Chapter Text
Five minutes, fourteen seconds.
Madara had hardly slept the night before. It was, perhaps, a foolish act; he knew they were going to be facing against the Senju today- not a fact, but a feeling he had grown to trust well, that had been plaguing him since he was a child, after their father decided they were old enough to be in the fighting.
(Though, in Tajima’s defense, no children could be considered children after a certain point, and Izuna and Madara had been learning how to handle weapons since they could stand.)
He had spent a long time the night before oiling the wood of his gunbai, despite it not needing the attention. He felt that something was going to go wrong, but he couldn’t figure out what . It made him stressed, it made him sloppy. He had this feeling- this inevitable, unavoidable sense, that he was going to lose something important to him. Very, very few things made that list, and the few Madara worried for, he could not protect.
three minutes, forty-five seconds.
Not without it seeming like a slight against them. To call an early retreat for his clansmen, to demand Izuna stay off the battlefield, to refuse to bring his gunbai out with him- none of it would work.
(It was always going to end the way it did.)
When the Senju met them on the ground, Madara was as ready as he could be. He was heavy with exhaustion, but it would not be enough to keep him from focusing on his fight, and trying his hardest to keep an eye on Izuna.
(How was he supposed to know what would happen when he looked away?)
One minute, ten seconds.
Hashirama had tried to bring up his plea for peace yet again. How the man could talk so much and still fight was a mystery to Madara- he preferred the sound of fighting over talking, and especially so when he was already on edge, already preparing for something- something - that was going to go wrong. And yet Hashirama kept pushing, kept drawing his attention from Tobirama and Izuna’s fight. His answers were short, weary and sharp. There was nothing he really wanted more than to keep Izuna and his clan safe, but it had been far too long for their generation to become friends, and Hashirama needed to understand that.
Madara isn’t sure when it happened. He had turned to Hashirama yet again to fire off a snap. “ You know that isn’t possible, Hashirama ,” to the Senju’s boundless confidence that it could occur, and when he looked back he caught the act of Tobirama driving a sword through his brother.
Seventeen seconds.
The world freezes.
(It was always going to end like this.)
Izuna doesn’t make a sound that Madara can hear, but Madara can’t even hear the fighting around them anymore. His entire attention is on the sliver of silver metal coming out of Izuna’s back, the expression on his little brother’s face.
I’m going to be your protector .
Izuna’s eyes meet Madara's, and Madara is already on the move; leaving a small crater with the force he had used behind his step to move faster, as if he could rewind time and stop the action, if he were just fast enough.
Izuna’s skin was slick with blood and sweat.
“Hold on, okay, Izuna? Just hold on. You’ll be okay.”
Izuna had fallen limp against him some time ago, but Madara could still feel his breathing against his back. Unconscious- from blood loss, probably- but Madara didn’t want to think about that. Couldn’t think about that. He had to get Izuna back. He had to get Izuna to safety.
How could he have let Tobirama do that to Izuna? How could he not see it? How could Izuna not see it? Izuna had already been falling when he had arrived to catch him, and his sleeve slicked with blood fast enough that Madara felt the cold ball of panic spread enough to choke him.
He would be okay. Izuna would be okay. Izuna had to be okay . If he wasn’t, if he wasn’t -
He had to be. Madara pushed himself harder, lungs and legs straining as he shot off tree branches and trunks, leaving behind marks and scuffs that on any other day Izuna would have laughed and scolded him for, but Izuna was still, was quiet. Was only breathing against Madara’s back.
None of the healers on the battlefield would have been able to do anything. Tobirama’s sword had gone clean through Izuna’s lower left stomach, and then the bastard had pulled it out. He had seen that- he had caught that, and it was replaying, over and over again.
The stab, the draw back, Izuna stumbling, and then collapsing into his arm. Stab, draw back, stumble, collapse. Pounding a beat that matched his running, no matter how fast he pushed himself.
Stab. Draw back. Stumble. Collapse. Stab. Draw back. Stumble. Collapse. Stab-
Madara slammed into the courtyard, stumbling over his own feet.
“AUNTY!”
His voice cracked, and instead of the roar he was going for it came out more like a pained cry, like he was injured, not Izuna.
“Madara-sama? Mada- Madara-sama, you need to let Izuna go-”
“No-!”
“We can’t help him if you hold onto him! We need to see the wound! You have to let us take him-”
Madara wanted to scream. Hands tugged Izuna gently from his back, and another pair tugged at the armor, stripping it off his chest, and then his top- Madara realized he was still soaked in Izuna’s blood, and he couldn’t get the clothes off fast enough.
“This way,” a soft voice said, and Madara let them lead him- no one he recognized, but he didn’t care right then- handing him a soft, worn yukata to slip on, and Madara did so silently, robotically. Noise was muted, and he couldn’t hear his own footsteps, or that of the woman now leading him to the room they had taken Izuna to.
Cloths were scattered about, soaked through with blood, and more were being called for- hot water, salt. Izuna still wasn’t awake, and his skin was nearly gray , and Madara felt his heart drop to his stomach.
No. No - Izuna had to be okay. He had to be . If he wasn’t, then it meant he had failed. It meant he hadn’t been successful in protecting his little brother.
It meant he was alone .