Madara sat silently, his eyes unfocused as he listened to Izuna’s labored breathing. He sat on his knees besides his brother, while the other laid before him struggling to endure. He was still but felt Izuna’s hand trembling in his own. It loosened and seemed to lose strength at unpredictable intervals then tighten and squeeze Madara’s as he tried to hold on a while longer. The wound itself had done a number on Izuna, but it was the inflamed red skin swelling around the stitches and oozing discharge that had tipped them off that it was infection that was consuming his brother.
He hadn’t left Izuna’s side for days now. There were moments he felt hopeful that Izuna would pull through, that the brief periods of rest and sleep were a turn for the better, but as the clamminess of Izuna’s hand spread to his own it became apparent that they had exhausted any potential best case scenarios.
Madara couldn’t see the details of Izuna’s face, partly due to the sun retreating down beyond the horizon, but even if it had been a bright clear day, it would not have made much of a difference. His vision was blurred and darkened by repeated use of his mangekyo sharingan. And while his sensing abilities had allowed him to maneuver and manage through battle and everyday life, Madara’s gaze was fixed on the vague shape of his brother’s prone form in front of him. Perhaps he only imagined the outline and his mind simply filled in the blanks and imagined the familiar length and shape he’d known nearly all his life.
“You look more pathetic than I do.”
Madara felt a knot form in his throat as he heard Izuna’s voice. He could hear the forced effort in trying to sound lighthearted, but there was a distinct lack in the tone that made the words fall heavy on his ears. Madara could not see it, but he knew that Izuna was smiling through the fever and agony of his own body giving up on him. He tried to construct Izuna’s smile from memory, imagining the reassuring look he must have been receiving right now.
“Judging from the sound of your voice I highly doubt that.”
Izuna attempted to laugh, but it came out as a choked groan as the movement in his torso caused the screaming site of his gash to strangle the sound in his throat. Madara flinched and gave his brother’s hand a squeeze.
How did it come to this? What could he have done differently? He thought back to sensing the flare of chakra that seemed to cry out in shock when Izuna had been pierced. His gloves had been covered in dirt and soot from the battle they’d been preoccupied with. Perhaps if he had taken greater care to not have them so close to the injury when he caught Izuna’s falling body. Perhaps if he had not hesitated in seeking medical attention right away. Perhaps if he had taken Hashirama’s offer of a ceasefire and peace talks. Or perhaps if he had dropped to his knees right then and there and begged Hashirama to heal his brother.
“Madara.”
Madara turned his face towards the source, staring in the direction of Izuna’s face.
“Aniki…”
Madara felt the mass in his throat drop sickeningly into the pit of his stomach. His insides seemed to churn as he heard Izuna call out to him. His own hand went limp as he felt the breath leave his body and it was Izuna who gripped tighter trying to ground Madara back with him.
“I wish I could take this pain from you,” Izuna said earnestly.
Madara felt nauseated with guilt, he returned the firm grip and shook his head, shaking away the very notion.
“No, it’s I who wishes I could take this from you.” There was a desperation in Madara’s voice. In the spaces between the words he silently begged Izuna’s forgiveness for failing him, and silently pleaded with any sort of deity or force to make it so and switch their places. Madara felt his eyes sting with tears. They were useless to gauge how much Izuna was trying to soothe him, but the tear ducts were still fully functioning. He failed once more to support his brother in his hour of need as his own body seemed to be falling apart with every second that was counting down.
“Aniki, may I go blind.”
It was then that Madara believed that perhaps he was indeed the one in worse shape. It was a saying that one rarely hoped to hear, for it was never uttered under pleasant circumstances. A saying expressing that the speaker would choose to lose their sight rather than have to see the recipient’s sorrow. Madara wouldn’t wish this blindness on anyone, yet Izuna uttered the words and wished it so. He couldn’t stand to watch his brother’s grief. Madara brought his free hand up to his face, trying to conceal the way it twisted in anguish from the other.
“I’m sorry.”
He had always been so strong and resolute in everything he did. He had been the force that paved the way for his brothers and the source of comfort for his siblings as they lost one another and shrunk in numbers. He had stayed stone faced when their father died and the responsibilities of leadership landed on his and Izuna’s shoulders. His walls stayed firmly in place when he turned away from his only friend. But as he sat there with the only person he’d stayed so steadfast for over the unceasing years, he felt everything begin to crack and crumble into brittle pieces around him.
It tortured him to know that his weak fortitude caused Izuna such heartache in his final moments. Madara would have given anything to have the strength to provide Izuna a more comforting last view of him.
He would have given anything to have a last view of Izuna.
There was a long pause, and if it had not been for the weak but present grip of Izuna’s hand in his own, he would have panicked and thought the worst. Madara felt Izuna’s hand pull away and the motion made his entire body tense and lean forward, afraid to be untethered from the other.
He heard an unnerving wet sound and the pants and soft vocalizations of pain. He reached a hand out frantically to find Izuna and felt it stopped by fragile fingers wrapping around his wrist.
“Careful,” Izuna said with a sudden calm. Madara felt the fingers of Izuna’s other hand touch his shaking palm. They were warm and wet. A familiar metallic scent wafted to his nose that made bile rise up in his throat.
“Izuna,” he croaked worriedly. There was blood. Where was the blood coming from? Had the suture site reopened? “Your wound-”
“It’s fine.”
Nothing about this was fine.
“Don’t move, you’ll only-”
“Take these.”
Madara felt the fingertips in his palm spread open and something soft and round dropped into his hand. His breath caught in his throat as realization set in.
“Izuna-”
“Please.”
They both sat in silence and darkness for a moment. Had Izuna somehow read his mind and granted him this parting gift? He bit his lip in resignation, and as Izuna felt Madara shift and raise his free hand back up to his face, Izuna loosened his grip on Madara’s wrist and let his hands fall back down to his sides.
Another wet sound. A pulse of pain that radiated through Madara’s skull. And a series of disorienting images that flashed across his mind in a reel of memories that were familiar but not his own. He saw battles he remembered fighting but from a perspective that was not his. He saw afternoons of training and his own smiling face beaming at himself. But it was not himself he was smiling at, it was Izuna. He saw moments as his brother remembered them and his heart sank at the sight of the world rushing past his vision and the ground approaching quickly. He saw his own distressed expression looking down at him, then fading images that come and go of other faces hovering over him and looking down solemnly, but always in the corner of his field of vision was himself growing more and more restless. He saw the room they were currently in as it was only a few minutes prior and as he stared back at himself filled with regret and grief. Ah, it was no wonder Izuna couldn’t bear to see him like this any longer.
Madara took a breath as his new vision adjusted. The room was dim, but the outlines of everything suddenly had such clear definition and structure. He sat staring forward at the wall as candlelight cast flickering shadows against it. The room was quiet and he suddenly became aware of the air he was holding in his lungs. But he was too afraid to release it. There was no other sound in the room, and he worried that if he exhaled he would miss it. He would miss the subtle breath or shift that would indicate Izuna was still there.
He continued to hold his breath until his lungs ached. But this was an acute pain he could handle. It was concentrated to his chest and muscles and if he could drag it out just a little longer then he could focus on that instead of the deep-seeded suffering that was taking root at his very core. His vision blurred again, not from any degenerative illness or punishments but rather from tears and his body screaming for air. But why should he breathe? No, he couldn’t. He couldn’t so selfishly hog the oxygen while his brother may open his mouth at any moment to draw breath again.
Madara let out a strangled gasp. His breathing was heavy and loud, carrying the very beginnings of sobs on each guttural pant as he listened and waited for Izuna to do the same. And waited. And waited.
Madara finally looked down. His gaze landed on Izuna’s hands at his sides. Blood stained the digits and palm of one hand, no doubt the one Izuna had used to remove his eyes. Madara’s gaze traveled up the length of Izuna’s arms and lingered on his chest as he watched for even the slightest movement. Just a millimeter was all it needed to rise, less even, anything would have been suitable. But he continued to wait for it like he had waited in the silence.
Madara turned his head to finally look at Izuna’s face. His eyes were closed and blood marred his brother’s delicate features. But it wasn’t the sight of the blood that made him feel ill, it was the way Izuna’s eyelids didn’t sit quite right with no orbs beneath them to give structure. It was the unnatural stillness. It was a look he’d seen on many other faces throughout his life, but it was haunting on Izuna’s. His very being was wracked with devastation as he took in the desolate sight.
This gift of sight and an opportunity to see his brother one last time, but at the cost of having this be the last memory he’d have of Izuna.
“May I go blind…”