lost in the bright dark
For a time, all he can hear is Aniki and his sobbing. He knows it, well, at the very least he knows the voice murmuring through his crying, but it surprises Izuna all the same. His brother hadn't cried so heavily when they'd lost their other brothers, so why now?
A part of Izuna wanted to cry out in the darkness, brother, brother, be quiet! We should have waited on removing my eyes to see if I would live! We were too hasty! I'm alright, brother!
But no matter what he says, no matter how he tries, his brother never acknowledges him. It takes a while for him to understand that's because Madara can't see him.
(They're finally equals now at something. Izuna can't see his brother either. Madara has his eyes, even in death, his body isn't complete--)
He's dead. Died. Struck down by his own hubris, his overconfidence and arrogance blinding him to the seal on that fucking kunai. Of course Madara would be right. He'd warned him over and over again about being more careful, being less cocky, being more attentive. You would think someone with eyes like his, the Sharingan, wouldn't need to be more attentive. Still he's dead now.
He's dead, blindly wandering through his home, through the small Northern compound that they'd retreated to for the spring, and he stumbles his way through out. He can't touch any walls to figure out where he is, he can't touch anything at all. He can hear his brother sometimes, in clan meetings or with their cousin Hikaku. Once or twice, he figured out where Madara's room once because he heard his soft crying, and his praying. Izuna had never heard his brother pray before, and it feels wrong to be there listening in like a fly on the wall, but he also can't see anything to figure out how to avoid his room. It's like doors, walls, everything is meaningless.
Sometimes, he can hear his cousin Sayuri attacking the training post, the familiar thump of kunai in wood and the smell of grass letting him know what's happening. He can hear her muttering. So if he goes all the way west, he can find the training clearing, a small patch that they'd set aside and guarded for the children to practice. He can hear Naori sometimes too, when he goes east about fifty six steps, but he doesn't think that's her room, maybe it was Rai's. She liked Rai, didn't she? Izuna can't remember exactly.
He hears Old Lady Himari holler for her grandsons, smells the mochi that her husband Shisaku makes on the weekends. He hears little Yumi running, the sound of children's laughter. He hears a lot. He smells a lot of things, blood, sweat, oiled leather, different foods. Familiar voices weaving together. But he never knows exactly where he is. It would be easier if he could touch the damn walls. But apparently, he just walks through them or something.
And so Time passes him by. Maybe not in days, maybe not in hours or weeks, but it passes him by, he's absolutely sure. No matter how he tries desperately to leave, to run through the darkness of foreign hallways that were once his home, he doesn't ever find familiarity in the corridors because he can't see them.
There's no starting point to guide him. One moment he was in his big brother's room, dying, his body wracked with infection and fever, begging him to take his eyes. The next, he was standing up. Somewhere.
(Protect our clan and look to the future for me, okay, Aniki? It's alright, please take them. I won't...won't need them in death.)
And that was miserably WRONG. Apparently even ghosts need their eyes, which was just his stupid luck, wasn't it? Stupid enough to get stabbed. Stupid enough to get an infection. Stupid enough to do one good thing and still get shit on in the end. Stupid, stupid stupid.
So he spends tries to escape, taking different routes and stumbling through the dark that was his life, his empty eye sockets aching with a phantom pain. Get it? Phantom.
Well Izuna thought it was funny. But he's never managed to figure out how to leave this endless cycle. How do you stop being a ghost? Izuna remembers being promised a Pure Land if he died a shinobi's honorable death. The elders used to spout that out to him and the other younger shinobi all the time. But apparently not him. Which is just wonderful and great and cool. Really. It was.
Izuna groaned, loudly and without reserve. It wasn't like anyone could hear him, right?
"Just my fucking luck!"
___
This cannot last forever.
It just can't. Boredom boils in his blood, it makes him feel trapped in something and free to do nothing, and it never ends. Even the walls that he can't touch seem better talking companions than trying to shout at whoever he manages to find.
And it's constant. Constant boredom. He can't contribute to conversations, can't crack jokes or drink with his former friends and clansmen. Can't seem to ever find his brother. He can't even follow his men off to battle. He tried once, when he heard someone putting their armor on, and he'd followed the noises of gathering steps and barked orders. Tried to follow, but couldn't. Ended up somehow, somewhere where Old Man Tomo was because he heard the familiar voice telling the kids a story. He can't leave the compound, apparently.
Or sleep. Death doesn't sleep. Dead people don't either.
And Kami, Izuna misses it the most. That was almost 75% of what he did every single day. Ask Madara, his big brother loved dragging him up by his hair or throwing cold water on him. Because Izuna spent his days sleeping, and even his big brother wasn't about to wake his ass up. Izuna misses the relief of it, of being able to escape into blackness and happy dreams of dead brothers.
Memories aren't as vivid as dreams. Dreams are special, more intimate because they can change the unpleasantness of unchangeable things, even for a moment. He barely remembers his brothers, but he dreams of them often. Or what he hopes they were like.
So Izuna spent his time wandering in circles, learning to navigate the blackness of whichever of the Hell he was confined in. He grows weary and tired, not physically, but emotionally the longer she goes. First, he was pissed. Then he was tired and done with the whole situation. Then he missed being able to talk to Madara. His feeling sort of becomes unhinged the longer he's away from a certain point, so much so that he gets hysterical and tearful, forcing him back to where he came from, so he tries greatly to avoid going too far.
Izuna wanders around again, tired and exhausted by the whole being dead thing. It was enough to make him want to die again.
Still, it isn't entirely boring. Sometimes, when Madara speaks his name, he can feel a force compelling him closer. Like right now, something draws him to the right, east, and he moves simply because he can. Because it feels right. Moves until he hears his name being called.
Madara's praying again, maybe.
"Please." Madara whispers, and Izuna tilts his head to listen closer. "Izuna, otouto, please forgive me. I have to--"
"Forgive what?" Izuna demands, curious. He still isn't heard. He didn't expect to be.
He hears a soft cry on Madara's lips, "You said to protect the clan. With your eyes, I need to protect them. And this is the only way I can. I have to-- to ensure a future for us. To see a future for us." Madara's voice lowers still. "I'm sorry to betray your wishes, but I have to make peace with them, the Senju. I have to. If you can hear me, in the Pure Land, please forgive me."
No. No. Nononononono--
"No!" Izuna roars, fists clenching at his sides. "No! You can't do this-- he killed me! They killed our brothers. It's a trick! They'll get rid of our clan, little by little! Don't trust the Senju."
"I'm so sorry, Izuna." Madara prays. "Please forgive me!" There's a thump, like maybe he's kneeling or maybe he's fallen. Did he bother putting up a shrine for Izuna? Was he kneeling to it?
Izuna runs. He doesn't know where he's going. It doesn't matter anyway. He won't get to leave, or die or live. Just wait here. Just wait here forever and ever, while his brother buddies up with the fucking Senju ane--
The tears fall soon and the painful feeling of control leaves his body shaking. He stumbles forward, overwhelmed by the feeling of loss and pain and hatred and burning desire for something. Desire, love, loss, hate, passion, remorse, fury--
Izuna sobs, loudly. Clenches his fists. It isn't fair. It wasn't fair. He was supposed to be by his brother's side always. He was supposed to slay Tobirama and win a victory for his clan. He was supposed to teach Hina-chan how to paint the stars using crushed marigolds, and he was supposed to flirt with that pretty Hagoromo girl when they met with the envoy. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right--
A voice startles him, "Are you okay?"
No. No. Izuna wants to say, but he knows nobody will hear him. He strains his ears, trying to figure out who is in the room and who was talking to who.
"Ghost-san? Are you okay?"
Izuna jumps, furiously wiping at his face. "Me?" He whispers. Stop crying. You're a tough guy. Stop it. Stop it!
"Yes! Who else would I be talking to?"
"You can see me?"
Holy Indra, by Kami, somebody can see him. Hear him. Oh thank you. Thank you, whoever. Whichever deity can hear him. Izuna scrubs at his face, wiping away the tears and composing himself quickly.
"Yes! But your eyes are bleeding, Ghost-san." The voice informs him, and Izuna pauses. He presses his fingertips together, frowning, because his tears didn't feel right. They were sticky, thick, and warm. Warmer than they needed to be.
Blood? Was he crying blood?
"I--" Izuna laughs, shaking his head. "Holy Indra, I don't know why I'm crying blood." He shakes his head again and again. "Kami, I don't even know. I can't believe you can see me. I-- nobody ever sees me."
"Me either." The voice says softly. Too softly and too childishly. Izuna leans closer to where it comes from. Was this a kid? Could a kid see him? Shit, did a kid just watch him sobbing? Crap, oh wonderful. Just his luck. "I can't be seen either. But I haven't seen another ghost in a long time."
It hits him like a punch to the face.
"Are you…" Izuna frowns, wiping his sticky hands down on his yukata? It felt light and soft, like the yukatas he wore at home. "Are you dead?"
The voice hummed. "Yeah. I-- I've been really lonely since Ghost-chan left. She was another person I met. But she left a while ago. So it's just me."
Izuna takes in a shaky breath. In and out. In and out. He was talking to a ghost. A spirit. And he was a ghost, too. A kid's ghost.
"I'm Izuna." He says quietly. Because Ghost-san was too creepy. It was too much to be a spirit, to be talking to what sounds like a little kid. That meant the kid died. Was it disease? Was he a shinobi? A kid. His only companion was a kid.
"Oh! I'm Itama." The kid-spirit says. "I think I'm going to stay here, okay? Because you look so upset."
Nice to meet you, Izuna means to say, but he doesn't. He puts his face in his hands, tugging at the fabric across his eyes, and sniffles.
___
"We're in the sitting room of, um, I think the Main House. It's the biggest room." Itama tells him, holding his hand, leading him like a shepherd with his flock. Except his flock consisted of one blind idiot. "I've walked around a lot, so I know things. I used to see you too, sometimes."
"You did?"
"Mhmm." Itama says brightly. "You were always nice to see. You smiled a lot. But you yelled a lot too."
"My brother was an idiot. Yelling was a coping method."
"Oh." Itama hums again, a song that Izuna doesn't know. His small fingers curl tighter around Izuna's big ones, and it makes him feel sick. The boy's hands were small, with long fingers but pudgy with baby fat. Like he wasn't finished growing yet. "Yeah, my big brother was an idiot too. And my other brother yelled at him a lot too. I miss them."
Izuna doesn't know what to say, "I miss my idiot brother too."
Itama sits down, a light thumping noise. Thumping and something heavy. Like metal on metal. Clanging? Izuna throws himself down too, feeling like he was sitting, but not exactly feeling the floor. It wasn't the same thing. It didn't feel like sitting. It didn't feel like anything.
"The guy with the fluffy cat hair-- like a lion. That's your brother right? Mr. Lion Hair?"
Izuna snorts.
"Yes." He laughed. "Yes, that's my brother. With his glorious mane."
"He looks sad a lot."
"Oh." Izuna nods his head wisely, like he saw Madara do all the time. "Well, he should be sad all the time. He lost me, didn't he?"
Itama claps his hands lightly, just for the noise. "I don't know. I don't want my brothers to be sad over me all the time." He pauses. "Well, maybe most of the time. I was the best brother." He told him seriously. He quiets for a moment, and Izuna hears shuffling and the clanging again. What the hell was that?
"Sure you were, kid."
Itama hummed again. He wasn't the most chatty spirit, usually leaning more towards being timid than anything else. So Izuna had to do most of the talking or start the conversations if he wanted any sort of stimulation. And he really really did want to talk because he couldn't think of Madara if he was talking to the kid. Because he wanted to scream every single time he thought of his brother, of the peace between the clans, of his betrayal to his final wishes--
"What's your favorite food, kid?"
"I don't know." Itama replies softly. "Maybe miso soup? My brother used to make that for me when I didn't feel well. What about you?"
"Sweets." Izuna said immediately, then scratched uncomfortably at the cloth that covered his empty eye sockets. No matter how many times he takes it off, it always somehow returns back to his face. Again and again. "Especially candies. And some sweet teas. It drove Aniki crazy. He said I'd get chubby and lazy and die of sugar overdose. Serves him right."
"Right! You died of having your eyes gouged out, didn't you?"
"What? No, I was stabbed. By a real bastard too. I gave my brother my eyes when I realized I was dying."
"Oh." The boy ghost says. "That's sad. I'm sorry you got stabbed. Whoever he was, he was really a bastard."
"It was war, though." Izuna sighs softly. And it was war. If Tobirama hadn't struck him down, he would have done the same to him. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right, but it was war and it happened. It happened. "So I guess it was a fair death, but he's still a bastard."
"Mhmm. Still a bastard." The kid repeats wholeheartedly.
___
He hears Itama before he sees him.
"I'm going away soon. So you'll be by yourself for a little while. But I'll be back." Itama tells him, slipping small fingers into his own bigger ones. He squeezes tightly, and Izuna offers a smile.
"Going away?" He repeats. "How are you going away? I've tried dozens of times to leave, and I can only make it to the training fields."
Itama sighs loudly, childishly exaggerated. Izuna repeated the noise, kicking his legs out and throwing himself backwards.
"Well I can't leave-leave. I gotta go where they go."
"I've never been a good guesser. Explain it tk me."
Another loud sigh.
"There was this lady. Ghost-chan. And she was here for a while, but she had to leave too. But she said that sometimes when people die, they get stuck on things. Like when flies can't get out of honey." Itama explains slowly and seriously, like he was explaining it to a kid. Like he was the adult and Izuna was the child. "She was stuck onto her mother's hair pins, she said. And then the girl with the pins left so she left too. With them."
"So what are you attached to?"
He can hear Itama's breath hitch, a soft gasp of air that they don't need. Neither of them really need to breathe, but it was habit by now. Emotions, however, can cause all sorts of reactions. And Itama was a really emotional kid, from what Izuna understood.
"I…" Itama's breathing gets faster and faster. "I don't want to talk about it!"
"Okay, okay, kiddo. It's fine-"
His voice was borderline hysterical, loud and tearful, "Don't make me talk about it!"
"Okay!" Izuna dove forward blindly, grabbing onto the area where he swore his voice was coming from. He grasps onto cold, wet, soft cheeks. Squishy and round, like a baby's would be, and too soft to be close to a teenager. All pudge and baby fat. By Holy Indra, oh Kami, this really was just a kid. A little kid that didn't even have time to grow onto his face or lose his chubby cheeks, an oversized toddler. " I don't need to know! I really don't!"
Those were definately tears going down his fingers. Warm and light and wet. Shit. Shit. How did Madara make him stop crying when he was little? The boy sniffles loudly, hiccuping on his sobs, and Izuna tries patting his face comfortingly. Okay, be like Madara. How did Madara make this stop?
"If you stop crying, I'll buy you dango!"
Itama's sobs turned into soft sniffles. Izuna can feel the way his body jerks with the cries, the way he tries to regain his breathing, and the tremor in his limbs. But he keeps his hands on Itama, clutching his face like a precious scroll that needed held and guarded.
"H-How are you going to buy me dango?" Itama sniffles loudly. "If we're dead?"
Izuna pouts, "I'll figure it out. Maybe we'll find a dead dango maker to help us out." He offers, and smiles when he feels the boy start to laugh softly.
"Maybe." Itama lifts a hand to wipe at his own face, rubbing at his eyes. "B-But mostly I think you're an idiot. Like my big brother."
"Yeah." Izuna agrees softly. "Maybe I am."
Itama hiccups, "I- I hope I come back. I want to come back. Nobody else can see me." He pulled away from Izuna, probably cleaning himself up. Not like Izuna can see it, right?
"I hope you come back too."
___
It drives him mad. To be alone, left in the dark, without a way to talk to anyone or move on from this world. It must have been a battle, or an envoy that left because Izuna can't find any familiar voices. Not of the men he remembered, not of Madara or Hikaku, not of any of his friends. Most of the shinobi must have left.
(Maybe to peace talks. Maybe to the Senju.)
Izuna wants to spit in Madara's face, to scream and rage over what had been lost, about his lost life and easy forgiveness. He wants to shout at his stupid brother about how even now, in death, crying tears of blood, Izuna still loves him greatly. That he doesn't regret giving Madara his eyes, but that he didn't mean for him to use them for peace with the Senju. He wanted revenge. He ached to avenge fallen cousins, friends, brothers, and his father.
And now he couldn't and Madara wouldn't.
He was alone in the dark.
Hoping that a dead child would come home. (And wondering why his big brother didn't love him enough to avenge him.)
___
And he does come back. Izuna isn't exactly sure how long it's been since Itama has been gone, but it feels like an entire eternity. He hasn't been able to find anywhere to go that he recognizes. He can't find his brother, can't find any clan meetings or any of the familiar voices of his favorite clansmen. He misses them. He misses Madara. He misses his life.
But at least Itama comes back. His voice drifting inside long before Izuna ever thinks he feels his presence. The Uchiha welcomes the boy back by sitting by his side, listening to his stories.
"There was a fight with the Hyūga." He explains quietly. He pokes Izuna's cloth-covered face, drawing a circle in the fabric. "They had pale eyes. I've never seen so many of them before. It was an ambush."
"Is everyone alright?"
"I didn't see anyone die. Your brother was there. Mr. Fluffy Hair."
Izuna snorts, "I thought he was Mr. Lion Hair?"
"It was too fluffy to be a lion that day. Lions are fierce. He wasn't fierce with hair like that." Itama replies softly, and his hands move away from the young man's face. Izuna doesn't mind him touching anymore, it wasn't like there was anything else to hold onto. At least they could feel each other in this never ending cycle of nothingness. "It looked more like a fluffy porcupine. A real mess on his head. He beat them, though. He beat the Hyūga, with his eyes. That had swirls in them."
Izuna beamed with absolute pride. As angry and hurt as he was at Madara, those were his eyes that his brother used to protect their clan. Their family. They were his, which meant Izuna had done something useful with himself and his vision. At least he had managed to do something long lasting, to leave some kind of legacy.
"Is that all that happened? I wish I could feel the sun on my skin, so I would know when days passed. It felt like you were gone longer."
"Mr. Fluffy met with…" Itama's voice breaks. "There was a meeting. I didn't get to see very much or get close. But…" He trails off, lost on his own train of thought. "Izuna, I have a question, if that's alright."
Izuna pats his head fondly, missing it the first two times, but managing to get it the third time. "What's wrong?"
"If…"
"If what?"
Itama's voice is quiet and nervous, "If I have to go away again, and I don't come back, you'll remember me, right?" He's unusually somber, almost timid. Scared?
"I'll remember you, Itama. Don't worry. It would be hard to forget someone like you."
He was fond of the kid, well enough. He was a bright, cheerful boy. Not as devious as Izuna had been or as passive aggressive as a young Madara, but he reminded him of his dead brothers. Of his little cousins and his friend Toujo's kids, and he really was Izuna's only companion anymore. They needed each other, somehow, because to be alone was worse than being dead.
"I saw...my brothers there. For a moment. I know it was them! Longer hair, and less stupid, but it was them. But I don't think my big brothers still remember me." Itama whispers, his voice wet with fresh tears. Izuna felt around for his head again, stroking his soft hair, always amazed by the way one side was angled differently than the other, like a half-finished haircut.
"Why would you think that?"
Itama cries out, "If they still remembered me, they wouldn't be shaking hands with--" His voice cuts off for a moment, and Izuna feels him tilt his head. Hears the rustle of his sleeve against his face. "He wouldn't be smiling at the Uchiha like they were friends like he was. Either of them. They forgot about me."
It takes Izuna a long moment to understand what had just been said to him. Far longer than it should've, and he sits in absolute silence. At the Uchiha like they were friends… No, no it had never occured to Izuna that his kid-ghost could be from outside the clan. Why would an outsider be in the Uchiha compound? No!
"Itama." Izuna says slowly, letting the name fall chalky off his tongue. It was a foreign name, one that he had never heard before in the clan, but he had always assumed that was because the boy had died before Izuna could remember. "Itama, what clan are you from?"
Itama shakes his head, but Izuna presses against his head to keep it still.
"But we aren't supposed to share our surnames."
"We're already dead. It doesn't matter now. We already died our shinobi deaths."
"Oh. Alright, then." Itama murmurs, sounding unsure. "Do you promise to be my friend even if you don't like who I am?"
"Just tell me, kiddo."
Itama clicks his tongue, "You have to promise first, Izuna!"
"I promise." Izuna grits out, just as unsure as his ghost friend sounds. Who was he? He couldn't tell just from touching his hair and face. He had absolutely no clue. "Not like I have many choices for friends."
"Right." Itama whispers, and his cheeks are hot. Warm. Was he still crying? Was he going to cry? "Senju. My name's Senju Itama. And you're an Uchiha, but…"
And then his world kind of sinks in around him. Of course, of course, his only companion in the entire world was a Senju. Of course. Because it didn't make any sense, that a Senju ghost was his only friend, the only one he could talk to. After everything the Senju had done, after they had taken the lives of his friends and family, torn apart his home and his sense of clan. Stolen everything.
(Tobirama may have stolen his life, but Hashirama had stolen his brother.)
Hadn't that damned clan taken enough from him? He was stuck with one for eternity too?
Izuna heard sniffling. Felt WARM-WET down fingers. Tears, fresh tears. Again.
"You're angry with me." Itama cries, wiping his face and pushing Izuna's hands away. "You promised not to be. You promised--"
"I promised to be your friend. And I am. I'm not angry."
I'm tired. I'm exhausted. I want to die and be put to rest. I want to talk to my brother. I want--
"But your eyes are bleeding again!"
Izuna pauses, tenderly touching his own face gently, and there it was. The familiar sticky, warm feeling of blood. How hadn't he noticed it…? He feels small hands touching his face, wiping away at the blood.
"You're bleeding down here too."
Hands against his side. Where Tobirama struck him down, where he'd gotten a lucky blow. No, not luck. Skilled. A skilled blow. Because Tobirama was intelligiant and patient, because he waited for a chance and developed his own technique, and used the oppurtunity. Turned his own arrogance into his downfall.
"I didn't realize it was bleeding." Izuna says quietly to the little Senju boy that stood beside him, his own tears forgotten. "It doesn't matter. I'm not going to bleed to death."
Itama prods further, "It's alright." He says softly. "Mine does that too." And then he grasps Izuna's hands, bringing them close to his body. His fingers brush against cool metal, familiar somehow. He pushed his palm against the ridges, the way it felt heavy but thin. It was armor. Children's armor. Like a full set, maybe? Izuna hadn't been allowed to have a full set, only the chestplate.
(Allowed wasn't the right word. They couldn't afford it. It was easier to share a general chest plate amongst the children than to get an ill-fitting full set that could potentially be stolen.)
"Right here." Itama settles his hand on top of-- Izuna blanches, feeling sick to his stomach. His belly twists and turns, as if there were a million kunai being dug into his abdomen and twisted round and round. His fingers prod at a wound, just tracing it. Half-scabbed, with fresh blood coming from somewhere, and deep. Izuna went around, oh Kami, it was in his chest, just below his throat. No, no, no. A large, gaping wound, like from a blade.
He snatched his hand away. "Who did that to you? How old are you-- were you? Eight? Nine?"
"Seven." Itama answers steadily. "My big brother was seven when he died, too. I had my birthday right after he...right before I--" He chokes himself off. "I miss him a lot. Maybe more than my other big brothers, the ones who lived. I guess he got to...to go to the Pure Lands. He didn't get stuck in honey."
"Who did this?"
Itama doesn't say anything, but the silence is telling enough. Of course, Izuna knows who did this. Who else would it have been? Between the clans, there were some that considered killing children to be especially disgusting and appaulling, even in times of war. But that had never occured between the Uchiha and Senju, their mutual hatred of each other blurring the lines between what could and couldn't be done. Children were still shinobi, just more compact with knobbier knees and small hands, just as capable of killing so if it came down to it, one would expect to kill them.
Izuna had killed children, but did they count if he was a child when he did it? His peers had praised him as a prodigy, but now it made him feel sick. He was a child and that poor boy was one too. He'd murdered a child.
Izuna stumbles away from the boy, wiping the blood off his hands, furious and nauseous. Could a spirit get ill? Or was it his emotions causing the need to vomit?
"Izuna--"
"I'm sorry." He apologizes through clenched teeth, willing his stomach to settle. It twisted further, guilt eating away at his insides. His clan had murdered this bright, kind boy. A child that still cried when things went wrong, not emotionally sound enough yet to be a shinobi. It wasn't right. A child with a blade through his chest, almost through his throat, just a little boy. Just like his brothers, Reisen and Kurohi and Akaishi, three boys he could scarcely remember, kids he should've grown up with. It wasn't fair.
Where was the justice? Where was the vengeance? Who should Izuna have killed in revenge? Did he even know their killers? And who should Madara kill for Izuna? Tobirama for striking him down or Hashirama so that Tobirama knows the same loss of a brother? Or would avenge Itama? Who would they know to kill? Everything became blurred and dangerous with so much hatred, so much vengeance and death. Did anyone know who to blame for their misfortune?
"Your brothers…" Izuna says raggedly, fighting the words out of his chest. "Your brothers didn't forget you by shaking hands with an Uchiha." Because it hits him, suddenly, like ice water through his veins, like a blow to his stomach, a knife to his throat. "You're here with me, aren't you? We're friends?"
"It's different." Itama explains patiently. "We've already lost. But our brothers haven't! My brothers-- well maybe Anija would have done this, but there's no way Nii-san would accept this! He hates the Uchiha. He would avenge me. He wouldn't…"
"We're not alive anymore, Itama. Maybe...maybe we don't get opinions about the living anymore. Maybe they stop being our brothers when we die. Maybe they can't be our brothers if they have to move on and live their lives. Maybe they have each other and we have each other."
Itama tugs at his haid childishly, "But then-- if we only have each other, if we're the only two ghosts here, what does that make us. Are we brothers?"
No. His mind screams at him, furious. He's a Senju, he's the enemy, think of Reisen, of Kurohi, of everyone you've lost. Your cousin, Natori, your friend Madoka, even yourself. No. But he doesn't accept that. He won't take this away from the kid. The kid's suffered enough to be denied over old wounds and a seperate hatred. A jaded heart.
"Yes." Izuna swears, feeling around until he finds the top of the boy's head. He ruffles his hair fondly, like Madara so often did when he had a headache and couldn't press their foreheads together. "Yes, I'm your ghost brother. And if we're here for eternity, we'll be here together. And if eternity falls apart, I'll still be here."
Itama tucks himself into the man's arms, surprising him with a jump. The armor jabs him in the ribs, and he tumbles backwards. But it's alright. It'll be right.
"Maybe." Itama says into Izuna's funeral kimono. "Maybe we'll get to see the bastard who killed you, and we can haunt him."
"That'd be wonderful."
It isn't exactly what Izuna wants, this whole situation doesn't make him feel at peace, but it'll have to be enough. It'll have to be enough for right now.