Rating: T

Warnings: Brotherly fluff, brotherly angst, Itama and Tobirama both being cute and full of feels, unhealthy coping mechanism, Izuna being a dork, canon levels of violence, etc.

Word Count: ~6400

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

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

Notes: Straight from the lips of Holly, world's greatest enabler: I regret nothing.

I am of the same opinion, for the record. More magpie!Itama, for your viewing pleasure.

One Is for Sorrow

2. heard the drummer's call

He dreams in flashes and shattered shades, of wings and swords and yellow light. Dreams of being trapped behind a pane of glass with out out out beating in his blood and fists bruised raw-red from his trying. Then the glass breaks and he's falling falling flying, fingers turned to feathers and heart to fire.

It's not the sensation of tumbling down that wakes him, but of success, a rush of fierce joy in his blood, and Itama opens his eyes with a silent breath that nevertheless feels like a shout.

He's still cradled in the branches of the tree he chose to sleep in, braced against the trunk. There's a magpie perched on the end of the bough, watching him with beady-bright eyes, and when it sees him looking back it warbles a greeting. Blue-brushed wings flare out, and another magpie answers it, then another, and another.

Four of them, Itama thinks, pushing himself up to sit. There was…a rhyme, wasn't there, for telling the future by a group of magpies? Tobirama read it to him once, before they became too old for such things.

One is for sorrow, two's for mirth, three's a blessing, four's a birth.

"Four for a birth?" Itama asks them, smiling. "Are you here for mine? Well, rebirth, I suppose, but I think it counts."

The smallest of the group flutters down to land on his bent knee, and Itama gives a delighted laugh, offering her his hand. Perfectly bold, she climbs up onto his fingers, chittering at him. This one's wings and tail are more green than blue, warmed by an undertone of gold, and when Itama raises a hand to carefully stroke the feathers on her breast she allows it easily, preening under the touch.

"You're so pretty," Itama tells her, smiling. "Are you my summons now? I didn't have them before, but I think we have some things in common now."

The magpie squawks, sounding exasperated, and Itama laughs, ducking away from her wings as she flutters up to the branch above him. "So that's a yes?" he asks cheekily, and gets another chiding warble. But she pauses, then bobs her head before taking wing again. This time the others join her, and Itama leans forward to watch them disappear into the morning sky.

"A tiding," he say to himself, because thinking out loud has always been a habit he couldn't break. He used to talk to Kawarama, and then to Tobirama, but, well. Ten years invisible and inaudible to everyone has taught him it's easiest to talk to himself. At least that way he doesn't expect a response. "That's what you call a group of magpies. They're a tiding."

He looks up through the branches stained by the first brush of sun, up towards the sky that's a clear and cloudless blue, and he thinks he can see more magpies in the distance.

One is for sorrow, two's for mirth, three's a blessing, four's a birth. Five for laughing, six for crying, seven for sickness, eight for dying. Nine is for love, ten is a kiss, eleven's a secret, and twelve grants a wish.

Itama can't mark the number of them as they wheel across the rising sun, and somehow that realization feels like a shiver of foreboding down his spine.

Izuna can't stop thinking about it.

He's up before the sun, awake in time to hear the birds start up in the forest around the Uchiha compound. There are more of them than normal, loud and fierce, but the din can't manage to pull Izuna out of his thoughts as he perches on the edge of the wall.

Tobirama used a new jutsu yesterday, something Izuna has never seen in all his years of fighting the Senju. Something that let him move in a way even the Mangekyo Sharingan couldn't follow, as if he'd stepped right out of the physical world for an instant before reappearing. And…it wasn't the sort of thing Izuna was going to be able to dodge. He'd realized that as it happened, and—

Someone had pushed him out of the way.

They'd been gone a moment later, carried away by Tobirama's sunburst of a new jutsu, but Izuna rubs a hand over his ribs, remembering the moment all too clearly. He's bruised, but he's also alive, and that's something to be thankful for. To wonder about, too, because he has no idea who would be reckless enough to interfere in a fight between him and Tobirama. He's not quite Madara, and Tobirama isn't Hashirama, but they're not lacking in power, either.

Even so, the shinobi who dropped into the middle of their fight hadn't hesitated. Hadn't wavered at all as he turned to face Tobirama, and then Tobirama took him away.

Izuna wonders if the stranger was an ally. Probably, given how he sacrificed himself to save Izuna so readily. There haven't been any reports of mysterious helpful figures from any of the patrols or scouts, though, so either he's focused on Izuna in particular, or…

Or Izuna really was about to die, and that was enough to make the shinobi step in.

He doesn't like the thought much. On the battlefield, he and Tobirama have always been roughly equal, and like their brothers they always engage each other to keep the rest of their clansmen out of the line of fire. But, if Tobirama—already fast, already devastating—can now move in ways the Sharingan can't predict, things are going to get a hell of a lot more dangerous for the Uchiha, and Izuna can't always count on a helpful stranger taking the blow for him.

They disappeared in the same flash of light Tobirama used, so logic say Tobirama took the stranger. Izuna leans forward, hands gripping the heavy stone of the wall, and closes his eyes. He doesn't want to think about an ally of the Uchiha in Senju hands, suffering for saving Izuna's life. Doesn't want to think about Tobirama's ruthlessness and how it might apply to interrogation. Hashirama is soft enough that he might not condone such things, but Tobirama would without a doubt.

Tobirama is like Izuna in that way: they'll both do whatever it takes to protect their idiot older brothers, even if they have to take on the very worst aspects of the world their brothers are fighting to change.

Don't, Izuna tells himself, mouth tightening as he drags a hand over his hair. Don't think about torture and the Senju being stronger and a world that is always, always, always one side pitted against the other.

He can't escape it, though. Can't banish the sight of wide, dark eyes, shaggy hair sharply divided into white and black, an expression of fearful determination. For all of three seconds Izuna saw him, but—

But he saved Izuna's life, and that's hard to forget.

"Izuna? What are you doing up here? Madara's been looking for you."

Izuna blinks, pulled back to reality by the familiar voice, and turns to find Hikaku right behind him. The younger man has his pike over his shoulder, clearly about to go on watch, but is watching him with concern clear in his expression.

"I'm fine," Izuna tells him, a futile attempt to preempt any displays of worry.

"Of course you are," Hikaku agrees with devastating mildness. He props his pike against the wall and takes a seat next to Izuna, facing the opposite direction as he studies the interior of the compound.

This is a trap Izuna knows well; Hikaku is calm and patient and never goads, never outright pushes him to talk about feelings but at the same time one look from him is more than enough to trigger the itching need for Izuna to defend himself, even if his words weren't a lie. It's a little horrifying just how many times Izuna has fallen victim to it, and recognizing that it's happening does nothing to stop its effectiveness.

"I am," he insists.

"Right," Hikaku says, still perfectly agreeable. "You're totally fine."

"Completely," Izuna snaps. "I've never been more fine, okay? Yesterday doesn't matter, and nothing happened—"

"Yesterday?" Hikaku casts him a sideways look, blinking innocently like he doesn't know exactly what he's doing, the bastard. "You mean the battle? I heard Tobirama had some sort of new jutsu."

Izuna gives him a dark look. "He did," he admits, and it comes out grumpier than he would like. "Something with seals, knowing the bastard."

And…seals are one of the ways shinobi torture, aren't they? Sealed chakra, constant low-level pain, disorientation, emotional manipulation—seals can do all of that, and Tobirama is one of the best with them in the country. What if the shinobi who saved Izuna is going through that right now?

He hadn't been able to see Tobirama's face when the Senju realized he'd been thwarted, but…Tobirama hadn't returned to the battlefield. He'd probably been angry that the element of surprise regarding his new jutsu had been broken, and was busy taking it out on the one responsible.

"I'm going for a walk," Izuna bites out, and without waiting for Hikaku to answer he pushes off the wall, leaping down to land in the cleared ring around the compound.

Even though he's not looking, he can still see Hikaku shaking his head at him. "Your brother is going to kill you for wandering off when you're like this," he calls.

"I'm fine!"

"You said that already."

"It's true!"

Hikaku very obviously rolls his eyes, waving Izuna off, and Izuna huffs, turning and stalking into the trees. Everyone and their teenage cousin feels the need to have an opinion on his life, and it's getting aggravating. The Uchiha are at war. It's not like he's supposed to be bubbly and cheery all the time.

Even worse, they're fighting the Senju. Hashirama might be honorable, but Izuna remembers three older brothers, dead at Senju hands.

He doesn't want to think of his rescuer the same way. People stepping in to help others is rare, especially among shinobi clans, and Izuna is thankful. Intrigued, but grateful, because he's fought Tobirama enough times to know he would have gone for a killing blow the moment he found an opening.

Izuna's surprise would have given him that all too readily.

This isn't the first time Izuna has faced death, and he's absolutely certain that it won't be the last. He's a shinobi, and for all that Madara wants to change the world, for all that Hashirama wants to same, their world won't change. Not enough to make shinobi obsolete, and as long as they're shinobi, their world simply can't change.

Madara's never realized that, though, and Izuna doesn't quite know how to make him.

Still. Even if it wasn't the first time he's faced death, this time was…uncomfortably close. Without the stranger to knock him out of the way, he'd have been caught by the blinding-quick sweep of Tobirama's sword before he could so much as turn. That the stranger dodged it speaks to his skill, and probably also some knowledge of Tobirama's abilities. It's a puzzle, though, because Tobirama is the best sensor Izuna has ever encountered, and if he didn't notice someone watching him, spying on him, that someone is probably very good.

Maybe it's even worth staging a raid of the Senju compound to break him out, Izuna thinks, and closes his hands into fists as he forces himself to take a deep breath.

Madara would never approve that. He shouldn't, either. Izuna's being stupid. One life, no matter how skilled, isn't worth however many lives rescuing him would cost.

Coming to a halt, Izuna rubs a hand over his face, leaning back against a tree trunk. He didn't sleep well last night, and he can feel the fuzzy ache of exhaustion against his bones. Too much worrying, but it's not like he can go to Madara, who already has so many worries of his own. And—

Something rustles, and there's a flash of blue between the trees.

Instantly, Izuna is moving, more instinct than conscious thought. He throws himself forward, shadowing the figure leaping through the branches, and the Sharingan's almost painful focus floods his vision. This close to the Uchiha compound, anyone moving that fast—especially when they're headed away—is suspect, and regardless of his distraction Izuna isn't about to let an intruder get past him.

But one chakra-swift step past a stand of trees the other shinobi has to go around and Izuna almost stops dead in surprise, because that's Madara.

Madara is one of the best shinobi. He's strong and fast and the equal of anyone but Senju Hashirama, but he's also the Uchiha Clan Head. He shouldn't be out here without an escort, a guard, and he's clearly not looking for Izuna; his steps are entirely focused, his eyes straight ahead. It's obvious he already has a destination in mind.

Maybe Izuna is too suspicious by nature, but he's fairly certain something is up.

Before Madara can notice him—not that it looks like he's going to, but for all that his older brother is an idiot Izuna respects his skills as a shinobi and is willing to give him the benefit of the doubt—Izuna slows his steps slightly, dropping back to follow Madara from a safe distance. There's nothing he should be interested in in this direction; Izuna can only think of the river, one of the smaller, less maintained shrines, and an old guard outpost that's been abandoned for years because it's too close to the border of Senju territory.

He really, really hopes that Madara just got it in his head to visit the shrine.

Ahead of him, Madara makes a sharp turn around a stand of rocks (not towards the shrine, then, damn it) and Izuna curses quietly, changing direction. By the time his line of sight clears, though, Madara is gone, too fast for Izuna to mark his direction.

Even when he doesn't know he's being followed, Madara manages to be a jerk about it, Izuna thinks with a huff, shoving a few loose strands of hair back behind his ears. He could check for tracks, actually put his shinobi skills to good use, but…he's not entirely sure he wants to know where Madara's going quite that badly. After all, Madara has a history of doing stupid things when he's alone, and Izuna is at the point where he'd really rather ignore it when at all possible.

Last time he followed Madara in this direction, he caught him meeting with the Senju Clan's heir, skipping rocks and acting like the child he was never otherwise allowed to be, and Izuna had to tell their father about it. Madara might have chosen his family that day, but he was noticeably cooler towards Izuna for months afterwards, and Izuna hated it.

A flash of black and white startles him, makes him jerk and twist around with his heart suddenly in his throat. Something moving almost as fast as Madara darts into a particularly dense stand of trees to his left, and in its wake three magpies whirl and swoop among the branches.

"Really?" Izuna asks out loud, faintly peeved, because he came out here to think, not spend all morning chasing ghosts. Already seeing Madara has thrown him off balance; this is just silly now.

Still, he follows, if with slightly more caution than before. Madara wasn't likely to kill him if he spotted him, but if this is a stranger there's no guarantee.

The magpies settle as he passes, bright eyes fixed on him with an unnerving amount of intelligence. One hops along the branch to match his steps, warbling as if amused. Izuna shoots it a dirty look, but doesn't try to chase it off, following a trail of faintly swaying branches. There's a clearing up ahead, and—

Izuna takes one more step and stops dead, heart suddenly in his mouth.

There's a boy perched on the branch of a tree, haloed by the morning sunlight that pours through the leaves. His hair is starkly divided between white and black, falling to frame his face, and he's smiling, warm and gentle in a way that makes Izuna's breath tangle in his throat. There's a magpie perched on his hand, fluttering its wings, and as Izuna watches the boy laughs, free and unabashed.

He looks different without that grim determination on his face, outside the heat of battle, but it's undoubtedly, undeniably the same shinobi who pushed Izuna out of the path of Tobirama's blow.

Here, something beats in Izuna's blood. He's here he's here he's alive and Tobirama didn't kill him. Tobirama doesn't have him. He escaped.

"Oh, thank the gods," he chokes out before he can stop himself, taking a stumbling step forward. All of his usual grace is buried under an avalanche of relief and gratitude, because Izuna may be a shinobi, may be capable of being ruthless and relentless and deadly in all situations, but he's always hated people sacrificing themselves for him. He dislikes it in Madara, dislikes it in his clansmen, dislikes it even in strangers he's never met. Knowing that this boy didn't die for him comes with a dizzying release of tension, and Izuna has to catch himself on the trunk of a tree as he staggers under the force of it.

The boy—not that much of a boy, now that Izuna can see him clearly—jerks and leaps to his feet as the bird hurls itself into the air in an explosion of beating wings. Dark eyes snap to Izuna, and then the stranger is gone as if he never existed at all, and the only person in the clearing is Izuna, heart beating wildly as a flock of magpies circles.

"Damn it," Izuna mutters after a long pause, and he thumps a fist against the tree trunk in frustration. That was stupid, and Izuna is a little ashamed of himself. Of course sneaking up on an unfamiliar shinobi—even one who saved his life—wasn't going to end well. Apparently he and Madara are more similar than he'd thought, if he's making mistakes like that.

With a trill, a magpie with bright blue on its wings flutters down to land on a branch just a little above eye-level. It's large for its kind, and pretty, with eyes that are somehow less sharp and more warm. When it sees Izuna looking back, it ruffles its feathers and trills again, a sweet and throaty sound.

"Hi," Izuna tells it, a little dry, but he's been reduced to talking to a bird, so it can probably be forgiven. "That was so smooth, did you see? Hikaku would be so proud of me. I managed to make someone turn tail and run in four words, isn't that impressive?"

Another trill, a little higher and longer this time, and Izuna would swear the magpie is laughing at him. He sighs, running a hand over his messy ponytail, and gives it a warning look. "Yeah, yeah. You laugh now, but at this rate I'm going to turn into Madara and that's a fate worse than death. Soon I'll be tossing people in koi ponds when they annoy me and monologuing to the cat."

That lilting trill again, and that's definitely laughter, Izuna thinks. He can't help but smile a little, raising a cautious hand to offer to the bird, and it hops onto his fingers with only the smallest hesitation. Izuna is mostly a cat person, but as he lifts the bird's practically nonexistent weight down, putting bright eyes on the level with his own, he finds that the feel of feathers under his fingertips is less objectionable than he'd thought it would be. The magpie doesn't exactly arch into his touch like a cat would, but it tilts its head against his hand and brushes its beak over his fingers, and he assumes it's about the same.

There's a little patch of blue right behind its eye, to match the color streak its wings and tail, and Izuna only realizes he's brushed his fingertip against it when there's a flicker of surprise that he hasn't gotten pecked.

"I'm ten for ten today," he tells the bird in amusement. "Very impressive." The magpie just tilts its head curiously, and Izuna sighs and brushes the backs of his fingers over its white-and-black chest. He hesitates, then shakes his head and lifts the bird up a little higher. "That shinobi—you guys must know him, right? Has he been living out here in the woods?"

The magpie is perfectly silent, perfectly still, watching him with sharp brown eyes.

"Right," Izuna allows. "You probably wouldn't tell me even if you could. But…keep an eye on him, okay? Make sure he doesn't get into any more trouble. And if he needs something, come get me. I owe him one."

The bird, of course, doesn't respond, and Izuna grimaces, feeling foolish for half-expecting it to. "Just. Keep it in mind? He saved my life. And—I'm glad he's safe."

That, at least, gets him a warbling trill, and with a surge of wings the magpie takes off. The other four rise to join it, and in a moment Izuna is truly alone in the clearing.

He closes his hand into a fist, slow and careful, and breathes out. Somehow, though, he can still feel the weight of a fragile body perched on his fingers, feathers and flight and the rush of wings in the morning sunlight, dark against the sky.

When Tobirama told Itama to meet him at Hashirama's old favorite spot along the river, he'd thought they would be safe there. After all, Hashirama avoided it because of bad memories, and Tobirama assumed Madara would do the same. He and Hashirama are all too similar, in the end. That's always been the problem.

It is, therefore, an incredibly unpleasant surprise to step out of the trees and find Madara on the opposite bank. Tobirama had been too distracted by the thought of Itama to look, to check with a sensor's sight, and he curses himself for it now, falling back as he reaches for his sword. He isn't wearing armor, either, just civilian clothes, and it puts him at a distinct disadvantage against someone of Madara's skill level.

He'd meant to wear it, he had, because stepping out of the compound without it feels like he may as well be naked, but.

But he'd been wearing it yesterday, and he couldn't feel the warmth of Itama's body through the cold metal. Couldn't remember, except through the insufficient press of fingertips, whether Itama was warm to the touch or as cool as a corpse, and he hadn't been able to even consider the possibility of not feeling it this time.

So no kunai, no armor, no faceplate; nothing but a handful of senbon and his sword to face down Uchiha Madara, whom only Hashirama outmatches.

And—

Itama.

Itama is coming here, and has already been killed by the Uchiha once. This time there's no promise of a miracle, someone else to bring him all the way back to life, and Tobirama will slit his own throat before he lets one of his brothers get hurt again. Uchiha Madara will never lay a single blasted finger on Itama, even if Tobirama has to cut each finger off individually to be sure of it.

There is no space for second thoughts, though he wouldn't have them even if there was. No chance to plan, but Tobirama has always been able to improvise when needed.

Besides. He's the strongest Suiton user in Fire Country, and the Nakano lies between himself and Madara.

He drags the chakra up, a massive burst that's perfectly controlled, and doesn't even need the instinctive hand signs. A dragon rises, the river falls, and Tobirama leaps across its now-shallow bed even as Madara's dangerous eyes go wide. The Uchiha doesn't waste time reeling, though; even as the dragon descends he's bringing up his hands, framing familiar signs, and Tobirama focuses on those hands, the muscles in his arms, the shift of his feet for signs of his impending movements. His dragon opens its mouth as the fireball leaves Madara's fingers, swallows it down and explodes into steam, and under the cover of it Tobirama hurls himself forward.

Madara catches a vicious kick aimed at his chest, ducks the sweep of Tobirama's sword, leaps back out of range and tries for another Katon jutsu. This time Tobirama hardly bothers to shape the water at all, pulls a funnel of it up from the rocks and dumps it over Madara's head as he darts around to the side, senbon falling between his fingers as he re-sheaths his blade. Turning to meet him, Madara wrenches his gunbai off his back and sends the fan end hurtling at Tobirama's head, but Tobirama shifts his weight back sharply and slides beneath it, slamming feet-first into Madara's ankles. The Uchiha yelps and almost goes down, and Tobirama whirls to his feet, senbon already flying.

The spinning flail end of the gunbai knocks them from the air even as Madara catches the other side, and he slams bodily into Tobirama, barreling him over. Tobirama hits the ground hard, already moving even though he knows with a desperate edge that it won't be in time—

But Madara doesn't go for the killing blow. He draws back, lets Tobirama scramble to his feet and put a safe distance between them, watching with wary Sharingan eyes but not trying to press his advantage.

"What are you doing, Uchiha?" Tobirama spits, even as he draws his sword again and braces for another attack.

"I could ask you the same thing, Senju," Madara returns, cautious but not aggressive. "You're the one who made the first move."

Tobirama almost snarls. So easy to see Hashirama in this fool—dangerous men with their heads trapped in the clouds, too blinded by dreams to see that they aren't actually accomplishing anything. Too blinded to recognize that the path to peace is closed right now unless they sacrifice more than any peace could be worth.

"Why are you here?" he demands, instead of answering, and it hurts to think that he might have inadvertently put Itama in danger by telling him to come here, lends bite to the words and an edge of venom to his tone.

Madara's eyes narrow, and he shifts his grip on his gunbai just a little. "This bank is Uchiha territory," he retorts. "I don't need any reason to walk my own land, Senju." A glance around the area, at the water streaming back into the body of the river, and he grimaces a little. "Don't tell me that brother of yours is dead and you're about to start crying."

Logic says he means Hashirama, but all Tobirama can think of is Itama's face between his hands, wide red-brown eyes staring up at him, a smile that makes the whole world feel a little brighter.

All he can think of is the small body carried back from a courier mission, the stark fear frozen forever into still features. Just one more coffin to be built, but—

Tobirama had felt like the world ended that day, and he doesn't think he's ever fully managed to recover.

"No," he gets out, and the words are too rough, too strangled, but he can't fix them. He can never fix anything, except he's somehow unknowingly managed to fix this and he doesn't even understand how. "No, Hashirama is fine."

It's possible that relief eases the line of Madara's shoulders, if only slightly. He takes a breath and nods, though his eyes flicker to a spot on the bank like he's looking into a familiar memory.

Only then does the entirety of the words hit Tobirama, and he draws himself up with a huff. "I would not cry," he tacks on, offended by the very idea.

This time the wry curl of Madara's mouth is easy to see. "It's not a weakness to cry for the loss of family," he says, almost chiding, and this time when his eyes flicker back to Tobirama they hold. "Nothing is more important."

Tobirama can't quite make himself look away, even though Madara's Sharingan is clearly activated, even though Tobirama has spent the last twenty-four years of his life learning to fear those eyes more than anything. But Madara makes no move to catch him in a genjutsu, no attempt to steal his will. Just looks at him, and—

Madara chose his family over the concept of peace, even as a child. It's possible that Tobirama managed to forget that, across the years.

He opens his mouth, not quite sure how to respond but willing to make the attempt, when there's a sudden flash of black in the sky. A scream, avian and furious, splits the air, and Tobirama knows instantly what it means. He leaps forward, even as a streak of violet-sheened black plummets straight at Madara's head. White-splashed wings snap open hard, and clawed feet slash at Madara's eyes without hesitation.

With a yelp, the Uchiha leaps back, but the magpie follows, striking out with its beak. Madara cries out again, definitely pain, and lashes out, but the bird—Itama, Itama, it has to be Itama—dodges and immediately launches itself at Madara's face again. Blood flies, splattering the stone, and Madara curses even as he goes reeling back further. Chakra sparks, precursor to a jutsu, and Tobirama moves faster than he can ever remember moving in his life.

He snatches half a pound of furious feathers out of the air, ducks the burst of fire that consumes the spot where Itama just was, and leaps back, trying to keep the grip of his hands gentle even as Itama struggles and shrieks, wings beating desperately.

"No!" Tobirama tells him, even as he retreats to the very edge of the river. "No, stop that, we weren't fighting—"

Itama stops struggling in favor of giving him the most incredulous look he's ever seen from a bird, a sharp flick of his wings taking in the waterlogged bank, the scorched rocks, the scattered senbon. A chittering caw, as pointed as words, and Tobirama can practically hear the 'Really, aniki?'

"We're not fighting now," he amends, and finally deems it safe to let go a little, shifting his grip on Itama to one hand and cradling the small body against his chest.

Itama chitters unhappily, but doesn't try to get away, though he keeps one sharp eye trained on Madara with deadly intent.

Forcing himself to finally take a breath, Tobirama looks up to find Madara staring at him, blood dripping down his face from several deep gouges on his face. Two centimeters lower for some of them and Itama would have taken out his eye, Tobirama thinks, and doesn't know whether to feel proud or exasperated. Itama isn't one to throw himself into fights, but when he does he's very clever about it, and going for an Uchiha's eyes first is a good strategy if there's little risk of getting caught in a genjutsu.

"The bird is yours?" Madara asks, and there's a peculiar note in his voice as he studies Tobirama, eyes flickering from his face to his careful grip on Itama.

Tobirama opens his mouth to deny it, but before he can Itama gives a warbling trill and beats his wings. Claws dig in to Tobirama's shirt, and in an instant Itama is on his shoulder, pressed right up under his ear and half-buried in silver hair.

There's blood on his beak, and Tobirama is a little proud.

"Yes," he says, because it's a good enough excuse, and lays a hand over Itama to hold him in place as he steps back. He isn't quite sure how to leave this encounter, except that he knows he has to; there's no way he's letting Itama linger anywhere near an Uchiha who might do him harm, and Madara is at the very top of that list.

Madara makes a disgruntled sound, wiping the blood away from his eye. "I should have guessed," he says, and it's almost grumpy. Crossing his arms over his chest, he directs a dark look at Itama, who preens faintly. "I'll have you know that even my falcons aren't usually that vicious."

Itama gives a smug trill and tugs on Tobirama's hair.

Exasperated, Tobirama rolls his eyes at his little brother. "Falcons are predators," he says dryly. "Magpies are survivors." And if that thought makes the breath catch in his chest a little, makes him tighten his grip on Itama, well. No one but Itama has to know.

He turns before Madara can answer, leaps for the far bank and then up into the branches of the trees. Madara isn't following, but Tobirama doesn't risk it, taking a circuitous path towards the most secluded area beside the river that he knows.

The moment they come to a stop, Itama drops from his shoulder. There's a moment where Tobirama's focus seems to blur, like he can't quite manage to look at the magpie straight on, and then Itama is in front of him, already reaching out.

"Did he hurt you?" Itama demands, and hands touch Tobirama's face. "Are you okay?"

Tobirama's chest aches, and he grabs his little brother, dragging him up against his chest. There's no armor in the way this time, nothing to keep him from wrapping his arms around Itama and feeling the warmth of him, the faint hitch of his breath, the way he twines his arms around Tobirama's neck in return. It's what he used to do as a child, after long days of training or tiring missions or encounters with their father. So painfully, perfectly familiar, and maybe a part of Tobirama spent all of last night convinced that this was a dream, but—

It can't be. His dreams are never this good.

"I'm fine," he says, and nothing has ever been truer.

There's a huff like a laugh against his ear, and Itama pulls away enough to smile up at him. He's beautiful, grown into the young man Tobirama had never, ever thought to see him as, and when Tobirama brushes white hair back from his face he laughs, wiggling like he's going to try to get away. "Aniki, tickles!"

Tobirama's heart feels like it's too large to fit his body, and he can't help but smile back. "I brought you a sword. Keep it with you."

"But this is your favorite sword." Because of course Itama would know that; it's hard for Tobirama to think of him spending every moment of the last ten years at Tobirama's side, unseen and unheard, and…maybe he's been careful not to consider that fact too closely. Surely it's a form of torture, living that way, and if Tobirama inflicted it, accidentally or not, on his own little brother—

"Yes," he gets out, before the dark thoughts clog his throat. When Itama opens his mouth to protest, Tobirama lays a hand over it, returning the favor from yesterday. From the amusement in Itama's eyes, he knows what Tobirama is doing, but he doesn't protest, and Tobirama smiles faintly at him. "I've put off naming it for months now. I think there was a reason. It's supposed to be yours."

Itama gives him a tremulous smile, then throws himself forward to hug Tobirama tightly again, squeezing hard. "I love you," he says, and his voice is thick with the tears he's always shown so easily. Tobirama is glad one of them isn't hesitant about revealing emotions, even if he's always worried for Itama's gentle heart. "I saw Madara facing you, and I was so scared—"

Likely not as scared as Tobirama was yesterday, swinging his sword at Izuna only to find Itama, determined but terrified, in the Uchiha's place. The very thought of it makes something within him shake, and he buries his face in Itama's hair and forces himself to breathe.

"I love you too," he says, so very much an understatement that he wants to laugh. Itama was dead, and Tobirama thought the world dark and hopeless. Now Itama is alive, so bright and warm and beautiful, and maybe—

Maybe there is a way for things not to end in tragedy this time around.

For the first time in ten years, Tobirama has hope.