you see those stars, yeah that's ours
"Tell me what's happening."
"I think they're leaving." Itama's voice wavers. "Everyone's packing everything up."
"No, no, I can hear that. But what exactly are they packing up?"
Itama huffs, "Everything."
"Everything-everything?"
"Shirts and sandals and weapons and tea pots and babies. Everything." Itama smacked his arm playfully. Izuna would've hit him in return, but the boy's not as dull as Izuna had been at that age. He takes a step back and lets Izuna flounder around trying to find him. Izuna frowns, tilting his head to hear his surroundings better. There were familiar noises, shouting from Old Lady Himari, thumps and clanks as things were packed away into trunks. He swears he can feel a brief flare of chakra as things are sealed inside scrolls, but he isn't a sensor. Besides, trying to sense chakra makes Izuna feel muddled and ill, so he doesn't try often.
"This happens a lot." Itama chirps helpfully. "Whenever you move compounds! I remember all the times everyone used to pack up--" He pauses, and Izuna feels small fingers tuck into his own. "Well, I've been around for a while. But nobody ever takes this much stuff."
Izuna doesn't exactly know what to make of that either. He knows about the peace between the Senju and Uchiha clan, most from Madara's prayers and Itama's observations from the field, but he doesn't know the extent of exactly what was happening.
"Maybe there's a brand new compound." Izuna offers in reply, but he doesn't even sound convinced about it. What could it be? He had been young, about Itama's age when Madara used to go meet with Senju Hashirama by that damned river, but what did they talk about? He strained his memory for what he managed to eavesdrop that sunny day he followed after his brother, because Madara never spoke of their conversations after that. Especially not to Izuna.
"Or maybe a village." Itama says brightly, and Izuna imagines that the boy's smiling. Or as much as he can imagine without knowing what the child looked like. His hair was oddly cut, one side smoother than the other, but Izuna had no idea what color is or what color his skin favored. Was he pale like the lower ranked Senju or did he favor the darker colors of the Main family? "Anija used to always talk about building a big village where everyone could be happy and safe-- he would tell it to us like a story."
"Sounds like a happy story."
Itama wiggles his fingers in Izuna's palm. "It had to be a story. If Father ever heard about-- well, Father didn't let my brother tell us about his thoughts or dreams very often. He didn't like it, and he would do anything to make him be quiet." Itama very dramatically put a fist against Izuna's jaw, not enough to hurt or not a real strike, but pressed it there deeply. "Anything."
Izuna swallowed hard, "Your father hit your brother?"
"Sometimes. Not very often. Nii-san usually defused the situation, but Father lost his temper a lot."
"Did he ever hit you?"And if Izuna had any blood left to bleed, any rage left to spit out, he'd find the man and challenge him to a fight. He'd burn the entire room apart, but that won't help anything. He keeps his voice calm, steady, like Madara did when faced with a situation he didn't want to be in.
"No, no, not that I remember. Nii-san never let him after he did it once when I was little. He's hit Nii-san before too, but not me or Kawara-nii. He wouldn't let him strike us." Itama explained patiently, as if the whole conversation was about the moving and not at all about what a piece of shit his father was. Or is?
Izuna feels around until he can ruffle the kid's hair, "I can see why you love your brothers so much." He says carefully. "They took very good care of you. Looked after you."
"You look after me, too." Itama laughs softly. "Well not look after me, but you're here!"
"A low blow." Izuna flicks his forehead, or at least close enough to his forehead for it to count. "A real low blow, Ita-chan." He cooed, and he can feel the boy's glare even if he can't see it. "Now tell me, you suppose your father's alive?"
"He was when I died. So maybe."
"Well if he is, we'll add him to our list of people to haunt."
It really wasn't much of a list. Only a handful of names. And they really can't do much hauntings in their current state.
If Izuna had a choice about it, he'd become a onryō, a vengeful spirit, at least for a night in order to get revenge for the poor kid. Tajima might not have been the most emotionally dependant or nurturing father in the world (how could he afford to be), but he had never struck his children outside of sparring. Izuna would be like the spirits in the ghost stories Madara would tell him when they were little, with the dark-haired spirits without eyes that searched for helpless victims, the warriors that danced around the room with ghastly blades fresh with blood of the formerly living. Those hadn't been his favorite stories growing up, because they would frighten him beyond belief, but Madara had always let him put their futons together afterwards.
But Izuna wouldn't mind becoming what he was once so afraid of. As terrifying as the stories had been, as much emphasis as Madara put on the gory deaths and horrific fear, the spirits in the stories weren't entirely in the wrong. Revenge only happened on those that deserved it, didn't it? The eye-stealer slaughtered only her cheating husband and his new wives, the ones that conspired to kill her so horrifically. The dead warriors forced their living enemies to surrender and kill themselves, saving their village from a mass invasion. It was a justifiable revenge, wasn't it?
And Izuna deserved justifiable revenge. For Itama, for himself, he would torment anyone that deserved it. Haunt Itama's father, that Taketori man that got away with raping his second cousin Uchiha Harumi a few years back, anyone that opposed Madara, and…
Well, as angry as he was over his death, it wouldn't be in good taste to haunt to really haunt Tobirama, would it? Sure, it would fill Izuna up with glee to see the man squirm, but it was a fair death. (He understood that, he knew that, but why couldn't he just let go of some of this anger? It burned and burned and it made so...so furious. He knew why he died, but why couldn't he get over it?)
"You hear that?" Itama questions, and Izuna tilts his head. Strains his hearing. It gets overwhelming, sometimes, to depend solely on sound and smell, but he could focus when he tried hard enough. The sound of children running around, giggling and shouting. Sheets being beaten, men talking loudly and the smell of sake, women gossiping and other noises. Like crates or chests being opened and closed. Clinking. Thumping. Itama had said earlier they were in the main courtyard, the one that was in the center of the entire compound, and all the noises made sense to him.
"Hear what exactly?"
"The voice." Itama tells him lowly, like his voice might somehow interrupt it. What voice? Izuna tries to focus on everyone that's talking, trying to single out whatever caught the boy's attention. "It sounds like...oh, nevermind. It's gone now."
"Sounded like what?"
Itama hums softly, "Like… nevermind. It's gone anyway."
Izuna accepts his answer and moves on, but keeps an ear out for anything strange.
___
It's late at night. Or that's what Itama tells him, but he doesn't know for sure. It feels cool, a nice damp night under the stars that Izuna can't see.
"Tell me about them. The stars. What do stars look like?"
Itama sounds surprised, "But you know what they look like." He leans his head against Izuna's shoulder, his fickle hair tickling at his cheeks, but the Uchiha doesn't make him move. It still surprises him, how easily they've fallen into a pattern, a routine. Before, if someone had told Izuna his most favorite person in the world would be a Senju, he would have very thoughtfully set their home and belongings on fire and left Hikaku to deal with the ashes. But old wounds healed over when there was nothing left to take, what could hatred do to the dead? A dead man couldn't kill another dead man, could he? There was nothing left, no more lines to cross. No more hatred to give. They were just two victims of an endless war, just two people with lives cut unfairly short.
"I've forgotten. You'll have to tell me. You do have the best vision out of both of us."
"I have the only vision." Itama retorts, but there's nothing cruel or biting about the comment. His head shifts on Izuna's shoulder, as if he were looking up. "They're bright, like a bunch of kunai when the sun hits them just right and it looks pretty for a moment. Bright and glittering, and they don't look yellow or gold. They're white. Silver. Glittering silver."
Glittering silver. That's nice. Izuna never thought he would miss the sight of stars, something he'd looked at thousands of times, each night from his bedroom window before he slept or his only companions during his watch on long missions. He missed the sight of them, constant and unyielding, a friend for lonely nights. But these days he missed many many things.
"There's a big one, isn't there? Bright blue. But it has some green to it, too."
"Yes!" Itama exclaimed. "How did you know?" He waved a hand across Izuna's face, mockingly checking him for sight. Izuna smiled softly at the air of his hand, wishing he had eyes left to roll just one more time.
"There's a story to it, you know."
"Tell me!" Itama nods eagerly, his hair scratching against the man's skin. Izuna tugs him away, ruffling his hair, and trying to remember all the details of the story. It had been one that Madara told him, right after the death of Reisen, when he found Izuna crying out in the small herbal garden their mother once tended. He'd put him into his arms, pointed at the brightest star in the sky, and made up the story as he went. The details changed a little each time Madara told him, but the theme remained the same.
Izuna begins, lost in his own thoughts. "There was a princess that lived thousands of years ago, when the world was new and the skies were dark. Midori-Hime was her name, and she was very beautiful, and had many suitors. Each day, she would meet a new man that wanted her hand in marriage, though she never found any she liked so…"
"...her father, the king, grew desperate. The years passed and still, Midori-Hime hadn't found a wealthy husband, so her father decided to open the opportunity to the low born men too. Izuna, pay attention, this is the good part! So there was a handsome blacksmith, and he came one day to meet the princess. It was love at first sight, but to be sure of his worthiness since he was low born, the king had to test him. So he lets Midori-Hime issue the challenge…"
"The night's sky was so empty except for the moon, and Midori-Hime couldn't bear the idea of it being alone. So she challenges him to put something beautiful up in the sky to last forever. And he tries and tries, but nothing he builds will stay up. Disappointed, Midori-Hime rejects her love and searches for someone else. The blacksmith kills himself that night. Pitied by the Gods, they placed his soul in the sky so everyone could see what he was willing to do to fulfill Midori-Hime's request."
"No, Izuna, let me finish the story. It isn't over yet-- alright, alright, I know. It's a long story. Alright so, Midori-Hime sees the star and realizes he fulfilled her wish anyway. Out of grief for her lost love, she chooses to join him there in the sky so she flings herself out of the tower of her family's compound. The Gods too placed her in the sky, a testament to her feelings, and that's why it shines so brightly. Izuna, are you asleep? Come on wake up! It was a good story--"
Izuna blinks himself out of the story, his brother's voice echoing in his mind. His throat closes up, tight and constricting like he was being strangled, and he feels warm pooling at his face. He uses his free hand to wipe away the blood that would trickle down his cheeks, willing back any unsavory emotions. Shinobi didn't show unnecessary emotions, especially not sentimentality or grief, those were to be discarded.
And he'd done that, hadn't he? Disregarded his feelings for his three older brothers, his father when he too had his life taken, for everyone of his peers and friends that never returned home. Not well enough, but he'd tried. He'd tried so hard to leave the messier emotions, sadness, grief, nostalgia and shove them away inside his chest for later. But later never came, and here he is. A mess over a story that his big brother told him years and years ago.
"Did Mr. Lion Hair tell you that? Or was it one of your other brothers?"
Izuna manages a weary smile, "Mr. Lion Hair."
"Oh." Itama snuggles closer to him, disregarding any semblance of personal space, tucking himself into Izuna's neck carefully. "Hello, Midori-Hime." He whispers, and Izuna barely catches the murmur.
It has to be worth something, doesn't it? This moment, this second with this boy, because everything feels alright. Everything feels as it should be, correct and proper, and it makes him wonder what his life would be like if he'd lived. Izuna wouldn't have known Itama, wouldn't have missed his wit or his hugs, the warmth of having someone look up to him after so many years of being hidden away in the shadow of his brother. His brother had never made him feel lesser, but Izuna's own insecurities made sure he never forgot that he was.
Izuna settles his head over the boy's and sighs into the darkness. Perhaps this afterlife is a purgatory, a punishment, unable to move on or to see, but it was a reward too. Or perhaps it could be. As much as he missed his time with Madara, he valued his time with Itama just as much.
A balance of sadness and cheer.
Just Izuna's luck.
___
Itama's quiet for the first time in the many, many seconds they've known each other. Maybe days, maybe weeks, maybe months. Izuna doesn't know, because time passes very differently when one cannot see when days begin and end.
"Come now." Izuna says playfully, nudging the boy and tugging at his fancy armor, wiggling his fingers into the cotton underneath. "Is it because you saw a pretty Uchiha girl again? If you describe her, I'll know which one of the devils it is, and you'll be grateful you died before meeting her. None of my cousins are worth the time of day-- well, maybe one or two. Most of them are as mean as a pissed off cat, and just as hissy."
Itama says nothing, and Izuna smooths his fingers out of the cool metal, right over the Senju sigil carved into the shoulders.
"Did you hear the voice again?" He asks softly. "Because sometimes I can swear I hear Madara, but I can never make out what he's saying."
"No." Itama whispers, and leans into Izuna's hands as he runs them up and down his warm cheeks. "No, it's…just everyone's leaving!"
"Right. We already figured that out. To a new compound, or village, or something."
Itama huffs, but it comes out more of a cry for help than any disrespect. He lets out a deep breath and sucks in another, as if preparing for fresh tears.
Izuna's got to stop that before it happens. This kid is not crying again on his watch. He'd more than enough tears for his eternity of death.
"Come on. Explain it to me, Ita-chan." He tugged at the boy's face fondly, pulling his lips into a smile. The boy fought against his touch, swatting his fingers away.
The boy huffs again.
"You remember what I told you that Ghost-chan told me?" He questions hurriedly, as if the thoughts were bursting to get out of him. "About us being like flies in honey? She said she had been a ghost for a very long time, and that all the ghosts she's ever seen are stuck to something."
"And Ghost-chan was attached to hair pins, I remember." Izuna also remember the boy's intense reaction to whatever it was that he was attached to. Whatever it was, it left a horrifying imprint on the boy's memory, and Izuna didn't want a repeat performance of the boy's trauma.
"I'm attached to a sword." Itama whispers. His small hands slip into Izuna's much larger one, and the kid squeezes it as hard as he can, like the words were akin to torture. Maybe they were.
"A sword." Izuna repeats slowly. "Alright."
"The one that killed me, I think." Itama continues, his hand trembling in the Uchiha's grip. Izuma tightens his hold, squeezing the boy's cheek with his other hand. "Or maybe not. It could have been one of the other men's."
His entire body feels cold, "Other men? Itama, who killed you?" Don't say it, don't say it. Don't say it. Don't--
"A few Uchiha men." He says quietly. "Maybe five? I don't know. I didn't know there were so many left. I was told to just wait for my brother, so I did, I stayed put and waited, but I got surrounded."
"Itama…"
His voice grows higher and higher, "I was so sure my brother would come in time! Anija...he never fails. He's the best. He's never…" Itama shakes his head furiously. "He'd never been too late before. He...he was… It isn't right! The one time it counted, he was late. He....Why didn't he save--"
Izuna pulls the kid close, putting his hands against the kids face. "Breathe for me. C'mon take a deep breath. Calm down. It's alright. They can't hurt you anymore."
And they shouldn't have hurt him in the first place. They should've left him alone, a lone runt, a child without a clansmen left to fight by his side. There wasn't honor in killing a lone boy, a child, let alone five men doing the deed. It wasn't right. It wasn't a shinobi's way, was it? They weren't samurai, they didn't hold strong morals or rigorous honor, but a grown man (or several) slaughtering a young boy was an offence in itself. An insult. It wasn't--
He feels the boy shudder out a breath, shaky against his hands, and Izuna steadies them both. He sinks down to his knees, taking the Senju down with him, pressing his forehead against Itama's fondly.
A press of foreheads, just like Madara did with Izuna, like Tajima did with his sons. Affectionate and safe, a movement of trust, Izuna had been told, though he'd never been fond of it before.
"I'm…" Itama gasps in another breath. "I'm okay. I'm...I'm fine now." He gasps in and out, loud and steady, big bursts if air he didn't truly need. Slowly, his forehead against Izuna's, he steadied and quieted his breathing, and they sat in a content silence.
Izuna let out a sigh he didn't know he'd been holding back.
"We'll add them to the list."
Itama laughs hoarsely, shaking his head a little. Izuna grins back at him, patting his cheek fondly, letting him go and leaning back onto his palms.
"It's getting to be a big list. Might have to recruit a few more ghosts." Izuna continues on, holding up both hands and pretending to count out people they'll end up haunting.
"Women ghosts." Itama says softly. "Because they're better at revenge. My cousin Touka used to cut all the straps on my sandals when I made her mad." He makes a noise, something Izuna can't identify right away. "I know I'll be moving away soon. Because the man that has the sword now always goes with Mr. Porcupine Hair. He wasn't one of the men-- I think he's one of their sons."
"What's he look like? And don't tell me black hair and black eyes, because that's everyone."
Itama laughs, "He has brown hair! Brown hair pulled up in a hair tie. And he wears a lot of purple. He's always with your brother."
Purple clothes and brown hair? Izuna recognizes him right away.
"Hikaku. He's my first cousin. He's a kind man, better than anyone else, and the patience of a saint. He has to have it-- he put up with me for years."
"He sounds nice. But...I know I'm going to be leaving soon when Hikaku-san leaves since he carries the sword with him. But what about you?"
"What about me?"
"We don't know what you're attached to."
Izuna pauses. He hadn't considered that, had he? Hadn't considered why he was stuck to the compound, just that he was, just that he was dead and caught up in the living world. It never came to him that there was something specific in this house that he was bound to.
"What did Ghost-chan say? About attaching to things?"
"That you attach to the last thing you see before you die. I saw a sword. She saw the hair pins. Another person she met saw his futon." Itama stops talking for a moment, like he was thinking about something difficult. "What's the last thing you saw before you died?"
"Nothing." Izuna answers quickly. "I gave my brother my eyes before I died, right when I knew my wound was infected and I was soon to die."
Itama clicks his tongue, "But you can't leave the house?"
"I tried to follow Madara once, but somehow I always find myself back at the compound. So I have to be attached to something in the house."
"Well what was the last thing you saw before you gave your eyes away?"
"Madara." Izuna tries to think back to that time, his mind muddled and memories blurred by the fever he'd had during that time. He remembers insisting Madara take them. He remembers his brother by his side, forcing him to drink something bitter to help with the pain and to put him to sleep so they could take his eyes peacefully. What did he last see before he fell unconcious and never woke? His temples ache with half-formed memories, pounding as he struggles to recall.
He remembers Madara's tears as he fell asleep. Remembers how shocked he was to see them because Madara never broke apart. Remembers staring up at the ceiling, right before fading out--
"The ceiling." Izuna says urgently. "I remember staring at the ceiling before I died. And my brother."
Itama gasps, horrified.
"What's wrong?"
"What if you're attached to the house?" Itama whispers. "If you're connected to this compound…"
"When the clan leaves, I'm not leaving with them." Izuna chokes out, feeling sick.