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Chapter Text

He had acted far quicker than he likely should have. Quicker than he would have in any different situation, but Konoha had fallen and Rogu had come to Oto with Mitsuki in tow mere hours before Oto, too, was attacked. They went for Mitsuki so, of course, they both would have reacted, of course, Rogu would have put tact on the back burner of his mind and all but flung himself to his death.

Mitsuki’s cry all but broke the heart Orochimaru had only been reminded he possessed by his two sons. But Rogu was gone now and Mitsuki was hurt, but Orochimaru couldn’t have stopped until they were safe. Couldn’t because if they were caught he wouldn’t be able to help Mitsuki.

Activating an experimental seal likely wasn’t the best idea, but they were cornered and Orochimaru was swaying on his feet because even with Mitsuki being lighter than his age and height would have suggested, the Sannin was hardly capable of carrying him for hours without getting tired. The flare had been both unexpected and blinding, so was the sudden lurch of being lifted off his feet, but he moved with it, clinging to his remaining child desperately as what felt like wind whipped by them. The light soon died out, giving way to the unappreciated feeling of falling, and Mitsuki whimpered faintly as Orochimaru tightened his hold even more despite it being painful even for him.

It’s pitch black, no way to tell where they are or how far away any possible landing – collision – points will be.

“Oro,” Mitsuki croaks, voice trembling and wet before he coughs.

Opening his mouth to say something – he didn’t quite know what – to reassure Mitsuki, all that he manages is a gasp of denial as some force literally pulls Mitsuki from his arms. Orochimaru lunged, fingertips just barely scraping over the end of his son’s sleeve before dark shifts instantly into near blinding afternoon light. A forest. They were over a forest, one that Orochimaru was not familiar with and he hisses out a curse at the rapidly approaching treetops. In the distance, he could hear the sounds of a battle and in the corner of his eye he could see it in the distance, but the thing that had his full attention was Mitsuki’s limp, falling form.

As long as he remembered Mitsuki was in the distance to his left-

It seemed the trees had been closer than he first thought. Orochimaru grunts as he falls through the leaves of an oak, knocking against each branch until he lands amongst the roots with his ears ringing and vision rapidly growing dark.

He’s in the middle of his fight with Madara when the sky is filled with blinding light, and Hashirama blinks in surprise as he looks up, scanning the blue expanse even as he lets a wall of wood block the flurry of shuriken thrown at him. Uncertain if he was imagining things, the Senju clan head glances around at the others on the battlefield and noting that Tōka looks rather confused. She looks over at him, shrugs one shoulder and promptly throws the man who charges at her over her shoulder. Rather than focus on whatever the light had been, Hashirama turns back to Madara and jumps over the leg that sweeps out for his ankles.

It’s moments before he’s about to call his clan back, the breath for the action already in his lungs before movement makes him snap his mouth shut, knocking Madara aside and turning around in the same movement. There’s a person listing heavily against the trees, face hidden by the long veil of black hair and Hashirama drops his hands to his sides, side-stepping the kunai that is thrown at him, turning back to Madara in faint amusement.

The person remains still for a few beats – because yes he knows not to let someone of unknown power go unchecked for long moments of time – before leaping from the tree line, long hair flaring out behind them even as Hashirama skids to a halt, abandoning his attack and keeping his eyes trained on the other shinobi – with moves like those, there’s nothing else the person could be – while Madara splutters in surprise, audibly scrambling to a stop. It’s easy enough to follow the shinobi’s movements to predict where they were going, and Hashirama sucks in a sharp breath as he realizes that said destination was either past or was Tobirama and Izuna. Madara curses – clearly seeing the same thing – and in accidental sync, they both lunge after the kimono-clad shinobi.

It was really, really surprising to watch the shinobi slam full force into Tobirama’s side, hand grabbing for his younger brother’s jaw to yank his head around. The Senju clan head slips chakra to his feet, adding a boost to his jump to clear more space and get close enough in time to see Tobirama get full on nailed. Izuna’s eyes are huge as he’s frozen in place, blinking rapidly as Hashirama approaches and the shinobi snarls at Tobirama. “Two chakra signatures would have appeared suddenly, I know you felt them! Where is the other one, tell me!”

Dazed, Tobirama blinks a few times before grunting out something that must be enough of an answer for the shinobi to leap away, running in a northeastern direction. Though he doesn’t know why, Hashirama only spares enough time to pull his brother to his feet before chasing after the shinobi, dodging around a few stray fights that have gotten in the way and deftly maneuvering through the trees. The shinobi is tired, making it easy for the big man to keep up and it was even easier to slow to a stop when he comes to a small clearing. On the opposite side of said clearing, the shinobi is crouched, cradling a small form to their chest.

“Mitsuki,” the person says urgently, shaking the child lightly. “You’re stronger than this, open your eyes.” Leaves crunching behind him isn’t even enough to get him to second guess his actions and he steps forward, crossing the clearing quickly and kneeling down even as golden eyes snap up to him, promising bloodshed.

He holds up his hands, showing he had no weapon even while studying the boy – Mitsuki – in the corners of his eyes. “I’m a medic, let me help him.” He murmurs, watching the shinobi’s pale face contort in different emotions before hardening with determination.

“Given where we are, there’s no one I think I would trust with Mitsuki’s health aside from you.”

It’s said with such solemn honesty that Hashirama isn’t sure if he’s touched or startled by the statement, either way, he moves closer just enough to rest his hands above Mitsuki’s chest. The boy is wounded both externally and internally, he realizes in faint horror. It’s going to take more than he can provide currently to heal him.

“Hashirama!”

The voice stirs something like hope mixed with relief in his chest, and the Senju clan head looks over his shoulder with a grin.

Chapter Text

“Itama,” he greets, shuffling to the side as his youngest brother jogs over, dual-colored eyes guarded as he studies the kimono-clad shinobi with Mito half a step behind him. “Mito. This boy, help me heal him.”

Itama sinks onto his knees, pressed against Hashirama’s side even as he turns his gaze from the shinobi to Mitsuki, his breath catching at the sight of the blood-covered boy. “What happened to him?” the young Senju squeaks, hands springing up already glowing green with healing chakra even though the shinobi and Tōka jerk in response to the quick movement. The shinobi’s face goes dark, golden eyes flickering away before returning to stare at the two Senju.

“My village was attacked, destroyed. Mitsuki, Rogu and I had no choice but to retreat. He was wounded in the process, and I do believe falling over twenty meters didn’t entirely help too much.”

Unable to help it, Hashirama looks up in surprise. The shinobi shrugs one shoulder, apparently entirely unaware of the blood beginning to splotch through the arm of the kimono. “You’re hurt too,” sounding devastated, Itama carefully reaches up before he squeaks and all but disappears. Mito gasps, the shinobi flinches and Hashirama half-turns to look incredulously at Tobirama.

“They are clearly enemies, why are you helping them?” Tobirama snaps, keeping a firm hold on Itama even as caution seeps into his eyes, the set of his mouth. Mito sighs deeply, shaking her head as she turns around.

“This is a child, not an enemy. Let Itama heal him.” Presses the Uzumaki, her gaze hard with a hint of worry that Hashirama can spot in anyone. This merely gets Tobirama to scowl, holding tighter as Itama begins to wriggle around. It’s not long before Itama starts to complain loudly, lifting his legs and very nearly toppling Tobirama over from the suddenness of his full weight.

Hashirama sighs a little, a pout forming on his lips unconsciously while he continues to what he can to heal Mitsuki. “Tobirama, we agreed to never let a child die if we could help it. Let Itama go, I can’t manage the precision that’s needed, I’m too tired.” He tries. His younger brother narrows his eyes; stubbornly heaving Itama back despite the noise of outrage it gets him. There’s a displeased hiss from the shinobi, and Hashirama turns sharply when there’s the hallow ring of a sword being drawn. The shinobi is rising slowly, flicking the sword out to the side sharply and carefully tucking the sheath into the thin rope used to decorate the obi wrapped around a thin waist. A well-practiced movement has the person just a step or two behind Hashirama. If the intention was to attack Tobirama… the shinobi could achieve it perfectly, Tobirama would give his life in an instant to protect Itama.

(The Senju clan head still remembers the day Itama stumbled into the Senju compound, bloodied and exhausted, years after he ‘died’. Remembers only narrowly being able to stabilize his youngest brother, terrified that he would have to watch Itama die beneath his hands instead of finding his cooling corpse in the forest. He and Tobirama have done their best to keep Itama from any battlefield, keep him safe and away from the danger of dying like he once had.)

“I know precisely how the future will turn out with you alive, and I will put my respect for you aside in a heartbeat. If Mitsuki should draw his last breath, the world will see a new future with Uchiha Izuna alive and you, Senju Tobirama, six feet in the ground.”

Hostility floods the clearing in a wave, dark and drowning as Tobirama draws his own sword, nudging Itama behind him as Tōka brings her naginata up. The actions don’t even get the shinobi to waver, body languid and ready for anything. “And what do you think that would accomplish?” Tobirama shoots back, narrowing his eyes as he sinks carefully into a stance perfect for defense or a quick offensive strike.

Orochimaru blinks – utterly unimpressed – at Tobirama, lips curling faintly in a snarl. Tōka shifts in the edges of his sight, naginata swaying slightly as she shifts her footing, and Itama – how it was Itama was beyond him, but that mystery could wait – shoots around the white-haired Senju to drop next to Hashirama once more. “The accomplishment would be a village in which coup d’état from one of its strongest clans would not even be dreamed up. You form a great amount of distrust between the village and the Uchiha; from there a student of yours makes sure that the Uchiha cannot help with the Kyuubi attack.” He said simply and maybe once he would never have dared think to say such a thing to someone like Tobirama, but Mitsuki was hurt, Rogu was dead and the Sannin might have been a little more prickly than usual.

Something twists in Tobirama’s expression. Confusion, disbelief and maybe a hint of curiosity, all of which disappear instantly as Tobirama shakes his head sharply, resetting his stance. “Everything you’re saying is so improbable it-.”

“Improbable, but not impossible,” he interrupts, his words just on this side of smug. “The village is created from a treaty between the Uchiha and the Senju, but the price of it originally was too high.”

If Sarutobi-sensei was here he probably would reconsider, hells if Tsunade was here he would reconsider, but they’re not and he could change things. The village was built on shoddy terms in the first place, terms that created bad results and wars and children dying for no reason. His parents died for no reason, died on a simple courier mission that was sabotaged by someone within the Leaf. He can prevent that; prevent the actions that lead to Mitsuki getting hurt this badly and Rogu dying. Orochimaru isn’t much of the ‘heroic’ type, far too invested in things that would benefit him and little to no one else. Even so, he would fix things. It couldn’t be too hard.

That is what he’ll do, correct things from the beginning and stop everything from spiraling into the plans of Zetsu and Kaguya since he’ll be at it. Orochimaru will take the knowledge he knows from his future and forge a new one – a better one – by guiding these people around the pitfalls they won’t know to look for.

He learns from mistakes, his own and others’, to abolish all chances of Mitsuki losing his sun again and to change how the village will be. For his parents, for Mitsuki.

It would be hard.

“You said there was another person you fled with,” Itama says, sounding winded and Orochimaru shoots one last distasteful look at Tobirama before turning to face the small Senju. “Rogu. Do you know where-?” Something broken stirs in Orochimaru’s chest and his breath hitches, wavering even before the sentence is finished.

“Rogu died to save Mitsuki from a fatal attack.” He manages, refusing to say more.

Chapter Text

The immediate pity that filled the looks that came from Hashirama and Itama was not appreciated by Orochimaru. At all. Rogu’s death didn’t mean he needed pity, he has never needed pity for any reason though it seemed many didn’t believe that and would pity him for some reason or another. Though, it probably wasn’t something he should harp on now that it was over.

Mitsuki’s breaths are steady, coming stronger with each one and Orochimaru would thank the gods if the ones he has met hadn’t been bent on destroying the shinobi world. The desire to weep was not one he was familiar with as it had been decades since he had even shed a single tear. But relief was a strong emotion, one that made him determined to stick next to his child’s side until Mitsuki woke.

“You’re still bleeding,” Itama says, pacing behind the Sannin. “You’ll die, please let me take a look at your wounds!”

Orochimaru can’t fight a frown, glancing at his arm and scowling lightly at where the wound seemed to pulse under his sleeves. It should have healed by now, a handy side effect from Mokuton. If he had any less composure, the way he pulled at his kimono could have been seen as fitfully. “It should have healed itself by now if it was going to. And while I place Mitsuki’s care in your hands, I see no point in wasting your time with caring for me.” He replies simply, sighing under his breath as he carefully works open his nagajuban enough to let one side slide down over his shoulder.

“If you could bring me what I need to dress this wound, I would… appreciate it.”

Not something he would usually say, but if he wanted a safe place for Mitsuki to recover it meant staying on the narrow good side of Itama and Hashirama, as it was the only thing keeping Tobirama and Tōka from throwing them out. Itama looks displeased, eyebrows furrowing before the Senju sighs heavily, murmuring that he would be back in a moment as he left the room. Just as the door slides shut, the window slides open and Orochimaru swings his head around to mildly glare at whoever was trying to sneak in. Hashirama smiles at him before promptly going red in the face, covering his eyes with a squeak.

“I didn’t realize you were-! I can come back at another time! I’m sorry!” the Senju clan head babbles, taking approximately two steps away from the window before slipping off the walk with a squawk and a splash. More to see exactly what he could have landed in to make a splash, Orochimaru shoots to the window and leans out to see Hashirama spluttering in a koi pond. The brunet pushes his soaked hair out of his face, glancing up and immediately covering his eyes again with more muttered apologies.

How this man was considering the God of Shinobi was beyond even the Sannin’s comprehension, so he sighs and shakes his head. “What is it you want, once Itama returns I intend to give this wound the attention it needs.” Asks Orochimaru, carefully shifting his weight enough to ease the pressure on his ankle – not broken but sprained, which is just as annoying. Hashirama clears his throat a little, peeking between his fingers for a split second, asking if Orochimaru would like to fix his shirt before they talked.

Surely, surely this man – one of the strongest shinobi in all history – wasn’t so easily flustered that he couldn’t speak to another shinobi if they had their shirt off. “What for, have you not seen a man with his shirt off?” Orochimaru snaps, entirely irritated by the way this display was rapidly reminding him of… well. Sakumo and later Minato. Those ridiculous fools had too acted exactly like this, and never has Orochimaru understood why.

“Told you he was a man, Hashirama,” Itama says from behind him. Hashirama takes a few more peeks, slowly lowering his hands and flushing for a completely different reason this time.

“I thought you were a woman!”

Rolling his eyes so hard it hurt, Orochimaru turns and moves to study the items Itama had brought with him. Older tools, not the newer ones Orochimaru has grown accustomed to, but ones that certainly would have been used in this time. Not that it mattered as he could still use them well enough to deal with the cut in his arm.

Pulling himself out of the koi pond, Hashirama peers into room and watches in faint surprise as the shinobi takes a few – not all – of the items from Itama’s arms, sinking down to sit and turning his bright gaze on the weeping wound across his shoulder and down his bicep. “How did I manage to get this but not even scuff my clothing? This level of ridiculousness is nearly matched by Jiraiya.” He mutters, apparently already having disregarded them as he set to work on his injury. Itama looks partly aggrieved – about the shinobi or Hashirama, he didn’t know – as he bends down to place the rest of the items down, arranging them carefully even as Tobirama stumbles into the open door.

Hashirama hadn’t realized Tobirama was awake.

“Anija!” Tobirama snaps and it’s enough to make Hashirama climb through the window even though he was dripping wet.

“Tobirama, a child needed our help! You were only seeing the situation as Father would have!” he said quickly, stepping between his brother and the shinobi. Something flashes in Tobirama’s red eyes before it’s gone, smashed and buried just like Butsuma had taught them to do.

“I don’t care about the child anymore, anija, I’m more worried by him!”

“I did the only thing I could that would get Mitsuki the help he needed, yet keep you alive.” The shinobi cuts in, efficiently making everyone fall silent to instead look at him. Obviously practiced in wrapping wounds, the shinobi wasn’t even looking as his hands carefully wrapped bandages around his shoulder and arm. “I have many efficient, deadly seals up my sleeves. To put it simply. I used one I would only bother to use on a genin, or maybe even a lesser chunin. If I was kind enough.”

Tobirama visibly bristles taking a breath in order to say something, and Hashirama gets ready to cut him off-

“Even so, I stand by what I told you earlier. Mitsuki is still to the mercy of your medics, but shall he die.” He doesn’t even need to continue, everyone knows it clearly and Tobirama scowls furiously, grabbing at Hashirama’s arm to haul him towards the hallway. The Senju clan head goes, looking at Itama over his shoulder in a silent request. Itama nods once, flashing him a reassuring smile before beginning to help the shinobi tie off the bandages.

“Do you really trust them, anija?” Tobirama wants to know the immediate second there are at least five rooms between them and the three they left. A little frustrated – because why can’t Tobirama just accept that even if the shinobi had punched him it doesn’t mean he is their enemy – Hashirama sighs, long and slow. Convincing Tobirama to trust them was going to be difficult, but he was sure he could do it eventually. Itama would probably help if he asked.