Fic: As Children [Madara-centric]
Title: “As Children”
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: PG
Timeline: chapter 459 (spoilers)
Summary: Madara looks at Naruto and sees someone else.
Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to Kishimoto Masashi.
A/N: This overly emotional act of beating the air is deliberately confusing and choppy. Read at your own risk. XD
AS CHILDREN
The heart is as silent as a fish, however much the tongue tries to give it a voice.
Cornelia Funke. ‘Inkspell’
He can see yellow, blinding like summer sun. In a way, they both bring summer: the older, dead one did it by raising exuberant forests; the younger, living child does it by simply shaking his head and smiling with his bluest eyes and his chapped lips.
Madara watches. Listens to the loud, boyish voice; remembers another voice, calm and gentle, whispering dreams into his ear. Remembers the touch: the mild pat on the shoulder from years ago and the furious stroke that he cannot feel because it passes straight through his body.
The boy looks so different. Acts so different. But it’s the words that do it. That, and the pained look in his eyes. Simply a glance, and Senju Hashirama comes alive - and pleads, and threatens, and argues, and laughs at him. Madara hates it.
He thinks back on Sasuke, the descendant of his cursed line. So vicious, so desperate, fighting not to win but to destroy.
Sasuke is the spitting image of Madara when he was younger. The same pale skin, the same messy hair, the same angry, lonely eyes. He sees the world with unparalleled clarity now. Madara knows what that feels like. He used to be like that too, burning, seething with venom, screaming silently in pain, cutting, slashing, scorching - to drown out his own suffering. The death of Izuna. The betrayal of his people. To Sasuke, it’s all the same.
What matters most is that Sasuke does not hesitate. Madara almost pities Naruto. His faith in his friend is remarkable, but misplaced. No memories cloud Sasuke’s mind, no remorse gnaws at his soul. He is strong in his determination, even stronger than Madara has ever been.
It would be a pleasure to watch Naruto lose his shine, disintegrate in the chakra of the beast sealed inside him. No more summer. No more emotions. Just dizzying, overwhelming, empty freedom.
The boy lies on the floor, shivering from cold and something else Madara has no name for. He wonders what Sasuke would do if he were here. Drive a sword through his heart? Walk past him as if Naruto is but a ghost of his meaningless past?
Madara doesn’t dare touch the body oozing the familiar red chakra. Sasuke, the boy whispers, the name flying out of his mouth in a puff of steam. Madara doesn’t know if it’s funny or sad: the brat is still clinging to false hopes.
If Sasuke were here, Naruto would get up this instant. He would strain his voice, he would bloody his fists-
Like that day, shortly after the conclusion of the armistice, when they met in the woods and Hashirama asked him why he had accepted the proposition of the Senju clan. Madara had never made a secret out of his contempt for this idea, but he refused to sink any lower in Hashirama’s eyes by admitting it had happened under the pressure of his clan.
“I wanted to see how this circus of yours would function,” Madara replied. “The one you call a ninja alliance.”
Hashirama merely smiled.
“I was thinking of offering our service to the Daimyou of some country. Fire, perhaps? They all seek to strengthen themselves now, and we need a stable camp. We can’t continue roaming the enemy territories.”
“So what’s the plan? Dupe the Daimyou and take his place? That’s pretty ambitious even for you. Not to mention, foolish.”
“Of course not!” Hashirama laughed. “I don’t want to rule a country. I was thinking more along the lines of a permanent engagement. We fight only for them, they pay us, we live happily ever after.”
“That will not eradicate wars, do you understand that?”
“It will not. But if everyone follows our example, wars will take place only between shinobi. There will be no armies, only ninja squadrons. Civilians won’t have to be sacrificed anymore. We will fight small-scale wars. That sounds like the first step to actual peace.”
Peace. Madara tries the word on the tip of his tongue. Senju Hashirama was obsessed with peace. Mind you, he was realistic; he never hoped to eliminate war completely. But he was a dreamer too, the greatest dreamer Madara had ever encountered - and he had that bloody gift to forge his dreams into reality. He would speak about it, and it would seem so damn real.
Had Madara known back then that the cursed blood of Rikudou Sennin’s belligerent sons ran through their veins, he would have done a better job trying to kill Hashirama. But no; it seemed then like something personal, something that transcended destiny - but destiny is a cold-blooded bitch that plays cruel jokes to anyone who tries to deny its power over their life.
In the end, Sasuke and Naruto, much like Madara and Hashirama, are nothing more than fate’s playthings. What a joke.
-and Naruto would try to preach Sasuke the same ideals. Peace.
Madara tries to imagine their previous fights. Ardent, bone-crashing, accompanied by pledges and insults - like all those times when he and Hashirama clashed in the forest, in the snow, in the steppe, anywhere, just to satisfy their craving for each other’s blood. Perhaps, it wasn’t just that. Perhaps, it was the contact, all those blows delivered by their fists, all those ninjutsu attacks, so familiar that they left a thick aftertaste in their mouths. It was the language they spoke to each other; it was the only form of intimacy they could allow each other, and they missed it, and they would always come back for more. Hashirama tried; heaven knows he tried to change things between them, to be friends. But the choice was never theirs to make.
Naruto doesn’t understand that. He lies on the floor in a poorly heated hotel in the Iron Country and racks his brain over how to make Sasuke his friend again. So foolish. So utterly Senju.
Their last fight was nothing like the countless ones before. Cold, wordless, grave, it sped them on their way to the end. It was pain beyond imagination, the Kyuubi snarling, blood foaming in its mouth, trees sprouting everywhere, clutching Madara and his demonic ally in a vice. And it was death.
It will be death for these two as well. Madara knows he should bet on Sasuke, but Naruto has guts and determination and that blasted Will of Fire and love, love, love, too much love for one person to contain.
He wonders if Hashirama loved him. If he cried when he drove his blade into Madara’s body. Oddly enough, Madara cannot remember now. But he dares hope.
And if Sasuke succeeds… If he kills Naruto and frees the Kyuubi, will he suffer? Will he hate life even more?
Madara had to give up his precious right to claim Hashirama’s life. Hashirama died on battlefield, years after Madara’s ‘demise’, alone, cut down by somebody else’s hand. Madara learnt of that much later.
He searches his memories now, too dim after all these years, hoping to recollect any feelings stirred by that news.
There is nothing. True pain always feels like nothing.
He looks into the future and sees darkness. They will fall, each and every one of them, but he shall remain. Alone. As always. For a moment, he doubts if it’s worth it since Hashirama won’t be there to see it. And neither will Naruto.
He clenches his teeth beneath the mask and makes his move.
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: PG
Timeline: chapter 459 (spoilers)
Summary: Madara looks at Naruto and sees someone else.
Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to Kishimoto Masashi.
A/N: This overly emotional act of beating the air is deliberately confusing and choppy. Read at your own risk. XD
AS CHILDREN
The heart is as silent as a fish, however much the tongue tries to give it a voice.
Cornelia Funke. ‘Inkspell’
He can see yellow, blinding like summer sun. In a way, they both bring summer: the older, dead one did it by raising exuberant forests; the younger, living child does it by simply shaking his head and smiling with his bluest eyes and his chapped lips.
Madara watches. Listens to the loud, boyish voice; remembers another voice, calm and gentle, whispering dreams into his ear. Remembers the touch: the mild pat on the shoulder from years ago and the furious stroke that he cannot feel because it passes straight through his body.
The boy looks so different. Acts so different. But it’s the words that do it. That, and the pained look in his eyes. Simply a glance, and Senju Hashirama comes alive - and pleads, and threatens, and argues, and laughs at him. Madara hates it.
He thinks back on Sasuke, the descendant of his cursed line. So vicious, so desperate, fighting not to win but to destroy.
Sasuke is the spitting image of Madara when he was younger. The same pale skin, the same messy hair, the same angry, lonely eyes. He sees the world with unparalleled clarity now. Madara knows what that feels like. He used to be like that too, burning, seething with venom, screaming silently in pain, cutting, slashing, scorching - to drown out his own suffering. The death of Izuna. The betrayal of his people. To Sasuke, it’s all the same.
What matters most is that Sasuke does not hesitate. Madara almost pities Naruto. His faith in his friend is remarkable, but misplaced. No memories cloud Sasuke’s mind, no remorse gnaws at his soul. He is strong in his determination, even stronger than Madara has ever been.
It would be a pleasure to watch Naruto lose his shine, disintegrate in the chakra of the beast sealed inside him. No more summer. No more emotions. Just dizzying, overwhelming, empty freedom.
The boy lies on the floor, shivering from cold and something else Madara has no name for. He wonders what Sasuke would do if he were here. Drive a sword through his heart? Walk past him as if Naruto is but a ghost of his meaningless past?
Madara doesn’t dare touch the body oozing the familiar red chakra. Sasuke, the boy whispers, the name flying out of his mouth in a puff of steam. Madara doesn’t know if it’s funny or sad: the brat is still clinging to false hopes.
If Sasuke were here, Naruto would get up this instant. He would strain his voice, he would bloody his fists-
Like that day, shortly after the conclusion of the armistice, when they met in the woods and Hashirama asked him why he had accepted the proposition of the Senju clan. Madara had never made a secret out of his contempt for this idea, but he refused to sink any lower in Hashirama’s eyes by admitting it had happened under the pressure of his clan.
“I wanted to see how this circus of yours would function,” Madara replied. “The one you call a ninja alliance.”
Hashirama merely smiled.
“I was thinking of offering our service to the Daimyou of some country. Fire, perhaps? They all seek to strengthen themselves now, and we need a stable camp. We can’t continue roaming the enemy territories.”
“So what’s the plan? Dupe the Daimyou and take his place? That’s pretty ambitious even for you. Not to mention, foolish.”
“Of course not!” Hashirama laughed. “I don’t want to rule a country. I was thinking more along the lines of a permanent engagement. We fight only for them, they pay us, we live happily ever after.”
“That will not eradicate wars, do you understand that?”
“It will not. But if everyone follows our example, wars will take place only between shinobi. There will be no armies, only ninja squadrons. Civilians won’t have to be sacrificed anymore. We will fight small-scale wars. That sounds like the first step to actual peace.”
Peace. Madara tries the word on the tip of his tongue. Senju Hashirama was obsessed with peace. Mind you, he was realistic; he never hoped to eliminate war completely. But he was a dreamer too, the greatest dreamer Madara had ever encountered - and he had that bloody gift to forge his dreams into reality. He would speak about it, and it would seem so damn real.
Had Madara known back then that the cursed blood of Rikudou Sennin’s belligerent sons ran through their veins, he would have done a better job trying to kill Hashirama. But no; it seemed then like something personal, something that transcended destiny - but destiny is a cold-blooded bitch that plays cruel jokes to anyone who tries to deny its power over their life.
In the end, Sasuke and Naruto, much like Madara and Hashirama, are nothing more than fate’s playthings. What a joke.
-and Naruto would try to preach Sasuke the same ideals. Peace.
Madara tries to imagine their previous fights. Ardent, bone-crashing, accompanied by pledges and insults - like all those times when he and Hashirama clashed in the forest, in the snow, in the steppe, anywhere, just to satisfy their craving for each other’s blood. Perhaps, it wasn’t just that. Perhaps, it was the contact, all those blows delivered by their fists, all those ninjutsu attacks, so familiar that they left a thick aftertaste in their mouths. It was the language they spoke to each other; it was the only form of intimacy they could allow each other, and they missed it, and they would always come back for more. Hashirama tried; heaven knows he tried to change things between them, to be friends. But the choice was never theirs to make.
Naruto doesn’t understand that. He lies on the floor in a poorly heated hotel in the Iron Country and racks his brain over how to make Sasuke his friend again. So foolish. So utterly Senju.
Their last fight was nothing like the countless ones before. Cold, wordless, grave, it sped them on their way to the end. It was pain beyond imagination, the Kyuubi snarling, blood foaming in its mouth, trees sprouting everywhere, clutching Madara and his demonic ally in a vice. And it was death.
It will be death for these two as well. Madara knows he should bet on Sasuke, but Naruto has guts and determination and that blasted Will of Fire and love, love, love, too much love for one person to contain.
He wonders if Hashirama loved him. If he cried when he drove his blade into Madara’s body. Oddly enough, Madara cannot remember now. But he dares hope.
And if Sasuke succeeds… If he kills Naruto and frees the Kyuubi, will he suffer? Will he hate life even more?
Madara had to give up his precious right to claim Hashirama’s life. Hashirama died on battlefield, years after Madara’s ‘demise’, alone, cut down by somebody else’s hand. Madara learnt of that much later.
He searches his memories now, too dim after all these years, hoping to recollect any feelings stirred by that news.
There is nothing. True pain always feels like nothing.
He looks into the future and sees darkness. They will fall, each and every one of them, but he shall remain. Alone. As always. For a moment, he doubts if it’s worth it since Hashirama won’t be there to see it. And neither will Naruto.
He clenches his teeth beneath the mask and makes his move.