Rating: T

Warnings: Angst, time travel, brotherly fluff, brotherly angst, Itama and Tobirama both being dramatic, unhealthy coping mechanism, Izuna being a dork, Madara being Overprotective, Deus Ex Hamura, canon levels of violence, etc.

Word Count: ~5000

Pairings: Izuna/Itama, Hashirama/Mito, possibly pre-Madara/Tobirama

Summary: Tobirama loved Itama enough to go against the natural laws in an attempt to bring him back. For Itama, it's time to return the favor.

Disclaimer: Hah. I want some of whatever Kishimoto was smoking, but Naruto's not mine.

Notes: Red_Hot_Holly_Berries (my own personal enabler) and I have an ongoing Thing: she tries to turn everything into angst, I retaliate by trying to turn everything into fluff, and sometimes things explode. Like this fic. It started as an Itama-fic, took a nosedive into how Hashirama isn't the best brother, struggled up to become a fix-it, twisted sideways into more brotherly angst with a side of grievous wounds, and crashed headlong into "well Itama can turn into a magpie now take that!"

It's a little silly, a little funny, a little sad, and has been far too much fun to work on. There's a thousand other things I should be doing aside from posting yet another WIP, but sometimes you just need cute boys turning into birds and saving people.

The beginning dialogue is straight from As Is the Sea Marvelous, which was the starting point for all the angst. Chapter titles are from Rumi's Gone to the Unseen.

One Is for Sorrow

1. turned from the illusion

"How could you, Tobirama?"

"It was war."

"It was unnecessary!"

"I don't understand why you're so angry. I did what I had to."

"You destroyed any chance we might have had of peace! Madara will blame us all for Izuna's death! He won't rest until he's avenged him!"

"We are at war. Brother, I know you and Madara were friends, but it has been years. The Uchiha Clan still opposes us; would you have us lay down our weapons and die? Would you let them raid our lands, kill whatever children they find, without striking back? That is foolishness."

"I know you, Tobirama. I know how fast you are. If you had wanted to, you could have turned your sword, injured Izuna instead of killing him. Why? Why, just this once, couldn't you show a little mercy?"

"Madara is one man. The clans are tired of war; there is still hope that—"

"It was Madara's dream too, Tobirama! Without him standing beside me it is practically meaningless! He's like a brother to me. Can't you understand? Peace was a dream we shared! To go forward without him—it will be empty. And now—now any chance of that is gone."

"I regret that my actions have caused you distress, anija."

"Go away, Tobirama. Just—leave me be, please."

Goodbye, Brother.

It goes unsaid.

(But Itama hears it.)

Itama is accustomed to frustration.

Nineteen years of life, and nine of them were spent as the drab, average brother who could never live up to the flashy genius of his older brothers, the easy charm of his younger brother. Ten more years after that spent as a ghost, a soul tethered to the living world by his favorite brother's mistake, insubstantial and invisible, growing and changing and forced to watch his family crumble—

Itama feels he can safely say he knows more about frustration than anyone else.

And yet none of his previous frustrations can even hold a candle to this one.

"No," he whispers, though he knows from long experience that no one will hear him. Even the strongest sensor in Fire Country couldn't, even if that sensor wasn't lying at Itama's feet, his blood staining the grass beneath him.

"No," he says again, because there's nothing else he can say, and he drops to his knees, reaching for Tobirama's head. His red eyes are fixed in death, already dulling, and Itama's breath catches on a sob. He tries to touch, tries to lift Tobirama's head so that his older brother isn't just lying in the dirt, discarded like trash, but his fingers pass right through, the way they have so many, many times before.

The boneless, lifeless sprawl, antithesis of Tobirama's carefully controlled grace, doesn't change, and Itama shudders as a sob wracks his body.

Dead. Tobirama is dead, was murdered, and there was no way for Itama to stop it.

"Are you happy now?" he demands, useless, unheard. The words strangle around another sob, and Itama has always cried too easily—cried for birds caught by cats, for fish on a line, for kittens drowned in a spring flood—but this time the tears are fiercer, hotter, twisted with loathing and self-directed rage. Hatred for Tobirama's killer, and hatred for himself, caught by the Uchiha when he should have been warier, nothing now but a ghost trapped in the strings of one of Tobirama's early attempts at Edo Tensei.

"Are you happy?" he asks again, and the words break in his mouth like glass, their edges sharp enough to draw blood. "Killing my brother isn't going to bring yours back!"

None of the Uchiha around him so much as stir, and Tobirama's murderer simply stares down at his fallen body for an endless minute, chest heaving, eyes spinning crimson and midnight. He trembles, just faintly, and then takes a step back, pressing a hand over his face. The sound Uchiha Madara makes isn't a sob—it's wordless, formless, a noise full of aching grief and raw pain, twisted through with fury left to blaze unchecked.

Itama looks at Madara, standing with his bloody sword still in his hand, and knows that he isn't.

Good, he thinks, and almost says, but the word sits uneasily in his chest and can't quite make it past his tongue. He heard Madara's scream when Izuna fell, remembers all too clearly the grief he felt when Kawarama's body was carried back to the Senju compound, and can't quite make himself that petty.

Too soft, their father always told him.

Kind, Tobirama used to tell him in the night, when nightmares drove him to his brother's bed. He always said it like it was high praise, and Itama loved him for it.

Looking down, a sob shaking through him, Itama ghosts his fingers over the red marks on Tobirama's cheeks, right and left and then the one down his chin. Three marks, and maybe no one else can understand the meaning, but Itama has followed one step behind his older brother since the day Tobirama tried to resurrect him, only succeeding in binding his soul to the living world.

One slash for each brother he lost, and one more as a silent promise to keep Hashirama alive no matter what.

"You did it," he whispers, though he has no doubt Tobirama's soul is already somewhere far beyond the reach of his voice. "You saved him one more time. He's going to be so mad at you."

"He wasn't carrying any weapons," one of the Uchiha kunoichi says, crouching down beside Tobirama's body, almost on top of Itama. He ducks away automatically, not comfortable with the strangeness of having someone reach through him, and settles to stand protectively over his brother, no matter how little good it will do. He's not a child anymore, growing and maturing even as a ghost, as if some piece of him were still alive, but that will hardly let him fight an entire group of Uchiha when he can't so much as summon a breeze. He wants to—wants it more than he's wanted anything in a long time—but whatever the Uchiha choose to do to Tobirama's body, he can't stop them.

"What?" another Uchiha asks, this one a younger man with his hair pulled up in a short tail. There's a frown overtaking his face as he kneels beside her, Sharingan eyes flickering over Tobirama's body.

The woman tosses him a look, sharp and a little chiding, and repeats, "No weapons. Why would Senju Tobirama come to Uchiha lands unarmed?"

"It doesn't matter," Madara says harshly, though his gaze is still fixed on the sprawl of pale limbs across the forest floor.

The man with the ponytail murmurs something that only Itama, standing right next to him, manages to catch.

"Not anymore, it doesn't."

In that moment, Itama hates all of them. His hands curl into fists, and he looks away, because looking down means seeing Tobirama's corpse, dead at the hands of the Uchiha. Dead because they live in a world where only retribution matters, even in the face of friendships.

He wonders what Hashirama will think, when Tobirama never comes home.

They fought, he knows. Well, for a given value of fighting, because Tobirama might snap and snarl but he'd never really raise his voice at family. And especially never at his last living brother. Itama could only watch as Hashirama spoke those cutting words, those damning words, so overcome with his own grief that he entirely failed not notice Tobirama stiffening, drawing in on himself.

If he had, maybe he would have stopped Tobirama from walking straight into Uchiha territory on a mad quest to make things right.

Maybe he's managed it. Maybe now that he's gotten his revenge for Izuna's death Madara will be calmer, more reasonable. Maybe peace is possible now.

Itama doesn't care. He doesn't care, because his big brother is dead. There's no one to save him, no way to undo this—

Sound ceases.

Startled, Itama turns back, only to find Madara frozen midway through the act of re-sheathing his sword, the two other Uchiha stuck halfway to their feet. There's a twist in the air, a flicker, like chakra but somehow wilder, looser. Light blooms, gentle and soft, and a figure steps out of it. Instantly, Itama recoils, hands coming up in defensive positions he still can't forget at the sight of muted red skin, long white hair, a demonic face crowned with horns. He leaps for the trees as eerie black-and-yellow eyes settle directly on him, but—

His feet hit the ground and stick there.

Tobirama.

He can't leave his brother.

The monster looks down at his brother's body, then back up at him, and moves to follow Itama. It passes right through the frozen Uchiha as if it too is a ghost, and Itama's heartbeat catapults itself into his mouth. Is it here for him? Has it come to drag him back to the land of the dead? Is Tobirama's death enough to undo whatever chains his faulty Edo Tensei created to bind Itama's soul to the earth?

"No!" he cries, and the habit of a shinobi's life has him reaching for the chakra he can no longer touch. "I have to stay with him! You can't take me away!"

The monster stops. It tilts its head, regarding him, and then—

It laughs.

Fingers with long claws reach up, closing around its face, and there's a blinding whirl of chakra as it pulls sharply. The entire face comes off, as if it's nothing but a mask, and with it the entire presence vanishes. Like mist suddenly condensing back into a cloud, the body turns wavering-white, then shrinks, whirling in on itself. Out of the haze man emerges, normal except for the two small horns rising from his brow. His hair is long and blue-white in the forest's dimness, one lock beside his face wrapped with cloth, and his eyes are featureless lavender, almost white.

"Don't worry, child," he says, holding up one slim hand as he approaches Itama. "I'm here to help you save your brother, not to take you away."

Save him? Itama's breath catches in his throat, a lump like stone in his chest. His eyes burn, but he doesn't dare shift out of his ready stance to wipe them away—he can't afford to leave that big an opening against an unfamiliar opponent, and he might be weak compared to Tobirama and Hashirama, but he's not stupid.

"Tobirama is dead," he says, and ignores the way his voice cracks, the heat of the tears suddenly washing down his cheeks. "There's no way I can save him."

The faint, reassuring smile on the man's face fades, and he comes to a halt just a handful of feet away. "You must get that stubbornness from Hagoromo," he says, a note of amused disgust in his voice. "It seems to run in the family."

The unfamiliar name makes Itama frown, but he doesn't waver. "What do you want?" he insists, and hates the way he sounds, so much less intimidating than Tobirama, even when Tobirama isn't trying and Itama is.

Lavender eyes narrow, and the man folds his arms into the sleeves of his white robe. "My name is Hamura," he says, as though that should mean something. "The Uzumaki Clan calls me Shinigami. My brother is the Sage of Six Paths, and he might be content sitting back and watching his descendants run around making a mess of things, but I'm rapidly losing my patience with it. You're going to help me put things right."

That sounds a lot more ominous than Itama would like. He shifts back another step towards the trees, even though he's fairly certain he's not going to be able to escape one of the Uzumaki's gods no matter how fast he runs. "I'm dead!" he protests, even as he gauges the distance to the river. Running water won't cover a scent he no longer has, but there's usually mist along the banks this time of day. If he can make it there, he can hide—

Hamura snorts, just faintly. "You're not entirely dead," he corrects. "Thank that meddling brother of yours. Apparently no one ever taught him it was better not to play around with other people's souls."

Training says he should be wary, but Itama's instinct is louder right now, and it says this man means him no harm. A little warily, he lowers his arms, shifting back to stand straight, and takes a breath. "He was just lonely," he says quietly, because he's stayed by Tobirama's side for the last ten years; he knows all too well how his brother felt. "He wanted to save us, the way he couldn't when we died."

For a long moment, Hamura simply watches him, considering. Then he tips his head in acknowledgement, ceding the point. "He brought you halfway back," is all he says. "You stand with a foot in the world of the living and one in the land of the dead. It means you are under my jurisdiction, but you still have ties to the earth. I can use that."

Being used is something every shinobi is familiar with, so Itama doesn't waver. "Is that why I grew?" he asks, looking down at his hands. Not as big as Hashirama's, not as graceful as Tobirama's, but…his own. Nineteen years old, an adult even in the eyes of civilians, and he's existed for every moment of the last ten years, but he hasn't actually been alive.

"It is," Hamura confirms, and something in his voice is softer now, his whole bearing eased just a little. When Itama looks up at him he smiles, reaching out, and offers his hand. "Your brother loved you enough to go against the natural laws to bring you back. Would you like to return the favor?"

Automatically, Itama glances over at Tobirama, sprawled out at the feet of the man who killed him. Tobirama looks…small, like this. Like a broken doll carelessly dropped by a forgetful child, no longer of value, and—

"Of course I will," he says, and pretends he can't hear the way his voice shakes. Itama is always scared, always terrified of everything. But he keeps going regardless, forges on because there's no other choice to make, and now is certainly no different. "But—he died."

He sounds like such a child, and he hates it.

Hamura makes a faint sound of amusement, stepping forward. "As you yourself did. But I will take you back to a moment when neither of you are dead, and leave you to fix it. In return, I want you to kill someone for me, little magpie."

Light is gathering again, the wavering form of the robed demon with its red skin starting to bleed into the air around Hamura, even as his human form grows fainter. This time Itama doesn't try to run away, even if he still wants to. "Aren't you the Shinigami?" he asks as bravely as he can manage, not allowing himself to retreat. "Can't you just do it yourself?"

Hamura's chuckle fills the air around them. "As a piece of my mother's will given form, he knows me far too well, and would see me coming in an instant. But if you change things for the better, he'll step in to drag them back to chaos, and you'll have the advantage. Do we have a deal?"

This time Itama doesn't look towards his brother's body; he doesn't need to. "Yes," he says firmly, and reaches for Hamura's hand.

The world tilts, changes, collapses and reforms. Itama can feel himself falling and cries out, but it's not his own voice that emerges—it's the call of a magpie, warbling and throaty, and when massive hands with dull red skin scoop him up, he beats white-and-black wings edged with iridescent blue in startled protest.

"Easy, easy," Hamura tells him, and it's unnerving to hear his steady voice emerge from such an inhuman face. "I may as well give you an advantage before I drop you from the nest." His fingers close gently over Itama's magpie body, hold him securely even as he turns, and the forest around them shifts to a rocky plain. There are Senju in their armor, Uchiha without, and Itama feels a cold chill run through him when he realizes that he recognizes this place. He was here just yesterday, following his brother into battle like a ghostly shadow.

This is where Izuna died. This is where Hashirama lost all hope of mending bridges with the Uchiha clan, and where Madara swore revenge for his little brother's death.

Hamura raise his hands closer to his face, studying Itama closely for a moment, and then nods. "I'll be watching," he tells him, and then leans back and tosses him gently into the air. Itama squawks, not expecting the motion, but his wings flare out of their own volition, catch the air as if he's already well accustomed to flying, and in a moment he's aloft, soaring above the battleground.

The first moment is dizzying, a confusion of smoke and dust and unexpected updrafts, but Itama climbs carefully, one eye studying the ground beneath him. That mass of fire on the far edge has to be Madara and Hashirama's fight, and he dips in the opposite direction, towards the other edge of the battle. There's a flare of fire, bright enough to blind, and in a rush a dragon made of water rises to meet it. Steam explodes outward in a blinding cloud, too thick to even see hints of motion through, and Itama knows exactly what's going to happen next.

His heart caught high up in his throat, he folds his wings and dives.

It's a dizzying rush as he plunges into the cloud of steam, because there's not enough time to plan anything at all. Even shinobi trained for speed can't hope to match Tobirama, but Itama knows this battle, knows exactly how all of this will play out right down to the steps his brother takes, and—

The change of shape is less of a snap than he expects, more a shift than a switch. Itama drops, a flight of kunai just missing his head, and turns. Izuna jerks, eyes going wide as he brings his sword up, but Itama is counting seconds and there's no time, not even for the realization that the Uchiha can see him. He ducks under Izuna's guard, slamming a shoulder into his chest and hurling him to the side, and without pausing he turns right back.

There's a flash of yellow light.

Itama has no sword, no kunai, not even so much as a branch to shield himself with. He can't do anything but meet his older brother's eyes as Tobirama brings his sword around, and he can see the exact moment Tobirama realizes that the scene before him has changed. His face goes slack, horror rising in a drowning wave as he jerks his blade up. In the same instant Itama ducks, and he can feel the rush of air as it skims right over his hair. A fraction of a heartbeat later, there's a hand on his shoulder, pulling up, an arm around his waist, a ragged gasp against his ear. Tobirama's impossibly familiar chakra crests, a yellow starburst filling the air around them, and then darkness that instantly gives way to light and silence.

Carefully, Itama cracks an eye open, but all he can see is the blue of his brother's armor where he's clinging to him. And—he doesn't want to let go. His last image of his brother was Tobirama on the ground, eyes empty as they stared at nothing, and Itama can't stand it.

"Tobirama," he says, and doesn't even try to make the word come out steady.

The arms around him tighten, almost crushing in their force, and Tobirama shakily breathes out into Itama's hair. "Kai," he whispers, even as he sinks to his knees, pulling Itama with him. "Kai. Kai!"

Despite himself, despite the many times he's told himself not to cry, Itama feels tears on his cheeks. "It's not an genjutsu, I swear," he whispers, not wanting to lift his head but knowing he needs to. Even the first instant of trying to pull back is thwarted, though; Tobirama's arms don't budge, and he's always been stronger than Itama.

"It has to be," Tobirama says, and his fingers curl against Itama's back, his shoulders, ten points of pressure to ground and steady both of them in turn. "You look—you are—"

"You brought me back," Itama tells him, and Tobirama goes stiff against him. Itama knows enough of his brother's thoughts to understand why. This is everything he wants, created by his own hands, fixed with his own effort, and that's all Tobirama has ever needed to be content.

He pulls back, and this time Tobirama lets him, though his hands don't leave Itama's shoulders. "It's true!" he insists. "That experiment, with the shinobi you captured, and the seal—it brought me halfway back, and someone else brought me the rest of the way."

For an endless moment, Tobirama stares at him, and Itama can see the way he's caught between disbelief and wild hope. "No one else knows about that," he says slowly, and that spark of courage in the face of disbelief is growing in his eyes. "No one else could know."

Itama smiles at him, curling his hand around Tobirama's wrist. "I only saw the aftermath," he admits. "But I saw you going over your notes afterwards, before Hashirama burst in and you threw that paperweight at his head. I figured it out from there."

A breath, a beat, and Tobirama hauls him close again, burying his face in Itama's two-toned hair. "You were always more clever than you gave yourself credit for." The words are muffled, but clear enough, and it feels the same way it used to when Tobirama called him kind.

"It wasn't hard," Itama mutters, though his cheeks feel warm. He's not particularly clever, and he's always known it. "It's easy to piece things together when no one else can see you."

A faint hitch in Tobirama's breath, and Itama can feel his fingers curl more tightly into his shirt. "Forgive me," Tobirama says, and the words are so rough they may as well be cracking right down the center. "I—you always wanted to be seen, more than anything, and I took that away from—"

Exasperation flares, familiar and frequent when faced with his bullheaded older brother—both of them, to some extent, but especially Tobirama, who's always doing too much and thinking he does too little. With a huff, Itama pulls back, slaps Tobirama in the back of the head, and fixes him with the firmest glare he can manage. "No, aniki!"

Tobirama blinks, red eyes clearly bewildered, and opens his mouth.

"No," Itama repeats, more quietly but just as firmly, and slaps a hand over Tobirama's lips. He takes a breath, not quite able to bear the look in his brother's face, and shakes his head. "Thank you for bringing me back. I'm sorry it took this long, but I'm here now and I'm not leaving."

There's a long, long moment of silence as Tobirama stares at him, blank and silent. Something like nervousness curls in Itama's stomach, but before it can build to the point of fleeing the scene, Tobirama takes a breath that shakes in his chest. His hands frame Itama's face, calluses rough but dearly familiar, and he pulls Itama in to rest their foreheads together. His eyes fall shut, pale lashes like crescents of snow against the darker skin, and he whispers, "It really—you are Itama. No one else would yell at me like that."

Of all the things to be remembered for, Itama thinks, somewhere between sheepish and fond. He twists his fingers into his brother's hair, holding him close, and can't help but remember the argument between Tobirama and Hashirama that ended up driving Tobirama straight to the Uchiha. It hasn't happened yet, though.

It won't happen at all, Itama vows, matching his breathing to his brother's. Maybe Tobirama was always been the one to protect Itama before, but now he's going to return the favor, even if he has to protect Tobirama from himself and Hashirama equally.

"Hashirama will be overjoyed," Tobirama says, as if he can see the direction of Itama's thoughts.

Itama wants to see Hashirama too, wants to see the entire clan now that they can see him. And he wants nothing more than to cling to his brother as Tobirama drags him home the same way he used to when Itama exhausted himself training, but—

He made a deal. He made a deal to save Tobirama's life, to bring him back from the dead, and it doesn't matter that Tobirama isn't dead right now. Itama agreed to take care of Hamura's task, and he won't be able to do that if he's miraculously returned from the dead in the eyes of the Senju Clan. Tobirama can know, but no one else.

"Itama." There's something very close to alarm in Tobirama's voice now, and Itama jerks his head up, startled, as Tobirama's hands close even more tightly on him. "Itama, please. Come home."

"Not yet," Itama says, catching his hands, and it's the habit of a child, but he twines his fingers with Tobirama's, lets Tobirama's bigger hands cover his. "I can't save everyone I need to if I'm stuck in the compound. And once I go back, you know Hashirama isn't going to let me out again."

"I won't let you out again," Tobirama retorts, and Itama has to laugh, remembering the way Tobirama stepped in front of him, in front of Hashirama, whenever it seemed as if their father was going to come to blows. Always, always, he's been the defender, and Itama loves him fiercely for it.

"I have things I need to do, and I'm the only one who can manage them," he says, and he can see the reluctance in Tobirama's eyes. He hesitates, but—

All it takes is a thought, and the world shifts.

"Itama?" Tobirama demands, and as a magpie Itama glances up at him and cocks his head, half-spreading his wings. Tobirama shakes his head, even as he scoops Itama up between his hands to look at him more closely. "I assume this isn't a side effect of Edo Tensei, so don't think you're going to escape telling me just how you managed to change shape, little brother."

That, at least, is a far cry better than what he was previously about to say, which Itama knows would have been a threat to drag him back to the compound against his will. Content with that, he warbles and rubs his beak against the pad of Tobirama's thumb.

Tobirama lets out a breath that's almost a laugh, holding him up to eye-level. "I take it this is your way of ending the argument?" When Itama simply trills innocently at him, he rolls his eyes. "Very well. I dislike this plan, but I won't take you back to the compound. However, I expect to see you at least once a day. Understood?"

The trick with Tobirama is to outlast his stubbornness, Itama thinks, amused, and reaches up to tug pointedly on a lock of white hair falling over the faceplate. Tobirama makes a noise of disgruntled affection, but—

He's smiling, just a little.

Itama can't remember the last time he saw Tobirama's smile.