forward, always

The Senju arrived three days after Sakura had stabilized Izuna. A messenger had run in, eyes wide and frantic, to deliver the news that not only had the Senju arrived, but that they had arrived carrying the white flag of peace. Sakura had a good guess as to the reason for their visit–she’d been a diligent student of all subjects during her time at the academy, after all, and knew a truce between the Uchiha and Senju came not long after Izuna’s death–but the historical dates during the warring periods were not exactly a well documented thing.

Sakura had been sitting with Madara at the chabudai in the main room, each sipping on their respective cups of tea. Madara had informed her of his plans to survey the boundary lines and Sakura had updated him on Izuna’s health. All the while, Madara had held Sakura’s free hand in his own atop the table, his thumb gently stroking across her knuckles. 

“The Senju?” Madara’s brow furrowed. He looked over at Sakura, frowning, then looked back towards his attendant. “Who all is with them?”

Bowing deeply to his lord, the attendant informed them, “Senju Hashirama, sir, and his brother Tobirama, as well as five clansmen.”

“Very well, I will meet them momentarily.” Madara turned away, effectively dismissing the other man, and redirected his attention to Sakura. “If the Senju are truly here with peaceful intentions, then I shall send them away swiftly, but if not,” he paused. Madara’s eyes flickered down to her hands, so small and delicate looking, but he’d witnessed first hand that Sakura’s appearance was deceiving. “I will keep them at bay long enough for you to escape. Find somewhere safe to hide, and I will find you when I can.”

Sakura almost scoffed, and instead she reached out and cradled his face. “I will do no such thing. I will stay with Izuna and wait for your return.” 

And protect Izuna if necessary, went unsaid. 

Madara was still for a long moment, then he exhaled harshly through his nose and turned his face into her touch. Reaching up to squeeze her hands once, he removed them from his face and pressed a kiss to both sets of knuckles. “I won’t be long.”

Izuna’s room was on the side of the house, and if the shoji window was opened even just a sliver, then the voices from the front carried well into the room. For all Sakura has memorized her textbooks, she had to admit this was all new. For her, for Madara, for everyone. Sakura had already meddled with history by saving Izuna. Now that Izuna was not, in fact, dead, there was a growing worry in the back of Sakura’s mind. There was no telling what ripple effects that one action had caused.  Perhaps the truce would no longer happen. Perhaps that by saving Madara’s younger brother, she had already changed the future beyond recognition. If there was no truce then there’d be no Konoha, and then where would that leave Sakura? The logistics and ramifications were too much to think about and she quickly pushed those thoughts away. 

Instead of making assumptions or thinking about the what-ifs, Sakura waited and listened.

The first thing she heard was Madara’s voice, deep and hard and as unfeeling as she’d ever heard it before. “Senju Tobirama, you dare to show your face to me after what you’ve done? I should kill you here and now for the impertinence; white flag or no.”

“Please Madara, I have brought my brother here not for more bloodshed, but in the hopes of ending it.” This had to be Hashirama then, Sakura decided. “I am so sorry for the loss of your beloved little brother. Had I been on the battlefield that day I would have stopped it. I cannot imagine the pain you must be feeling, losing your final brother. If I were in your position, I’m not sure that I could bear it.”

Sakura looked down at Izuna and brushed some hair away from his brow. If his survival was the only change she ended up making during this time, then it would be enough for her. To spare Madara the pain Hashirama described, it was enough. 

Just as much the optimist as all the textbooks described, Hahsirama continued, “Why don’t we put an end to this war? We made a promise, remember? To make an ideal village where we could protect our loved ones, where children could be cherished and not forced to fight.”

“I’m sorry, Hashirama,” Madara said after a long pause. Sakura wondered if he was thinking back to his childhood, of the time he’d spent with Hashirama before they learned which clan the other hailed from. “I just cannot bring myself to trust you.”

“But isn’t there any way I can convince you?” Hashirama asked, his voice sounding tense and almost desperate. 

“I suppose,” Madara said slowly, and Sakura recognized a certain level of dryness in his tone that she’d come to learn as one he used in jest, “you could prove your sincerity to me by either killing your brother or killing yourself right now.”

A new voice spoke up, “You dare say such an outlandish–”

“You’re insane! So what now, elder brother?” Another–Tobirama, it must be–began hotly, “Are you going to kill me? Or are you going to die in order to win this man’s trust? It’s madness! Don’t bother listening.”

“You truly are kind hearted Madara, by sparing me the death of my own little brother. Please Tobirama, carve into your heart these final words of mine. Words that I will be exchanging with my life. You too, fellow clan members–”

“Brother . . .”

“After my death you must not kill Madara. I forbid any more fighting between the Uchiha and Senju. Swear this right now upon our forefathers and our unborn grandchildren. Let my death be the end of it. Farewell.”

There was a pause of silence, one that Sakura’s mind filled with horrible scenarios. Konoha needed Senju Hashirama. The ninja world needed him—he was the God of Shinobi! Madara didn’t know that, but given that Izuna was safe and breathing and would recover with time, surely he didn’t intend to let Hashirama kill himself. Knuckles white and breath caught in her throat, Sakura silently begged for someone to do something. Say something. 

“While I appreciate the gesture, Hashirama,” Madara said, his voice surprisingly soft and thick with an emotion Sakura couldn’t place. “There is no need. Izuna is alive and on his way to becoming well again.”

“That’s impossible,” Tobirama spat. “That wound was fatal. Not even our best healers would have been able to save him.”

“Then it is very fortunate for you, Tobirama,” Madara said slowly, dangerously, “that I did not call for help from one of your healers.”

Once again there was a pause of silence. 

“The Uchiha are not known for their healing abilities,” Hashirama finally said. 

“No, they are not,” Madara agreed easily enough. “Thankfully, the world has all kinds of people in it.”

A small smile pulled at Sakura’s lips as she thought back to the day she’d said those very same words to him. She’d offered it to him as vaguely as he offered it to the Senju now, though she doubted the Senju would be as comforted by the words as Madara had been at the time.

“A new healer then?” Hashirama asked, his voice light and brimming with curiosity. “What wonderful news!”

If Hashirama and Madara were left alone, Sakura was sure that the two would be able to part ways peacefully, perhaps even begin the creative process behind founding a hidden village, but, and unfortunately for everyone, Tobirama was present. 

“Bring the healer here,” the younger Senju demanded. 

“Tobirama,” Hashirama chastised. 

“I will do no such thing.” Madara told him firmly. “The medic is the Uchiha’s honored guest. I will not allow for you to interrogate them for the sake of curiosity.”

“I do not believe this mystical medic exists, brother,” Tobirama stated. “I wouldn’t put it past the Uchiha to have made up this ruse to lull us into a false sense of security and then reap their revenge for Izuna when our backs were turned.”

“It was you who sought me out, was it not?” Madara asked. “If you’re to continue calling me a liar then I will ask that you leave now, while we can still call this meeting a harmonious one.”

There was a bit more of quiet, tense and uncomfortable, even for Sakura, and then Hashirama asked, “Please, Madara. If I may, I would like to see Izuna and pay my respects to him. I won’t lie and say I’m not curious about your new medic as well, but if you’d prefer to keep him hidden away then I will understand.”

Izuna would be furious if he knew the Senju were here, much less allowed into his sick room. Sakura wasn’t sure what Madara was thinking, or what his motives were, but after Hashirama’s recent attempt to prove himself in Madara’s eyes, she wasn’t surprised to soon hear two pairs of footsteps creaking upon the porch’s steps entering the home. 

Closing the window softly, Sakura turned to kneel beside Izuna and placed a hand upon his brow. Pushing a bit of chakra into him, she ensured he was deep within his REM cycle and wouldn’t wake during Hashirama’s visit–so long as everyone kept their voices down. She thought about sneaking away before they arrived, but if Madara wanted her to disappear, he would’ve sent her some sign or signal to leave, but none came so she stayed put. 

She wasn’t exactly sure what to expect from the Shodaime, but based on the stories she’d heard about him from Tsunade, Sakura didn’t have that much faith in his ability to keep quiet. Hopefully he’d at least have a bit more decorum entering a sick room than Naruto. 

When the shoji door slid open, Sakura had just finished placing a damp towel on Izuna’s brow. As with her initial meeting of Madara, Sakura was shocked by how young Hashirama looked. Whenever she thought about these legends, she always imagined them so much older than herself, so much greater. Seeing him before her, looking not that much older, was jarring to say the least. 

“Ah!” Hashirama gasped as he switched his gaze from Izuna, to Sakura, then back again. “How absolutely amazing. May I?” He took a step forward, looking to Madara for permission to venture in further. 

Madara looked to Sakura, silently asking for her thoughts. Giving him a nod, Madara passed the gesture on to the Senju head. The sequence of actions did not pass Hashirama’s notice. 

Kneeling beside Izuna, Hashirama hummed softly as he surveyed the patient. “How wonderous,” he whispered. Madara had settled beside Sakura, but Hashirama looked straight towards her as he hesitantly reached out a hand towards Izuna’s blanket and asked again, “May I?”

Sakura pursed her lips in consideration. If Izuna would hate the man’s very presence, she could only guess how he’d feel upon finding out he’d been examined by him as well. Still, something in her was adamant that this moment was important. Following her gut, but still trying her best to protect her patient, Sakura raised a hand to stop Hashirama. “Allow me,” she told him, pulling down the sheet herself. 

Deciding to treat this moment as she would any standard examination–just with the addition of two extra pairs of eyes–Sakura tenderly pulled open Izuna’s yukata. His chest and stomach were covered in bandages, covering his still raw wound. Pulling at the knot tying everything together, Sakura slowly unwound the bandages and began the process of surveying the wound. 

When she had first arrived, Izuna’s stomach had resembled that of a gutted fish with a deep line extending from beside his navel up to his right shoulder. The worst of the strike had been the initial puncture in his gut. Wounds near the stomach and intestines were always the trickiest to handle, due to bacteria and stomach acid leaking out and leading to infections or worse. It wasn’t anything Sakura couldn’t handle, but it hadn’t been anything to snuff at, either. 

Now the tear across his chest was nothing more than a thin, pink line, and the puncture beside his navel, while still very red and irritated, was healing quite nicely as well. Sakura placed her hand over his stomach and pushed the smallest bit of chakra into Izuna’s body, checking for any infection. Finding none, she removed her hand to add more of the healing salve she’d created over the stretch of healing skin. Once she was done with that, she reapplied his bandages, straightened out his yukata, and smoothed out his blanket. 

Looking back up, Sakura found the future Shodaime’s attention was solely focused on her. 

“I’ve never seen such impressive work,” he admitted freely. Looking up at Madara, he added, “You’ve found yourself a miracle worker, my friend.”

Madara’s face remained unchanged, “I have been lucky in that regard.”

“Indeed.” Hashirama’s gaze returned to Sakura. “What is your name, miracle worker?”

This time it was Sakura who looked to Madara for guidance. When he nodded his head, she gave Hashirama a small bow and answered, “My name is Haruno Sakura, Senju-sama.”

Hashirama waved her off, “Please, call me Hashirama!” The bright smile adorning his face dimmed to something more gentle and his gaze dropped to his hands in his lap. His voice turned soft and quiet as he continued, “I am glad, Madara, truly. When Tobirama told me what he had done, I feared for you, my friend. We have both experienced enough loss to last a thousand lifetimes, losing the last member of your family–your last brother–I would not have wished that on anyone, least of all you. If I were to ever lose Tobirama . . .”

It was no small feat for Sakura to curb the flinch that tried to break free from her body. Before coming to this time, Sakura had been no stranger to loss, either personally or professionally, but now everyone was gone. She thought she’d been doing a good job of not focusing on it–and she was , dammit!--not letting it drag her down and under into a vortex of depression and anguish, but damn it if Hashirama’s words didn’t just cause the void inside her heart where her loved ones used to reside to tear itself open a little bit more.

Madara shifted beside her, the heat of his arm slowly seeping through their clothes and into her skin, dragging Sakura out of her thoughts and back into the present. The movement was brief, but the message was clear. She wasn’t alone, not anymore. Looking at the Uchiha head out of the corner of her eye as he spoke to Hashirama, Sakura felt her appreciation for the man grow. 

The power of loss was undeniable. Its devastation could ripple throughout families and communities like earthquakes devastated valleys. She remembered what Madara had been like, in her own timeline, during the war. He’d been so empty and cold, so unwilling to consider alternative solutions to the one he’d deemed viable, and all of the havoc he had wreaked against the Five Great Nations had been the result of just one loss. Izuna. 

“I must ask, Sakura-san,” Hashirama’s use of her name drew her eyes to his, “are you related to the Uzumaki clan?”

Tilting her head, Sakura didn’t bother to hide the confusion on her face. She thought of Naruto, of his bright blond hair and ocean-blue eyes and mile wide smile with a not so small pang to her heart. “No,” she answered slowly. “Why do you ask?”

Madara’s shoulders stiffened at the question. Had Sakura not been sitting right next to him, she probably wouldn’t have even noticed. But she was, so she did. 

“The clan is known for their healing abilities,” the future Hokage answered easily, his smile turning almost charming as he spoke. “I know a good deal of their members have red hair and thought that perhaps your color shade was an offshoot of that.”

Red hair, like Kushina and Mito Uzumaki. Women that Sakura had only ever seen photos of. Mito, from her history books and maybe once or twice in Tsunade’s home, and Kushina only once, from an old wedding photo between her and Minato that Jiraya had unearthed for Naruto when the old Sanin felt he was ready to learn about his parentage. 

Comparing her rose colored locks to their red, Sakura could vaguely understand how Hashirama had come to this conclusion. 

“I’m sorry to disappoint, Hashirama,” she said with a small shake of her head. “I have no Uzumaki blood to speak of.”

“Well then,” Hashirama’s gaze returned to his one and hopefully future friend, “Thank you for letting me see your brother. I am glad that he is doing well and that he is in capable hands. Madara,” he paused, his next words struggling to make their way past his lips. “If I could encroach on your hospitality for a bit longer—I was hoping to discuss an important matter with you.”

Madara’s dark gaze flickered between Hashirama and Sakura. With Tobirama and several other Senju just outside his door, Sakura could make a good guess as to the cause of his hesitation. She could also make a good guess about what Hashirama wanted to talk about.

Giving her betrothed a small, reassuring smile, she told him, “Go on. I’ll see to everything here.” 

Madara looked like he wanted to argue, but in a show of trust in Sakura—which wasn’t so much surprising as it was pleasing—he merely sighed. “Very well.”

The two titans of shinobi walked out of the room together and Sakura felt herself release a shaky breath. 

The sky had turned a beautiful, pale orange by the time Madara returned and the Senju took their leave. Sakura had just settled down on the engawa to watch the sun set. Her legs dangled freely off the edge and a nice cup of tea kept her hands warm as the temperature slowly began to drop. 

Madara took a seat beside her, his knees tucked in properly beneath him, and with him came the weight of the world. A servant came quickly to provide the clan head with his own cup of tea, and left them with an even quicker bow. A thousand and one questions ran through Sakura’s mind, but she recognized that small furrow in Madara’s brow and the tightness in his lips from their days protecting that lord’s wife and child. The signs had appeared often enough, when he was thinking up strategies and ways to keep those in his care safe. This time, he was preoccupied with whatever Hashirama had said to him. When Madara was ready to talk, he would. Sakura and her questions could wait. 

From orange to pink to red, then to blue and then black, the sky settled into night. Sakura had long finished her tea, but still cradled the cup in her hands to give them something to do. She worried that without it she’d reach for Madara mindlessly, as she’s been doing more and more often over the past few days. Doing so while out on strolls or sitting for meals was one thing, doing so while he was deep in thought was another, and with this thing between them still so new and fragile and precious, Sakura didn’t want to risk it with a misstep. 

Looking up at the dark sky, Sakura found the same constellations she knew from her own time. It helped to settle something in her bones, made her feel more stable and confident with her place in this world. If the stars could survive in both her time and this one, then perhaps she could too. 

“Hashirama is a fool.” Madara’s words, so quiet and muttered they could’ve been lost in the wind, roused Sakura from her existential musings. Without looking at her, Madara reached over to place his hand over her wrist, his fingers pressed against the thrumming line of her pulse. 

“What did he want to discuss?” Sakura asked as she leaned, ever so gently, into his warmth.

“A child’s dream,” he scoffed, not elaborating further. 

Sakura hummed in response, waiting for the rest of the story to unravel in its own time. It took only a quarter of an hour more. 

With a slow slump to his shoulders, Madara closed his eyes tightly and told her, “I met Senju Hashirama first when we were children. We didn’t know who each other were and we,” he paused. His eyes opened and he blinked heavily. “We became friends.”

Wearily, and with a heavy heart, Madara told Sakura about his and Hashirama’s past. Their days spent playing by the river, their mutual dream of creating a better world, their shared pain over having lost brothers needlessly and so young, even his own growing pessimism and eventual desertion of those dreams and his friend. 

“I want to believe in a peaceful world,” he confessed so, so quietly Sakura had to strain to hear him. “But after everything I’ve seen, everything I’ve done , I just can’t. I don’t know how to dream anymore.”

Sakura thought back to what he said to her after she’d arrived to heal Izuna. “If there’s anything you can do—even if it’s just to ease his suffering —” Even then, the most he had hoped for was a painless death for his remaining brother. 

Pulling back so that their shoulders were no longer touching, Sakura placed her teacup to the side and tugged on her wrist until Madara let her go. Then, boldly, and with full eye contact, Sakura told him, “Lie your head down, Madara,” and patted her lap. 

Dark brows shot up, disappearing behind his raven mane. He looked down at her lap, then back up to her, his jaw dropping at the idea of it all. “Sakura,” he said, his voice hesitant. 

Placing her hands on his shoulders, Sakura guided him down to where she wanted him. “Just close your eyes and try to relax.”

She carded her fingers through his hair. The thick locks were silkier than she had expected, but she was still careful not to catch a tangle as she dragged her fingers through it. Madara’s muscles, which had stiffened against her man-handling, slowly loosened and his breathing evened out as she continued with her ministrations. His eyes, however, stayed open and alert. Smiling softly down at him, Sakura figured she’d take what she could get. 

With her free hand, she took one of his into it and laid them both atop his chest, just over his heart. 

“I had a friend, once,” she started, her eyes not straying from him, “who was the biggest dreamer anyone could ever meet.” Talking about Naruto would be hard, she knew, but she hoped it would also be worth it. 

“He inspired everyone around him, even cynics like you,” her smile widened with the tease. Madara’s hand tightened around hers, his own face unchanging. “All he wanted was for the—for the clan to respect him, to take him seriously and to not dismiss him.”

Pressure built behind her eyes and she had to look away. Sakura remembered back to her Academy and genin days, when she thought Naruto was annoying and a pest because he was loud and played pranks. As an adult with hindsight, she could see him for what he’d been; a child desperate for attention. She wished she could have been kinder to him, more patient. He was one of her most precious people, and she knew he never harbored any resentment towards her, but she still carried around a great deal of guilt when it came to Naruto and her treatment of him in those early days. 

Blinking away some of the moisture in her eyes, Sakura looked out into the night as she continued her story. “No matter what anyone said or did to him, no matter how lost he felt or how bad things looked, he never gave up on his dreams. Instead, his dedication to them seemed to grow. So many people doubted him, but you know what started to happen?”

Madara stayed silent, knowing the question was rhetorical. Sakura’s fingers continued trailing through his raven locks, her nails gently scratching against his scalp. Her eyes remained focused on the trees before her, but her mind was in the past. 

She thought of Neji, who’d been inspired not to accept fate as a fixed thing; of Gaara, who’d never known love or friendship, but who’d leapt towards it the moment a sincere hand was outstretched; of even Tsunade, who’d forsaken the village and her vow as a medic, only to have that desire to help people reignited. Sakura thought not only of them, but also of the hundreds of other people who’d been touched by the radiant light of hope that was Naruto Uzumaki. 

“He turned their hearts,” she said finally, looking down at Madara with a watery but bright smile. “Every single time.” 

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Sakura tried to circle around to her point. “There are good people in this world, Madara, people who share in this dream of a better future. You may not believe yourself worthy of it,” she gave his hand a squeeze to silently tell him she disagreed, “and you may not be able to believe in it yet, but that’s okay. All you have to do now is to try. Take it one day at a time, one choice at a time, one action at a time. Before you know it,” she shrugged, “all those little changes, those little thoughts and actions, will have built themselves up into something solid and real that you can believe in.” 

Madara looked up into Sakura’s eyes, an expression of wonder and incredulity on his face. Holding her one hand tight to his chest, he brought up his other one to cup her cheek. A hesitant, hopefully smile played at the edge of his lips. His thumb brushed away a tear that Sakura hadn’t noticed escaped. Turning her face into the palm of his hand, she breathed in deeply.  

“This friend of yours,” Madara starts, his words slow and cautious, “he’s gone too, isn’t he?”

Breath hitching in her throat, Sakura nodded her head. “His name was Naruto,” she whispered, feeling as if she were sharing a greater secret than just a name. “I miss him every day.” 

Sitting up, Madara pressed a kiss against her forehead. “His spirit lives with you, Sakura. You serve his memory proud. Because of you, I feel a newly sprouted sense of hope within my chest for the future. I feel that I can begin to try.”

Inhaling shakily, Sakura hid her face in the crook of his neck and whispered, “Thank you.”