genuine, yet pained smile pulled at the corners of his lips and he forced himself to speak up so they didn't start to worry and ask questions. "I'm fine, just a bit..lost in the past. "

"We can't change what happened and instead of sulking about it, we should focus on the future."

This was forty years in the past, but he was still the same Tobirama.

"I'm not sulking..just..thinking." Hashirama muttered softly, still trying to find his voice.

"Yeah, don't pick on him!"

"I'm not. At least he _is _thinking, unlike the adults."

"Well..they are thinking, aren't they?" Itama questioned, sitting at the edge of the cliff and swinging his legs absentmindedly.

"It doesn't look like it to me." Tobirama scoffed, crossing his arms.

"They think that fighting is the best way to peace, thats all!"

"That isn't the way to do this. If they really want to bring an end to this endless fighting, they need to sit down with one another and reach a truce."

"That's easy to say..but then who will take revenge for all the loved ones we've lost? They'd roll in their graves if we just let bygones be bygones!"

"Keep thinking like that..and we'll be burying you real soon." Tobirama declared roughly, his voice failing to concealing sadness.

It was silent then, all three of the brothers trying to hide their varying inner tormoil. Remorse and regret filled Itama's watery eyes, however Tobirama did not take back his words because he knew them to be the truth. Hashirama felt his own eyes burn as he remembered this conversation and the eventual death of Itama that followed.

"That way of thinking is exactly like the grown-ups. We're in this mess _because _shinobi keep seeking vengeance. What shinobi need to do is form some standard..some code of conduct..only then will all this senseless killing come to an end." Tobirama explained.

Vengeance was a never ending cycle of give and take, one that never brought you to the solution and only kept you stuck in your problems. The only solution Hashirama knew was peace and kindness, but even that had not vanquished deep rooted anguish. But if there was a way, he would find it.

"Someday..we'll form an alliance. We'll be at peace. And..somehow..we'll stop all the hate and vengeance from spreading. I promise." Hashirama insisted, his voice full of confidence despite the disturbance and confusion in himself.

He could never, not even if he lived to be an old, withering man, forget the way they lit up at these words. Their eyes were full of something wonderful, something so lively and pure that couldn't compete with simple awe and shock. He knew this to be hope.

"Is that really possible..?" Itama asked while Tobirama remained silently astounded by the notion of it all.

"Of course! Anything is possible..the adults just don't see it, that's all." Hashirama insisted.

"...It's a bold statement.." Tobirama began, but finally a small, rare expression of happiness spread on his lips, "but possible. We just have to watch out**—**"

"**—**for the Uchiha." he finished. "That's what you were going to say, right?"

"What, you don't agree?"

"They're the same as us..just.." he trailed off, thinking of something Madara once said. "..too proud to allow themselves to be vulnerable."

"And how do _you_ know?" Tobirama questioned suspiciously.

"Oh, well..I was unwillingly sent from the future." he stated with a serious pout.

Both of his brothers' shoulders sagged, but while the older of the two had an extremely defeated look on his face, the youngest giggled softly. Apparently, neither of them believed him. Hashirama was about to try and explain everything that had led up to this turn of events, however stopped short as he realized that maybe it was best to keep it a secret. They probably wouldn't believe him, and if they did it would only scare them. They didn't need to hear about the horrors of his future when he would be making a better one, anyways.

Before either of them could call him out on saying such a weird thing, he stood up on small feet and walked over to his youngest little brother, wrapping his arms tightly around the boy to bring him into a hug. The warmth radiating off his skin was a grim reminder of the icy chill that overtook him as a corpse. Hashirama had to make sure he didn't act too emotional, but it was difficult to remain composed as he squeezed Itama like he was remnants begging to be pushed out from a scrunched up tube of toothpaste.

After a small, calming, and much needed breath he turned his head slightly in the direction of his other brother, a wider grin on his face as he gestured with his hands. "Come over here" he suggested softly when he didn't initially react. He seemed to be thinking and weighing in his options**—**to hug or not to hug**—**but finally Tobirama walked over with a bit of reluctance and awkwardly joined the embrace, wrapping an arm around each brother.

All three enjoyed the peaceful silence, not wanting to ruin it with words, but eventually Itama attempted to pull away because he was getting extremely squished between the two older, bigger boys. Hashirama wouldn't let him. "Hold on" he murmured softly, pulling him closer to enjoy the feel of warmth against warmth before slowly letting go and giving in to the discomfort of the other two. He could feel Tobirama's questioning, curious gaze, but he was more likely to ponder over it on his own instead of asking upfront about it.

"We should go home, you know father hates it when we're out too long." Tobirama suggested, lowering his arms back to his side. Hashirama, however, shook his head in blatant and unquestionable disagreement

"I'm actually gonna go train..words of peace don't really mean much without the power to back it up."

"..are you sure that's a good idea? Father wanted us home by**—**"

"Just tell him I'm training and it'll be fine"

Tobirama gave Hashirama a cautious look before eventually nodding in agreement. "Let's go, Itama."

The moment they disappeared from view his own feet instantly began to carry him in a familiar direction, albeit one he hadn't walked in years, and he greedily took in the sights from this child-like perspective he hadn't had the opportunity to enjoy in quite some time. Everything was taller, brighter, and more lively, both because he was shorter and because the busy life of the village hadn't taken over yet. Hashirama savored every tree that no longer existed, pressing his palm against moist bark and green leaves as he traveled along the unidentified path shared by many creatures. This, he mused, was something he could appreciate much more now then he ever did. The earth was a miraculous thing; he believed it was no coincidence that he developed his mokuton. It was something he felt a connection to, every touch of soil or prickle of vine and thorn was full of beauty. It was peace.

The sounds of rushing water filled his ears, and as he parted through the thinning trees a familiar sight appeared before him. Chilled water splashed against the scattered, sharp rocks, causing ripples to push their way to the edges of the river and cascade against the lush grass. He approached the bank almost cautiously, as if one misstep would destroy the beautiful image, and didn't stop until his toes were nearly touching the water.

His eyes wandered down, searching for something, and when they found it he nearly fell in shock. There he was, his reflection staring back at him from the depths of the water, and he was a boy. He expected it, of course, but seeing it was another thing entirely. The feeling in the pit of his stomach was one of sickness due to the knowledge that this was inherently wrong. It was almost as if living twice, except now he was burdened with the knowledge of his future. His heart squeezed tightly in his chest as he realized what that old women**—**Who was she? How did she know such kind of jutsu?**—**had caused. He would have to live through all of this _again. _Was there a catch? Was her intentions good or bad? He wanted, truly needed, to think they were good. She was giving him an opportunity to change the future... but was that a power he had the right to control?

He knew what came next would be the hardest years of his life. One brother was dead, another was soon to follow. The few moments of happiness by this very river would not come to a complete end, but the ones where his best friend joined him would. They would fight countless, tiring times, and he would slowly lose Madara to hatred.

Things eventually got better, as they always did, but he didn't want to relive this portion of his life just as it had been last time. Despite the joy he had felt when seeing Itama's face for the first time in forty years, it had also pained him to know that he would have to watch his death a second time. It would nearly break his heart. Death was the hardest thing for Hashirama to watch, even harder than betrayal.

He could change it**—**he had already figured out ways to divert the future**—**but should he?

As he pondered this question, his gaze lost focus on the water until he no longer saw himself looking back at his reflection but a face of agony and a burning, never-ending hatred. His skin was paler, haunted by years of anguish, and a crazed look morphed into a mixture of awe and disbelief. Exhausted red eyes transformed to a weak grey as a small, accepting grimace crossed his lips. It was painful to remember the way Madara looked shortly before his death, so vulnerable, yet satisfied, as if he was sick of living and just wanted it all to end.

He never wanted to see such torment again, but if it was for Konoha he would experience it a thousand times. This time, however, preventing it would not harm his village.

A sudden realization left a comfortable, lighter aura around him with an air of certainty; even though his existence in this world was indecent, immorality was not excused. He would do whatever in his power to make this reality a happier one.

Finally reassured, he crouched down and lowered himself on the soft blades of grass, relaxing as he stretched both legs out and dipped his feet into the cold water.

_'This time I'll figure out a way to save my friend, my brother, and my village.'_

Time passed by quickly as he lost himself in thoughts and admired the simple view, but eventually each minute bled into an hour as nightfall approached the darkening sky and he realized just how exhausted he was. And, hours later, he rose to his feet and headed towards the dirt roads, deciding to take the shorter route instead of the scenic. He expected them to be deserted as usual, yet halfway through a happy couple and their two small children came into his view. It was as if the war didn't even exist. Maybe to them, it didn't.

* * *

Tobirama eyed the nearly empty board with fevered, sullen determination, ignoring the taunting of his brother.

_I'd do better against Hashirama at this rate.. _Tobirama thought, selecting a pawn as his next victim.

"You _sure_ you don't wanna forfeit, Tobiiiii?" A smaller hand moved his bishop.

He pinched the bridge of his nose in barely suppressed annoyance. "I'm _sure, _Itama."

"Oh yeah? Well prove it!"

"Prove what? You're not making any sense." This time, it was his last lance.

"Which means I've successfully caught you in my trap." His fingers toyed with a rook.

"What trap?" he questioned incredulously.

"This one!" Itama nearly shouted, placing his piece in the exact spot that left Tobirama's king completely surrounded.

The older senju stared at the shogi board in surprise, playing through the game in his mind to try and find his error. How did get sucked into a trap? He had been sure to triple check every move, analyzing all of his opponent's meaningful responses, and even as he replayed each set of moves he could find nothing he had, logistically speaking, done wrong.

"Itama.." he huffed, a glint of realization shining in his eyes. His little brother was lacking in nearly every aspect of a ninja, save for one. "You performed a genjutsu on me, tricking me into believing that an illegal move on your part was fair, didn't you?"

"..Oops." he stated with a shrug. "Maybe.."

"At least you were smart enough to break it nearly instantly, otherwise I would have noticed." he complimented, crossing his arm. "However, that means you cheated. And _that _is unacceptable."

"The end justifies the means, doesn't it?" he retorted, neatly stacking every tile before placing the piles in the far corner of the board..

"Not always, Itama."

Both brothers looked up at the mildly soft tone in surprise, unsure of what to say.

The silence was as dead as their mother.

Butsuma was naturally stoic and calm with an unrelenting sternness, however these words held meaning and love. He did not mean to say that the war wasn't justified; to him, it was quite obviously the only way. But for a moment, he allowed tenderness to seep into his usually hard expression. He did not _want _his sons to die, he merely accepted it with honor and dignity.

"Even the purest of intentions can lack proper justification. Whether or not you are doing what is right..that is up to fate. "

Tobirama remained quiet not because of how easily angered his father often became, but because for once he—more or less—agreed. Fate..destiny.. these terms were subjective. However, he believed certain things were doomed to happen based on the choices of others and predicting the future outcome was the best way to make your decisions. Good intention or no, if you were doing something life deemed to be wrong, you would find out in the end.

It was neither he or Itama that contradicted these words, neither in mind or body, but the soft scratching of wood against floor and the gentle click of metal. It was the light footsteps that spoke the truth and the developed mind within the little boy that held proof. It was the small, confident smile as he stood nearly chest to chest with his father as if forty years hadn't passed, despite the terrifying height difference that forced him to look high up. Hashirama was young and significantly weaker in body, but in mind he was stronger than ever because of one thing: his nearly tangible purpose.

"It's up to each person to justify their actions, not to fate. Fate only determines whether you've done the right thing. But fate's mind can also be changed, don't you think?"


	3. Chapter 3: War

**A/N: **Firstly, I'd like to sincerely apologize for this chapter coming out a week or so later than planned. I hope none of you were worried that this fic was abandoned, because i definitely have no intention of doing that! There are two legitimate reasons (besides me being lazy) as to why it was late, and that is a. I got distracted by my new rp hashirama blog on tumblr and b. I'm not so good at writing action scenes and wanted to take this slow to make sure it came out alright! Which leads me to my next point that I'd really love some criticism on how the fight scenes went. Anything, good or bad c:

Secondly, I'd like to dedicate this chapter not only to everyone who reviewed and messaged me, but my friend Jortee who constantly encouraged me to write.

And last, but not least.. enjoy!

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Weeks passed by as they often did _— _in a blur. Between the constant training his father was pushing him into and the free time he spent with his brothers, Hashirama never found the opportunity to go searching for Madara. While this was disappointing, the truth was that this training was necessary. Rudimentary basics were not the most interesting thing to practice, but relearning them was the best way to readjust to this body. His mokuton and other high level jutsu could not be used by this weaker body so he would have to rely on, above all else, taijutsu.

It was early morning, the yellow of the sun peaking out through the horizon, and both of his brothers were still sleeping peacefully in their respective beds. Hashirama, however, was wide awake. He could not even dream of rest as apprehension choked him like a thick, suffocating fog. Even if he maintained his typically optimistic thoughts, what he knew would come next was not something he could overlook. This was serious.

"Hashirama, Tobirama, Itama, wake up and prepare for battle!" the furious voice of their father echoed throughout the household at ten minutes past daybreak, anger dripping off of each syllable and shaking the beams that supported the house.

Hashirama was already dressed in his usual battle attire, properly equipped with shuriken and kunai, and out of his room before Butsuma had the chance to come barging in and toss him out. "What is it?" he asked softly, dreading the answer he knew would come.

"The bastard Uchiha are approaching."

"And we are to..?"

"Assist in the battle, what else!?"

Tobirama and Itama scurried out nearly instantaneously, mixmatched hair paired with baggy eyes and the other's narrowed and focused.

"They thought it would be so easy to ambush us.." Tobirama drifted off, shaking his head in disbelief. "Alright, lets go, Hashirama."

"Itama as well!" their father ordered sharply, catching the younger two by surprise. It took a moment for his words to reach Itama, but when they did there was apparent fear, but also determination, in his eyes.

"Father, usually you place him at the_—_" Tobirama intervened.

"I said, Itama as well! Dare you question me at a time like this!?

"Reconsider! We don't need Itama on the battlefield, if he dies he'll be nothing but wasted potential!" Hashirama interrupted, daring to defy Butsuma's wrath at a time like this, while he was boiling and seething with anger.

"You little shit! Are none of you shinobi!?"

"Itama is still a child" Tobirama explained softly, refusing to downcast his eyes as they met with irate dark ones.

"I cannot believe even you, Tobirama, are stupid enough to have this argument _now."_

"Hey..I can do this guys..really!" Itama stated with an attempt of confidence.

"We can't let you take that risk..not you too. Not after what happened with Kawarama."

Hashirama barely got the words out of his mouth before a sharp pain shot through his jaw. Butsuma had put all of his fury into that punch; a common occurrence when he was disobeyed.

"You are spouting absolute _nonsense_! You are men and will _die_ as such if need be!"

Tobirama usually had more sense then to openly agree with Hashirama in front of their father, for defiance only made the situation worse, but the fear for his brother's life left him with no choice.

"Please..father..Hashirama and I would rather not see another sibling die."

Now both brothers stood tall, awaiting whatever punishment the red-faced man decided to give out. But whatever he was going to do next, whether it be scream_, _beat them, or order them around, was interrupted.

"I'd be happy to fight, really. They'll get what's coming to them!"

Everyone turned towards the youngest in the room, the one who had only spoken up only once on the matter as he had been overshadowed by the louder and more determined of the group. Itama was clearly nervous because it would be his first real battle. But aside from that, he truly appeared sure of himself. If his brothers could handle it then surely he would be able to.

"Hmph," their father finally muttered under his breath, turning away from them, "Lets go."

"No!"

Butsuma did not so much as glance in Hashirama's direction.

"Don't worry, brother." Tobirama said softly, noticing the way his hand was clenched and shaking. "We will protect one another."

Hashirama didn't calm down right away, however he realized that there was no possibility of keeping his youngest brother from the battlefield. His father was too stern, too stubborn and stuck in the past to ever see that it was the children, not the war, that was the future. This senseless fighting was only a piece of the past, a speck of dust compared to the vast amounts of time ahead of them. Itama's death would put a hindrance on the glory of the future. So, if he could not prevent his brother from seeing death, he would prevent him from becoming it. Not just he, but Tobirama as well, would protect their last brother. They would not let him out of their sight.

"Alright."

Their silent, skillful footsteps managed to keep their location relatively hidden as they bolted from the house to join the bloody battlefield, following not their father but the smoldering forest and the puffs of smoke vanishing into the morning sky. Their father hurried towards the front of the mass, eager to slay his enemies, while the children headed for the smaller scaled fights and deeper into the shadows.

If they turned to the left, the situation would be even worse. Not because of any current threat, because as far as Hashirama could tell there was none, but because that was where his youngest brother had been ambushed and murdered by several of the Uchiha in this very battle. His nostrils remembered the strong stench of stagnant, potent blood staining the earth while the air had been stale and the atmosphere thick with dread. It was not a scene he wanted to remember, and even less did he want to see it again.

Logistically speaking, they should turn more to the right because Hashirama could easily sense the power fluctuating in the distance, pure hatred taking form of chakra . As men of war, it was their duty to try and take out that threat. But as children, and as an older brother, Hashirama felt more of an obligation to protect his siblings. So there was only one place they could go: straight ahead.

"We have to stay together, alright?" Hashirama questioned, however there was no room for disagreement. This time, they would not be splitting up as they had been taught to. There was nobody in the direct vicinity, however clashes became audible as they ventured further into the abyss of blood lust.

Each tree above shielded the boys from the bright rays of sunlight; its leaves fluttered around and danced with them as pressured steps built on its branches. As each traveling foot pressed into the chipping bark, that which protected them _— _the safety of their territory — chipped away rapidly. Hundreds of chakra presences flickered throughout the battlefield like dust did across the globe. It was only a matter of time until they encountered one, because they were entering the area where battles would be won and lost and, like any other war, many would die.

The sky was dim, covered in smoke filled clouds and hiding the morning sun, shielding it from the raging fires. The trees sizzled and cracked in the distance and the battlefield was set ablaze, burning through whatever it touched as if it were paper. The heat stretched far and wide. It radiated off of every smouldering look of tension and ridged rivalry, any remaining embers of decency swept away by the inferno. But warmth contradicted the coldness inside each fighter's heart and while fire was free, man was trapped in their mindset and ways.

All three brothers could feel the resilient loathing spilling out from both sides of the sea of men, and every time one escaped a brush with death's crashing wave another was later found washed up on the coastline. The salty, stinging taste of fury lodged itself in your throat, forcing you to gurgle and choke just as your boiling blood poured into your half beaten lungs.

Noises that were once in the distance now erupted in their eardrums, the _pop! _and _bam! _of weapons and jutsu sizzling the sound waves as they crashed against one another; instead of focusing on that, Hashirama found himself listening to the sudden, violent gusts of wind that ripped through the forest. The wind, like he, knew the stories of the past, present, and future because it has existed for so long. But it was not soft and gentle, it did not whisper its tale. The gale was like mocking laughter, blowing through the elements as if it were mere air, weightless and invisible. It was in power. It was in control. And it guided what it wished wherever it should go. It guided the burning asphyxiation of flames towards the relentless, sturdy earth which they walked on and allowed the weapons of mankind to whoosh through its air to flood the currents with the deceased.

Hashirama, like the wind, knew there were only suvivors, not winners, in the repulsive abomination known as war. It was sickening and heart wrenching and left too many dead, broken, and buried, lost in the tide of revenge and spitefulness.

Today, in this time of war, the wind chose to be vicious.

They were boys. Boys that had seen injustice, boys that had seen loathing, and boys that had seen death _— _but because they were boys, they could never be true men of war, men that defined what it meant to be vicious. They were strong and determined, but also weak with inexperience. The exception was Hashirama, a true man of war in his mind, but because his body was that of a boy not even he could do more than jump out of the way in a mixture of self-preservation and adrenaline as several shuriken shot through the air. The enemy, filled with murderous intent and overwhelming pride and hatred, followed him and his brothers as they dashed through the trees, luring their opponent until the moment was right to strike back.

Run and dodge, dodge and run. That was the life of a shinobi at war. There was little time to breathe or blink and a moment could easily become your last. While Hashirama threw shuriken at his well-hidden pursuer, in return weapons were hurled by the dozen at Tobirama and, to a lesser extent, Itama. But Itama was young, barely nine years old, and this was his first real battle. He dodged most of the weapons hurled at him, but it was his fear of _not _dodging that eventually caused him to lose focus and trip over his own feet, stumbling over a tree branch and falling to the ground.

That was not to say he fell to his death; any shinboi of even the most basic training knew how to land on his feet. But because Hashirama refused to let his youngest brother fight alone and because Tobirama had better sense then to single himself out, they both followed him, landing with a small thump in front of him and turning to meet their opponent head on as he followed suit.

"Tobirama..is it?"

Itama peered out from behind his brothers and noticed that the Uchiha who caught up to them wasn't much older then they were. He was holding a kunai firmly in his hand, outstretching it as if he would charge offensively at the group any second. Both his brothers had theirs out as well, so he fumbled in his pack to take his out.

"Hm..I knew it was you" Tobirama responded with a gruff voice of acknowledgement.

"You could have stopped running and saved your energy. It's impossible for you to outrun _me_, especially with that deadweight brat you're hiding behind you."

"Hey, I'm not a dead weight! I'll show_—_" he started, trying to push his way to the front with confidence, but instead he was held back by an unusually calm and quiet Hashirama.

"What is this, our third time fighting? Fourth?" he continued, ignoring the interruption. "I'm starting to lose count..you and the dull personalities of your clan kind of just..blend in with one another. "

"You have that same mouth as ever, _Izuna._"

"And you're as boring as ever..probably still as weak, too."

A familiar smirk grew on the white-haired Senju's lips, paired with an arrogance he often found himself possessing while in his recent rival's presence. His grip on his kunai hardened and he leaned closer, ready to strike. "Why don't we find out who's the weak one?"

"Three against one isn't very fair, brother." Hashirama pointed out, stepping forward slightly, however a sudden bang abruptly ended the conversation.

Their bodies reacted before they even knew what has caused the sound, quickly jumping out of the way to avoid the heat that prickled against their skin. They landed on separate branches, all four managing to avoid the raging flames that were likely caused by a deadly explosive that consumed the trees nearby.

Before the Senju were given any time to recuperate, three men in the standard Uchiha robes rushed from behind them and kicked the youngest of the boys, the weakest link, to the other side where fire danced against the edges of brush. Itama's small body crashed into old bark that was lucky enough to escape the inferno for the time being, a breathy hiss in his throat and loud clatter of armor and tree. The older men could not continue their assault, however, because Hashirama stepped in between the oncoming battle protectively. These Uchiha didn't waste time with petty words, instead charging at him with an arrogant smirk and weapons in hand.

The first to approach him from the front wielded a battle scythe, sharpened and stained with the blood of his family, and he charged with silent fury and loathing. Hashirama had few weapons and an even smaller extension of jutsu available to him, however the situation was far from hopeless. He ducked low, easily avoiding the high swing to his head, but the second man thought to use this as an opening and lunged at his back with his katana.

Itama watched as his oldest brother was about to be injured, too frozen in place to do anything. He wanted to help, to jump up and protect Hashirama, but horror held him in place. He wanted to prove himself so badly, but now it was becoming evident just how afraid he was. He was shaking, glued to the ground by his nerves, and the third Uchiha took note of this weakness and charged at him with a kunai, thirsty for the young one's blood.

Simultaneously, two rivals battled among the high tops of the trees: duck under a branch, dodge the weapon, jump out of the way, clash eye to eye, and do it all over again. Where Tobirama shot through every gap, Izuna followed. And where the younger Uchiha dashed out from the shadows, Tobirama would match each footstep without a second thought. They chased one another as if the forest didn't exist and the only thing that lived was their passion for victory.

No one was expecting Hashirama to predict an Uchiha's move like their rare kekkei genkai, so it was no surprise when the blade sunk its teeth into the boy's skin. What did take them off guard, however, was when the body disappeared with a puff of smoke, a wooden log standing in its place.

That snapped Itama out of his panic, running at the enemy with his own kunai. The Uchiha was older and equipped with a much larger frame compared to the younger boy, but Itama did not let that discourage him any longer as he realized he had to do this for the people he loved because that was what they expected of him. He swung with determination and a sense of pride paired with the need to be useful. He wouldn't fail his family any longer.

Their blades crashed, metal against metal, and they both pushed against one another with as much force as they could muster. For a moment, they were at a standstill. But then the Uchiha suddenly relaxed his hold, a gasp passing through his lips and blood gathering at his lower midsection. His scream was silent as his eyes rolled back in his head and when Hashirama removed the kunai he had thrust into his back, he slumped down to the cold ground without so much as a groan.

A victory grin quickly grew on Itama, ready to take down the other two, but in that moment Hashirama's eyes were on the body that lay curled on the ground and not so much as a flicker of a smile was on his face. However, he near instantly recovered and glanced back at the other two who were no longer in a state of confusion and did the only thing he could. He charged.

Hashirama was sight to admire while he fought, even as a kid. He was small, yet every step held a fierceness that influenced his speed and a hidden power from within that unleashed itself when he needed it most. Despite this, he was not perfect. As he fought the remaining two Uchiha alongside his younger brother, sometimes he slipped up. Itama would lunge at the enemy, creating an opening, but Hashirama would fail to make use of it in time. Sometimes he found himself unable to dodge dangerous attacks, and when the Uchiha retaliated by cornering him against the trees, he took a hit to his right shoulder. More often, however, he escaped these situations for two reasons.

The first was simple: he trained day after day. In a couple more weeks he would be more than just accustomed to his size, but pairing the strength he had now with his ability to outsmart most of his opponents made him a dangerous enough threat on the battlefield.

The second was perhaps even more important: Itama. He did not necessarily have enough strength yet to be a full threat, but watching each other's back was convenient enough and gave his youngest brother the experience he needed. Bit by bit, Hashirama could see him improving in this skirmish alone. As they moved from branch to branch, dodging and landing strikes back and forth, Itama's agility increased. When blades collided time and time again, Itama became stronger. And every time Itama reacted, his decisions became quicker. He had many marks to prove that he was weaker, but every breath that filled his tired lungs proved that he was learning. And if learning would keep him alive, Hashirama would do his best to allow him that privilege.

They were separated momentarily, drawing out the chase until the moment was right to lunge forward with all their might, when Hashirama crossed paths with Tobirama. He was fighting just as fiercely, however their difference lay in just how obvious it was that his aim was to kill. Even if his hands would tremble, even his eyes would drift away, and even if this murder would haunt him for many years to come, he was fully prepared to do it.

He was also prepared to die for the good of his clan, but that was unlikely to happen. Tobirama didn't plan on giving up so easily.

One Uchiha was after Hashirama, his katana overpowering the Senju and pushing him into defense. The Uchiha swiped his feet under, attempting to knock the other to the ground. That didn't work. But a quick punch to the jaw did land, momentarily knocking the wind out of the kid. When he recovered, it was a violent fight full of jumping, weaving, and heavy kicks and punches that threatened to break limbs.

A jab to the neck brought one of them down.

Meanwhile, the other Uchiha was doing what again was the wisest choice in battle, gaining up on the most fragile of the group. Morality wasn't considered, not when so many of their clansman lay six feet under because of Senju. To them, the Senju were nothing more than pray and they were the hunters. His faces scrunched up, the corner of their lips pulling upwards as he taunted Itama, calling him out on cowardice. Itama responded not with words, but with involuntary pride as he charged at them, willing to do just about anything to prove himself. They toyed with him, believing that by the time help came he would be dead and tossed to the side like a broken rag doll.

"Little runt," one of the Uchiha taunted, luring him further into demise. "Weak, pathetic senju bastard," he paused for a moment before continuing, "How does it feel to know half of your sorry excuse for a clan is paying for what they've done by serving their time in hell."

"Don't talk about us as if you know us!" Itama shouted, throwing his kunai towards the enemy in anger only to have him deflect it by the edge of his scythe. And that was when it became serious.

"Tch, shut up you brat. At least put up a little more of a challenge." he hissed in response, retaliating with force and swinging his weapon with full intent on beheading the child. But the sneaky bastard dodged, so he had to resort to kicking him straight in the gut. It worked. His next move was quick, easy. All he had to do was run up to the little brat and chop his head off.

It was in that fraction of a second as his head was about to be severed, when the man was at his closest, that Itama noticed the smallest things about him. He was tall for his age, couldn't be more than a year or two older than Tobirama, and he had the lightest eyes he had ever seen on an Uchiha. His hair was short, also lighter than most, yet he wore it up. It was shaggy, awkward for the shape of his face. He wore the traditional robes of his clan, yet they were too big for his build, too baggy for a shinobi to risk wearing. And in his eyes lingered some sort of torment and anguish that Itama could only take advantage of, not understand. It was because of this pain that he was unstable, irrational, and it was how Itama escaped in that fraction of a second, ducking low and barely missing the blade that threatened to sever his head.

Meawhile, Tobirama and Izuna fought against each other with equal power. Every clash was equal, every injury reciprocated. But while Izuna was angry, Tobirama was calm. They were playing a game of cat and mouse and, like the usual story went, the cat would win. Tobirama was indeed the cat, jumping around with a delicate speed that he prided himself in having, and Izuna was the arrogant mouse who truly believed _he _would win.

They jumped around a bit more, a combination of jutsu and weapons flying through the air, when Tobirama was given his opportunity. Izuna had jumped down from the tree branches, running across messy dirt and hoping to escape, when instead he found a barrier of fire burning up the trees around him. Tobirama had the dark haired, slender, and mischievous Uchiha nearly cornered from all sides, unable to escape or keep up with the Senju's quickness. All it would take was one more shot; if he threw his kunai right now, if his aim didn't falter, the damage done could lead to a fatal wound.

Izuna watched the next few seconds unfold as if time was warped. Every second felt like an eternity.

Kunai bombarded him. All he could do was run as fast as possible, kicking up more dirt in the process to try and hide himself. But he saw it, saw as one particular kunai penetrated the cloudy grime that shielded him from view, saw as the blade gleamed at the prospect of meeting his flesh, and saw as the point of the sharpest edge lunged straight towards his chest. He saw it, yet he couldn't dodge it. He tensed, but otherwise watched and waited for what could be his death, his teeth clenched tightly, hands held out defensively, and eyes narrowed.

"No!"

He heard the voice, felt the swoosh of air that brushed against his skin and sensed an all too familiar presence. It was a chakra he would recognize anywhere, a chakra he always admired and strived to match. It belonged to the person he cared most about in this world, the person he would gladly die for because this person had always, _always _shown him love when no one else did.

Dust slowly fell back to the earth, revealing to Tobirama what he already knew had happened.

Izuna blinked the debris out of his eyes, finding himself uninjured and as alive as he had been before he left for the battle. And he knew why, of course. It always seemed to be his brother that saved him.

He looked at the back in front of him, from the ninja sandals he wore, to the pants and bandages on his legs, and up to the battle armor_—_

_Battle armor!?_

It was not his older brother who stood only a foot or two away, not Madara who held his hands out protectively. It was a Senju who was no doubt sadistic in his intentions. It wasn't only infuriating to be treated with such little respect, but also humiliating. How dare they mock him and his family name by going as far as to get in the way of a battle just to steal the kill. Did they think so lowly of the Uchiha? Did that disgustingly twisted and traitorous clan think that _they, _the superior race of shinobi, would stand for such atrocity?

And then he noticed his only brother left, the one who he knew had come (unnecessarily, of course) for him. He was the one who had jumped in Izuna's battle to protect him, not the Senju; he was the one only a few feet from their enemy, the final weapon that had been headed straight for him in his brothers sturdy hands.

Izuna watched with stubborn eyes, yet he waited almost impatiently as Madara turned around to look back and check up on him. He wanted to shout across the field, tell his older brother that he didn't need protecting, or perhaps look away and pretend like he hadn't been in danger, or maybe, _maybe _even give a quick thank you because surely he would have been hurt if Madara had not stepped in the way and that was something that they as brothers were not only expected, but glad to do. Or, as logic whispered in his ear, it would be best to simply save the words for later and kill these two inferior children who were not even worth fighting. He would be reassured of the answer once their eyes met, once two tired gray eyes connected only to turn away and sneer at the pathetic lot they had to take down. He craved the guidance, would even be willing to admit so when they were alone, and so as the muscles in Madara's neck tensed Izuna a took a battle stance, ready to hear out the gleam in his eyes. He saw the flicker of something as they met gazes, and he saw that passion, for a moment believing it meant time to strike. But then he noticed that the deep set charcoal lit up with flames that burned in his direction, but no longer at him.

Madara clutched the kunai firmly, eyes widened and locked onto the person between he and Izuna.

"Get away from my little brother."

* * *

_It was a jab to neck, thats all. Nothing more, nothing less. Battle was like that; One hit could be your end. It wasn't nearly as dramatic as in the tales he used to hear. But he wasn't dead, no, his opponent had given him mercy. But was it really mercy, to know you've failed? To know that everything you've worked for was tossed in the trash, treated like nothing, pushed away and shoved to the side. He was meant to be dead, should be dead, and yet he had been spared. Why? _

_"Why?" He had asked, no, pleaded. "I'm..an.." Why..why..why?_

_"You are **not **your namesake. You are a person, one with individuality and a personality, one who believes in some things and not in others. This is a war for nothing if it is only fought because of the family name you were born with. You are not just 'Uchiha', you are 'human'."_

* * *

The ache of decades consumed the words that reached his ears, but it was those dark eyes, familiar yet from a time so long ago, that made Hashirama's entire body freeze for an instant. His face was awe stricken, skin slacken and lips parted slightly. The breath in his lungs was stagnant and sickly for the longest second, eventually rushing through desperately. But his eyes could not pull away, a magnetic pull, a string of fate, their thread of destiny.. all three tied them together and..and_—_

How long had it been? How long since they first met by the river? How long since they called for a truce?

How long since he killed Madara?

But then he remembered this was a different time, a different world, and it would have different outcomes. He shouldn't worry.

"..I wasn't going to hurt him." he assured, his battle stance slipping into a more casual, yet equally dangerous, posture.

"Tch, obviously. You think I'd let you?"

Tobirama was the only one who seemed even the least bit sensible. Why in the _world _would Hashirama try to stop his attack and then go as far as to chat with the Uchiha like they were at dinner?

"You're lucky to still be alive, Izuna."

A snort could be heard, an obnoxious, cocky one that begged to be acknowledged, and the younger Uchiha took several wily steps toward Tobirama until his shoulder nearly brushed against Madara's.

"Luck had nothing to do with it," he scoffed, a hand reaching for his hip in a childish pose. "I could have easily dodged that stupid attack."

"You shouldn't be so ungrateful.."

"Tobirama.." Hashirama cut in, just as Izuna charged for his enemy with a scowl that pulled at his upper lip. But it was a failed attempt, not because he was slow, but because someone stepped in.

"Izuna, wait!"

All heads turned to the voice that spoke, the boy with spiky hair and a voice that demanded attention, and Madara ordered something next that took them all a bit off guard, save for Hashirama who watched the tiniest bit of admiration.

"They're not worth our time"

Izuna's expression twisted, taken aback by the suggestion. His brother _never _backed down from a battle.

"What are talking about!? We can do this easily.."

"Of course we can" he agreed, a smirk making its way onto his features. "But our job here is done..and training more before you take them on couldn't hurt. Lets just get out of here."

The smallest of smiles appeared on Hashirama's lips, eyes dancing with a faint glimmer of the past.

"Hmph, retreating is stupid! But if they've completed the mission.."

"C'mon."

Izuna marched off behind his brother, turning once to glare at Tobirama. In that very same seconds, the eyes of two friends met once more; one was still stuck in wonderful astonishment and the other a conflicted confusion. Madara's eyes swam with a battle hunger and a need to protect, yet underneath it lay something deeper. It was something Hashirama already found himself exploring as if he had been doing so every day, but also something he did not have the time to discover before the two Uchiha left.

It was near silent then, the crackling and fizzing of dying fire the only echo in his ears. A simple suiton took care of what lingered, but just as the quiet truly began, Tobirama spoke up.

"Where is Itama?"

"He's alright.. I found him before I got here. He ran off with several of our clansmen to help out..and the battle was nearing it's end. Now its over.."

"And why did you come here instead of joining Itama?"

"You were alone and in more danger.. and Itama wasn't."

"I wasn't the one who was about to end up with a gash in their abdomen. You shouldn't have jumped in like that! Do you honestly think _they _would spare one of us?"

Hashirama paused.

"They just did."

"..."

"They just willingly left the battlefield although they could have continued fighting."

"But we would have had the upper hand. "

That was undeniably true. The medic in him noticed that Izuna had greatly favored his left leg and that Madara was dizzy and bleeding slightly from the head. The compassion in him, however noticed that Madara's decision had been more than just a retreat.

"We're not that different from them," he stated with certainty. "Don't you still want peace?"

"Of course! The adults_—_"

"No..."

The two brothers stared at each other for a long moment.

"It isn't the adults who need to sign a peace treaty. Its _us."_

Tobirama was at a loss for words.

"Now..we should join up with the others."

They did as Hashirama suggested, running off in the direction of their home. Each movement was heavier than it had been on the way here, as if lead tugged them down into the depths of hell, and no sort of victory could lift that weight entirely. You cannot ever win a war.

They eventually arrived at the small, hidden quarters at the outskirts of the forest and searched for the familiar sight of their youngest brother. Hashirama needed to find him, needed his eyes to land on that small form with mismatched hair, because he needed that reassurance that he had managed to keep Itama alive this time. He needed that step in the direction to assure him that what he was doing was right. But what he saw was unexpected.

Hashirama ran quicker then, followed behind a slightly confused Tobirama, and together they landed beside an older man who had one hand firmly placed on the shoulder of a crying boy - of _their _crying brother.

"What's going on?" Tobirama asked patiently, waiting for an answer that Hashirama expected to be simple. Surely he would say that the nerves had gotten to him, or that he was simply overwhelmed by his first battle. But it was not even he, instead the man Hashirama identified to be their distant uncle, who spoke.

"Your father is dead."


End file.
