In an obsessive bout of writing, I made a little fic.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
(yeah, sorry, currently you need to be logged into your account to read it on ao3... :c But I put it for everyone else under the cut :>)
Madara never paid much attention to the youngest Senju brother, be it on the battlefield or outside of it. When their clans were still at war, he was mostly occupied with trying to kill Itama’s eldest brother, or stepping in when his annoying second oldest brother came close to killing Izuna. Madara had little time to think about anyone or anything else. War was a messy business, and you could hardly keep track of every single soldier on the enemy side. Even with the sharingan, he had to prioritise.
During peacetime, Itama made for pleasant enough company. Whenever Madara crossed paths with him in their new, ever growing village, the Senju smiled at him, like so few of his clansmen did. He was rather withdrawn and quiet during their conversations, but Madara chalked it up to his personality. Overall, Itama left the impression of a polite young man who liked to extend kindness to others. And that was already all Madara knew about him.
There was no question that Itama would most likely be a capable shinobi, coming from a clan that was known for their strength and diverse skill sets… let alone him being the brother of powerhouses like the God of Shinobi and the White Demon! It was expected of him to hold his ground, even if he and Kawarama might not quite measure up to the other two. Madara accepted that without a second thought.
This was why it caught him completely blindsided when he was sent as support on a mission that went horribly awry. They sent a cry for help in every direction, calling whoever was closest to them. He knew Itama’s squad was in the area as well and would be there to respond to it first, but in a situation like that every man counted to keep the losses to a minimum. Or at least that was his thought process.
Madara arrived just at the moment when Itama reduced someone’s head into pieces with what looked like a long stick covered in spikes. He vaguely registered it as a kanabo, a weapon that was rarely used by shinobi. They were more popular with the samurai in the Land of Iron. It only took Itama one blow with it to send brains spraying into the air. Madara blinked. He would never be able to see smashing watermelons as a fun summer activity again.
Itama looked up from the carnage he caused, lowering the kanabo, and blinked back. Then he smiled that same damn smile he greeted him with every time they met in the streets.
“That was the last one,” he said calmly, in lieu of a greeting. Madara saw the bodies behind him. And above him, where they were hanging from the branches like broken dolls. His mind promptly provided him with graphic material of how they might have ended up there, and why their guts were dangling above them like cheap festival decoration.
“Why have I never seen you fight before?” He asked, his voice breathless in a way that did not come from running to this place.
Why was that the first thing that came out of his mouth, was the better question. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Madara wanted to swallow his clumsy tongue for its betrayal. It never served him well when he needed it.
Itama raised a brow and leaned on his kanabo.
“You’re practically capable of taking on a whole army by yourself,” Itama said bluntly. “Why would you ever need to see me fight? There would never be a good reason for me to fight as long as you’re nearby.”
That… made sense. Unless he was on a solo mission, Madara was the one sent in as a last measure, when all other hope was lost. No one would ever come to send support to him.
It made so much sense, and yet Madara felt like it was unfair. He frowned. He was acting like a child who had all the cake in the world, and he whined because someone withheld a single piece of candy from him all this time. What did he care about this Senju? What did it matter that he took on a group of dangerous mercenaries by himself, while his comrades led the civilians to safety and far away from the bloodshed?
Just because he might never be able to forget that Itama’s smile always stayed the same, radiated warmth and kindness, no matter what?
“Isn’t it reason enough to indulge my curiosity?” Madara asked with a smile of his own. He had been told there was often an edge of madness to it, that this was what scared people away. Itama did not look scared. His grin widened.
“Well in that case…” Itama stood up straight and shrugged, resting his kanabo so roughly against his shoulder it made his armour clank. A stray drop of blood landed on his face, but he seemed not to notice or care. “It would be bad manners to leave you unsatisfied.”
His eyes wandered around.
“But since we’re still in enemy lands, it has to wait until we’re home.”
His mouth was completely dry and Madara had to swallow. He was itching to see more, learn more about this Senju he knew so little of. It would be a long journey back to Konoha.
