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The little girl held her arms out wide, alluring him to come closer. He felt his own feet move underneath him and a faint voice in the back of his head told him that if he kept walking he would fall over the edge but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. There was a child in need, he couldn’t just ignore that, it wasn’t in his nature.
Suddenly everything went dark, it was like he had been kicked out of his body. When he came to, he was standing in front of his apartment door. There was a blue sticky note stuck to it at eye level, it read:
“Don’t go getting yourself killed”
Hashirama was confused but he figured, perhaps this was a one time thing. Maybe he was dreaming and he would just wake up in the morning again and everything would be fine.
He had been wrong.
The next time, the oldest of his younger brothers stood before him. He wanted to run to him but he was in some kind of trance and was unable to control his own body. He started to understand what that sticky note he found on his door several days again had meant.
Something was trying to kill him. Something that he was unable to combat.
The closer he looked the more he realised that something was wrong. He knew that wasn’t Kawarama was dead, long dead at that. There was no possible way for him to be alive and standing in front of him but his feet kept moving, drawing him closer and closer to the edge. He was unable to panic in his tranced state, he could only feel a vague sense of acceptance. He was going to die and be with his brothers once more.
He closed his eyes and when he opened them, he was once again standing in front of his apartment door. A new sticky note took place of the old one, it read:
“Are you stupid or something?”
Hashirama’s mouth fell open in the absolute bafflement of whoever it was leaving him these notes. He had mulled over the idea before, perhaps it was a guardian angel but would a guardian angel really be so bashful? He didn’t think they would. But before he had never thought ghosts of his past would try and lead him to death so maybe the idea wasn’t so crazy.
He plucked the sticky note off the door as he unlocked it and went inside. He was entirely unsure of the situation but started to think that maybe he doesn’t need to worry too much because he seems to have someone looking out for him.
The ghosts decided to start expanding on their attempt. This time, he wasn’t on the top of a building. No, this time he was about to walk into on coming traffic.
The ghost of his second youngest brother stood in the middle, cars drove straight through but Hashirama could help but feel his stomach drop each time a car drove by. They warped his figure but each time he fixed himself back up again before the next car drove by. The way he moved in the wind was like smoke, like the ripple on a calm lake. It made Hashirama feel uneasy, the most he had been able to feel any of the times he had been in whatever trance the ghosts had put him in.
People on the side walk bumped into him, he could hear them yelling but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. He wanted to apologise, tell them he wasn’t in his right mind.
Suddenly there was a hand on his wrist, they pulled him back so aggressively that he seemed to be able to shake himself out of it. Had it really been that simple the whole time? Hashirama felt a slight wave of anguish wash over him at his own uselessness.
“Sorry, you wouldn’t let me in that time,” the person holding his wrist had said.
Hashirama screwed up his eyebrows in confusion, unsure of what the person meant. Before he could ask them, the hand dropped away and they had an expression that mirrored his own. They muttered an apology and were on their way.
He spared a glance in the direction Itama had been moments prior and found nothing there. Part of him was disappointed, he missed his brothers dearly and even if their ghosts sullied their name and good reputation, he had liked seeing them.
Hashirama turned to walk back home, his mind too preoccupied with trying to figure out just what the hell was going on to remember what he had even left the house for originally.
When he returned, there was no sticky note on his door. He frowned at this, he hoped his guardian angel was okay.
He was starting to get sick of it. He really was. The ghost in front of him this time was that of his father. He had a complicated relationship with the man but he knew he wouldn’t have died for him like he would’ve for the others so he was slightly infuriated —as infuriated as this state would let him be— at the thought of dying some foolish death for his fathers ghost.
He heard a voice behind which was strange because no one else ever came up here, it was his secret space to go in order to clear his head. The voice repeated whatever it was saying, over and over and over, never letting up until eventually Hashirama could make it out.
“Do you want to die?”
No! Hashirama wanted to respond but he couldn’t, still trapped in the trance but he realised he had stopped walking. His feet had come to a halt beneath him and he hadn’t even realised.
“I’ve never seen anyone fall into this trap as much as you have,” the voice behind him spoke up again.
The voice sounded painfully familiar.
The ghost in front of him drifted away like smoke in the air. The trance was broken. He took his chance and abruptly turned around in an attempt to see who this mystery person was but there was no one there. Had he made this person up? Was the voice not real? But it was right there, he was sure of it.
He decided he should stop going on roofs, though it was probably three too late. It probably wouldn’t do him much good either, he was aware the ghosts had other methods, he had experienced one after all.
He made his way down the stairs to his floor. He stood outside his apartment door for a few seconds, processing his disappointment at the once again lack of a sticky note with some kind of snarky message. He pulled the heavy door open and a flash of blue caught his eye further in the apartment. He hastily toed off his shoes and rushed to the table, on top of it, a blue sticky note sat. It read:
“You’re starting to get the hang of it, soon you won’t even need me.”
Hashirama frowned at it. Were guardian angels just supposed to leave?
Whoever put the ghosts up to this game was sick. In front of Hashirama stood his late boyfriend, Madara Uchiha. He wanted to throw up in his guilt and anger. It was a funny thing really, how the past always seems out to get you.
It had been his fault Madara died and he was standing right in front of him about to lure him to his death.
But it was strange, they were inside Hashirama’s apartment with no easy ways to drive him to suicide. He also didn’t feel like he was under the trance the same way he was with the others. Perhaps his guardian angel had been right, maybe he was getting the hang of it.
“Hey,” Madara spoke softly, it wasn’t like him but then again he supposed death would change a person.
Hashirama couldn’t look at him, he kept his eyes trained on the loops in the carpet between them. He had always felt responsible for Madara’s death, suicide it had been ruled as. They had a fight the day before it happened and he had chosen to ignore every call, every text, every time he knocked on his door begging him to come out. Hashirama had been incredibly childish and it came to bite him in the butt.
“It wasn’t your fault,” the thing spoke again.
Hashirama’s eyes snapped up to look at it. It rippled in a way that made him uncomfortable, made it all the more obvious that this thing was human, wasn’t Madara. His eyes began to sting with tears.
“You don’t know a damn thing!” Hashirama snapped, the tears started to flow down his face like little rivers of regret.
It flinched at his harsh words. Its expression turned into something of understanding and it started to close the space between them. Its legs looked like a mirage in sand, it was like it was glitching, like it wasn’t supposed to be in this reality. It probably wasn’t.
“The same thing happened to me.”
Hashirama stared at it in confusion, it would need to elaborate more than that.
“A ghost of my brother, of Izuna. It lured me to the edge,” he continued.
There was no way.
“wouldn’t you of had a guardian angel?”
He laughed. It sounded like Madara and something flipped in his gut. He felt like throwing up.
“I’d hardly call myself a guardian angel but I’m flattered,” his expression turned serious, “I refused to pass over so I could keep an eye on and make sure that you were safe. It’s a good thing that I did or you would’ve died.”
“Why’d you choose to reveal yourself now?” Hashirama asked, swallowing down the bile in his throat.
Madara’s expression turned sad and his eyes drifted towards the bedroom window rather than watching Hashirama closely like he had been the whole time since he died.
“I think… I think I’m ready to leave now.”
“What?” Hashirama’s voice was hoarse and it felt like the word had been ripped from his throat by the man —ghost— in front of him.
“You’re able to take care of yourself now, I don’t have to worry about you joining me any time soon.”
“No,” he said weakly, “please don’t leave me again,” his voice broke when a hiccup pushed its way up his throat.
That was the thing that pushed him over the edge. It was like a dam broke and his tears burnt hot down the cool skin of his face. He sounded pitiful and Madara looked at him as such. The sounds he made were far from dignified but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
“I only came to say goodbye, we never got to do that last time.”
That was the last thing Madara said before he turned away and walked through the open bedroom door, he drifted away before he made it through.
Hashirama didn’t sleep that night. He stayed up scrolling through old pictures of them on his phone, he would laugh and smile and sob in response to each one.
He started to visit Madara’s grave more often, he had avoided it out of guilt before. He had felt as though he wasn’t allowed to visit but now he knew the truth he couldn’t help but feel bad that he had been keeping himself away for no reason at all. He was sure it would’ve felt worse for Madara.
Slowly but surely, the world around him began to fill with colours again. He would smile and chat with people on the streets, just as he had before Madara’s passing. He remembered his favourite foods and movies and they brought him the same enjoyment that they once had before, though sometimes he cried at the thought of it.
The world began to make sense again even without Madara in it, though he would always keep a spot open for him just in case he ever came back.