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The light shines bright, too bright, in his eyes—it’s too beautiful of a day for this to be happening. There should be a sepia sun and lightning when something this awful happens. It feels like a twisted sort of justice that it’s not. He’s kneeling—no, he’s not kneeling, because that would mean his upper body is upright. He’s lying down, head jerked desperately up to watch that blazing white figure as it cuts their teacher down, and the cut is too clean, and he stupidly can only think of when Katsura had been nagging him to take better care of his sword yesterday.
He doesn’t know what he’s saying, babbled pleas that don’t change the tears streaming down his face as he raises the blade, and it’s almost anticlimatic in the end when Gintoki ignores it all and destroys the man they’ve joined a war to save. Of course, he thinks, when has that bastard ever listened to me? and there’s a burning rage in his mind that threatens to take over everything at the thought.
I’ll kill you, he thinks, and his thoughts become a white-hot blaze at this. I’ll kill you and I’ll kill everything in this stupid fucking world. Katsura is dead silent at his side, pale-faced and stupid hair matted from blood, and he can’t even bring himself to care. I’ll kill you if that’s what it takes.
—
“Wake up, idiot,” he hears directly in his ear, and he blindly lashes out, grabbing for the sword he keeps propped up in the corner. “What the fuck! This is why we have to fucking pull straws every morning on who has to suffer and see you first thing in the morning, you dipshit,” the voice comes again, and he finally opens his eyes to see the most idiotic person he’s ever had the displeasure of meeting looming over him.
“I’ll kill you, Gintoki, if you don’t get the fuck off right now,” he says very quietly, and Gintoki springs off of the futon. “What time is it.”
“Eleven in the morning, which is a totally normal time to wake up, by the way,” Gintoki sneers, and he scowls back. “And I’m waking you up because those two are demanding something other than rice and egg for the second week in a row and I’m not going to be forced into showing my face at the grocery store just because you’re lazy as shit.”
His vision goes white with rage, as is wont to do around Gintoki. “As if it’s my fault that you’re a thief?” he spits back. “Just tell Shinpachi to suck it up and eat his rice and eggs!”
“This growing young man would like something else too, you know,” Gintoki says, gesturing to himself, and it’s an action so stupid that Takasugi stops trying to go back to sleep out of surprise. “See, you’re half awake already! Just go get something!”
“Fine, but you better not drink the milk from the carton again or I’m killing you,” he says, tugging on his clothes, and takes a swipe at Gintoki as he tries to sneak money from his wallet. “Those are joint fucking finances anyways, it’s your funeral.”
“Stingy asshole,” Gintoki mutters, but gets out of the room all the same. “Hey! Idiots A and B! Takasugi’s going to go get something, so stop that dog from eating my desk!”
He does buy Gintoki’s strawberry milk, in the end, and gets as incandescently angry as promised when he drinks it straight from the carton.
—
He doesn’t know where the others have gone. Sakamoto is likely gone into space, as he should have, and Katsura’s disappeared seemingly into thin air and Gintoki’s gone too, a white afterimage on his eyelids. He chases after the only thing that draws him like a moth to a flame, burning all the while, the afterimage imprinted on his vision even when the blood runs down his now-ruined eye. The thought only spurs him on further, further on still until he sees a shock of dirty white slumped by a small river, and he realizes that it’s Gintoki with a dull sense of surprise.
I’ll kill you, he thinks to himself, but his body is starting to give out and his legs burn and when he tries to lift his sword it’s all muted in a dull fog. I need to kill you. It doesn’t even matter if he’s already technically dead, with a stilled chest, the infallible Shiroyasha laid to rest by a hand other than his own. It has to be me. I’ve got to cut him down the same way. I’ll erase it all.
The white corpse opens his eyes, and they’re dull and rust-red as he opens his mouth and mutters Takasugi’s name. He raises his sword regardless, arms shaking from the exertion. It doesn’t matter whether he’s dead or alive. A single swing, to cleave him from body and soul. The sword is at its apex when Gintoki tilts his head back and exposes his neck further, and the anger from that action fuels his rage—except this time, it’s to lower his sword.
“You fucking asshole, you think I need your help to kill your pitiful ass?” he spits, and Gintoki drags himself upright at that, eyes flashing again.
“Oh, so now I can’t even be murdered in peace? Rich boy has to find fault with the way I die too?” he fires back, and Takasugi can hear the rattle of likely cracked ribs as he draws in breath to yell back.
“I don’t need any help from the likes of you, I know what you were doing,” he says, and briefly sees that white afterimage again, clouding his vision. When it clears, he’s staring at the mossy riverbank in a messy heap on the ground, and he thinks to himself oh shit that might’ve been the blood loss and not the phantom image of Gintoki.
“Whatever, we’re both dying anyways,” Gintoki mutters three feet away, and Takasugi hears him hiss as he drags himself over. “Shut the fuck up and wrap this around that stupid fucking eye. Hey, if you get glasses should I call you four-eyes or three-eyes?”
“You should die and let the fish from this river eat your stupid body and die from it is what I think,” he says, but he takes the offered torn kimono and winds it around the gaping hole in his face. “I hope you die. I hope you die so fucking bad,” he says, and waits for the returning volley of insults. It’s a long couple of beats before he gets impatient and prompts, “...Gintoki?” at the complete silence.
“Wanna finish the job?” Gintoki says, but Takasugi can’t see his face at the angle he’s at. “My sword’s sharper. Well, maybe not anymore,” he says, laughing high and jagged. “I’ll lend you it.”
“What the fuck are you saying?” he says, but it’s more to buy him time than for actual curiosity.
“Hey, it’s a total cliche, right? Guy who’s hated me since we were kids finally finishes the job because I killed our sensei,” he says, and laughs again. He’s starting to really hate that laugh. “Yeah, I was super fucking stoked to do it, too, you could really tell by the way I did it. Easiest decision of my life, just—”
“Shut up,” Takasugi grits out, and manages to roll himself over. “Shut up! You fucking promised! You—god, you’ve been an asshole since I first met you and you couldn’t keep yourself from being one one last time, huh? Wanted to make really sure that every single thing we did, every single time we bled and nearly died and every time Zura stayed up late planning went to waste, all at once? You and I both know neither of us gave a shit about ideals! But you—you—” he screams, throat hoarse, lost in his rage, and Gintoki just sits there silently. “Don’t fucking sit there like you’re better than me!”
“I’m waiting for you to stop fucking talking and kill me,” Gintoki says, and it just pisses him off more.
“I’m not letting you fucking martyr yourself and dodge responsibility like you always do,” he spits, and lobs a rock vaguely in the direction of Gintoki’s broken ribs. Judging by the gasp, he’s dead on. “You better spend the fucking rest of your miserable life atoning for what you did.”
“Won’t be much longer if we keep sitting here,” Gintoki says quietly, and Takasugi doesn’t even bother to acknowledge him.
“Get up. We’re walking west until we either collapse and die or we find some idiotic sop willing to give us food,” he says, and drags himself up despite the increasing white spots in his vision. “Unless you can’t do it,” he says, and there’s a weird sort of relief in hearing the scrape of twigs as Gintoki hauls himself up and rises to the challenge.
—
“Gin-san, can you tell Takasugi-san to move so I can vacuum? I’d tell him myself but I’m kind of scared if I ask him to stop watching dramas with Kagura-chan they might both kill me,” Shinpachi asks, and Gintoki removes the Jump imprinted onto his cheek to blearily blink up at him. “Gin-san, did you even hear anything I just said?”
“Sure, sure,” he yawns. “Takasugi! Kagura! Stop fucking watching swill and get off the damn couch!” he yells, and they both steadfastly ignore him. “Oi! Moron! Shouldn’t you be setting a better example?” His bokutou goes flying at Takasugi’s head, and Takasugi smoothly smacks it back. “Get up!”
“Shut up, Gintoki,” Takasugi says, and it’s the same venom he always has but it’s a lot less effective after a decade of being forced to share an apartment with him. “Or I’m recording over your tapes.”
“Nevermind, Shinpachi, just let them go at it. I’m not losing those recordings,” he says, and Shinpachi sighs in exasperation. “I’m going back to sleep. Wake me up if those two ever decide to value their IQs.”
—
They meet Katsura on a day like any other. Or, rather, Takasugi meets Katsura, and Gintoki’s the one to witness the shell-shocked look on his face when he finally wanders back to the dusty apartment over the bar that Otose had rented to them. “Welcome back, moron,” he says while trying to reach behind the fridge, and it’s only at the complete lack of response or even the sound of the door closing that he looks up. “Takasugi?”
“I just saw Zura,” Takasugi mumbles, and Gintoki juggles his ice cream that he drops in shock.
“Like, a ghost of him? Are you going nuts? Can that eye of yours see spirits now?” he says, rapid-fire, and his brain races as he tries to figure out Takasugi’s convoluted words.
“Like, he bombed the embassy and then ran off and I think he tried to recruit me,” Takasugi responds, and it’s only when Gintoki starts towards him that he blinks and closes the door behind him to slump on the couch. “...I always knew he was too stupid to die.”
“So he’s alive, then,” Gintoki says, and sits on the couch next to him. “Fuck.”
“Fuck is right,” he says in a rare moment of agreement. “What the hell. What do we do now?”
“You do nothing, because I’m bringing the action here, Takasugi,” a voice echos from outside the door, and they both freeze. “Who are you with? You know it’s not good to take women back to your place in daylight, it’s not becoming of a samurai.”
What the fuck? Gintoki tries to communicate silently to Takasugi, but it’s not quite clear whether Takasugi is trying to tell him to go hide or to smack Katsura upside the head, and in the confusion Katsura manages to force the door open.
“Takasugi! My old friend! I apologize to whomever you are with, but—” Katsura says, but his voice stops at the sight of Gintoki, frozen as he tries to creep out of the room.
It’s a rare moment of silence as they stare at each other, Gintoki frozen half-on and half-off the couch, Takasugi’s eye blinking back at Katsura, and Katsura in his awful monk getup.
“...Gintoki? How…Are you two living with each other?” Katsura says, and his voice goes quiet, exactly in the way that Gintoki used to hate when they were teenagers. It was rare for Katsura to feel anything other than self-assured.
“Don’t get it twisted, Zura,” Takasugi speaks up, finally, and Gintoki’s relieved—he’d always had more charisma anyways and Katsura had a better chance of listening to him. “I only met with him because I was going to kill him. Unfortunately, he insulted my ability to do so. Now we have to share a miserable fucking apartment because we both don’t make enough money to afford rent in Edo.”
“I see,” Katsura says, but Gintoki’s gotten up now properly and makes his way over to him. “I understand. I shall take my leave.”
What a time to develop social tact, Zura, Gintoki thinks to himself, before grabbing the ends of his long hair. “Idiot, where are you going? Make Takasugi be a good host and cook dinner because he’s been weaseling his way out of it for the past week. He won’t listen to me anyways,” he says, and relaxes his shoulders a little when Katsura hesitates in the doorway. “C’mon, you can meet these two weirdo kids we picked up by accident that make our lives living hell. You like kids, right?”
“I have no interest in children besides that they are our country’s hope for the future, Gintoki,” Katsura says, but he turns around anyways and walks in. “I suppose I shall assist if I must. Really, it’s a miracle you’ve managed to make it this far,” he says, and Takasugi glances at him with palpable relief. “I assume Takasugi is still unable to cook anything more than rice and charred meat?”
“Yeah, that’s right, can you do it for us since he fucks it up?” Gintoki says, but brushes past him anyways to start the rice cooker. It’s the first physical contact he’s had with anyone besides Takasugi in over a decade but it feels the exact same as when they were stupid teenagers. “Since you do it best, you know,” he says, and ignore Takasugi’s glare. He knows he’s laying it on thick, but Katsura doesn’t tend to pick up on it anyways. “You’d make a killer housewife if you weren’t insane.”
“I have no time to be a housewife when I am reforming our country,” Katsura grouses, but he’s still as good at onigiri as he ever was and it’s nice to see more action in the kitchen. “Takasugi, get up and help.”
“Don’t order me around,” Takasugi grumbles, but he starts doing the dishes with a glance at Katsura anyways.
—
“Get out of my fucking house,” Gintoki says, swatting at Katsura with a broom. “Pay rent or get out. Out.”
“You don’t pay rent either, Gintoki,” Katsura retorts, and continues to watch television on the couch. “I must keep up on my men’s latest topics of interest.”
“Do you want me to kill you? I’ll kill you. I’ll stuff you into a tube and cork both ends and suffocate you,” he says, but there’s no response. “Where is that asshole when you need him.”
“Takasugi did not deny me when I attempted to enter through the window earlier, and in fact motioned for me to enter the main room,” Katsura sniffs, turning up his nose, and Gintoki resists his murderous rage.
“You idiot, he was telling you to get out of the window!” he says as Takasugi appears from the hallway. Speak of the devil. “Oi, Takasugi, did you or did you not let this freeloader into this house.”
“I didn’t say anything. If he took that as an invitation, that’s not my fault,” Takasugi retorts, and plops down on the couch next to Katsura. “Zura, put on channel four.”
“Shinpachi would back me up,” Gintoki bemoans, but Shinpachi had left for the weekend to go on a hiking trip with his sister and Kagura had tagged along. He and Takasugi had been brushed off with the swift excuse of Takasugi-san’s health which, true, Takasugi would not do a hiking trip in the blazing heat without significant bitching, but it was about the principle. “I miss Shinpachi.”
“I’m sure they are perfectly well and building their bodies along with their spirits,” Katsura speaks up without tearing his eyes from the television. “Leader has promised me a souvenir if I keep an eye on you.”
“She’s going to bring back a freaky giant crab or something for you,” Gintoki says. “Probably not gonna bring back anything for me or Takasugi, though, bastard.”
“It can’t be helped that I’m the favorite,” Katsura says, and Gintoki starts beating him with the broom in earnest.
“Quit it, Gintoki, the dust clouds are blocking the TV,” Takasugi says, and Gintoki once again bemoans his complete lack of allies in the household.
Shinpachi brings back a keychain for Gintoki’s bokutou, a braided strap for Takasugi’s eyepatch (apparently local handicraft), and a wooden hairpin for Katsura. Kagura brings back a truly awful carving of a wood thrush for Gintoki, a sand timer with inaccurate timings for Takasugi, and a demonic-looking fox plush for Katsura. Gintoki and Takasugi both thank Otae profusely later for steering Kagura towards normal gifts.
—
“Should we start eating, Gin-san? It’s getting kind of late,” Shinpachi asks, but Gintoki waves him away with a distracted hand and continues to stare at the same page of Jump he’d been staring at five minutes ago. “Gin-san?”
It’s an early sunset today, thanks to the shortening daylight of winter. Shinpachi moves to call Kagura from her place under the kotatsu and eat the miso-and-egg that they’ve been eating for the third day this week, until Takasugi’s paycheck from calligraphy work hits their bank account. “Kagura-chan! Come eat! But don’t take all the rice again because we really are broke this time!”
“Alright, alright,” she yawns, and unsticks her face from the table. “Gin-chan? Do we have any more jerky?”
“Dunno,” Gintoki mutters, and doesn’t look up. “What time is it?”
“Half past eight, Gin-chan,” Kagura recites dutifully, and smacks his head. “Come eat, Gin-chan.”
“I’ll eat later,” Gintoki brushes her off, and Shinpachi pushes her into the kitchen when he catches Gintoki’s dull-eyed stare.
“Is Takasugi-san going to come back soon?” he asks when he walks back over to the couch, and regrets it immediately afterwards when Gintoki’s head snaps up so fast he can feel the sympathy pains shooting down his neck.
“He was supposed to come back six hours ago, around two,” Gintoki mumbles. “Fucker hasn’t messaged since noon either.”
“Takasugi-san normally doesn’t respond to messages, Gin-san, don’t worry too much,” Shinpachi says soothingly, but Gintoki just rolls his eyes.
“Worried? Who’d be worried about that little fucker? He’d probably bite the ear off anyone who tried to do something,” he says. “I’ll eat later, Pattsuan. Go finish your food first.”
Shinpachi leaves a bowl covered for him, but when he wakes up the next morning to clear the table for breakfast, it’s untouched.
—
Shinpachi’s over the next day again, and Kagura’s downstairs chatting with Otose, when they get a phone call on the office phone. Shinpachi scrambles to pick it up in case it’s a client, and when he finally fumbles the phone next to his ear, he recites the standard greeting: Hello, this is the Yorozuya Odd Jobs, do you have any jobs for us?
He’s unsettled when a deep voice breathes over the phone for a solid minute, and even more unsettled when it finally clears its throat and asks, “Is Sakata Gintoki there?” Gintoki is on the couch again, and Shinpachi eyes his lazy posture before responding in the affirmative. “Put him on the phone,” the voice rasps, “Or there might be a problem.”
Shinpachi hands the phone over to Gintoki after a drawn out series of charades. “Hello, Yorozuya Gin-chan here,” he drawls, and Shinpachi frantically tries to listen in from the other side of the desk. “What’s got this kid so spooked, huh?”
He’s not able to hear the full response from the deep voice, but he catches it say Shinsuke-chan and Gintoki’s face goes sheer white. Gin-san? he mouths, trying to catch Gintoki’s line of sight, but Gintoki’s got his head tipped down, fists clenched. Gin-san, what’s going on? Gintoki pushes him away and whispers into the phone.
“Fuck you,” Gintoki spits after Shinpachi hears the dial tone echo from the other side. He slams the phone down into the receiver and stands stock-still, staring at his desk.
“Gin-san, did something happen? Who’s Shinsuke-chan?” Shinpachi asks, but Gintoki stays silent. “Gin-san? What’s wrong?”
It’s a long few moments before Gintoki takes a deep breath in and responds. “Shinpachi, take Kagura and stay at your dojo for a few days. I don’t want you coming back here until I say so,” he grits out between clenched teeth. “I’m going to take care of some cleanup.”
“But Gin-san, what—” he starts to say, but Gintoki shoves him out the door. “Hold on, please!”
“I’m serious, Shinpachi,” Gintoki says, and there’s a manic glint shining in his eyes as he says it, like every word is an effort. “Be a good kid and listen to your elders. Go. Now. I don’t want you within twenty feet of this place in the next five minutes.”
—
He collects Kagura as promised, luring her with the promise of sukonbu, but as they walk out into the street she asks what’s wrong. “Why do I have to stay with you and Anego? Can’t I just sleep here like always?” she says, and Shinpachi hesitates.
“Gin-san’s upset about something,” he says slowly. “He said he’d take care of some cleanup. I don’t know what that means.”
“Well, if he says he’s cleaning that’s fake, he never cleans,” Kagura says, and Shinpachi smacks her upside the head for it.
“That’s not what I said!” he roars, before calming down again. “I’m kind of worried, Takasugi-san’s still not back.”
“Can’t we just go spy on Gin-chan, then?” Kagura shrugs. “Then we can know what he’s doing.”
“...That’s not right, Kagura-chan,” Shinpachi says, but the idea is attractive. “Maybe only once.”
“Okay,” she says, and (embarrassingly) hoists both herself and Shinpachi up and onto the roof. “Now we can see if he leaves and follow him.”
—
Gintoki waits a long, long, five minutes to make sure the others are gone, then waits another five for good measure. He can barely hear the sound of the clock ticking over the sound of blood rushing in his ears.
“Sakata Gintoki, it’s good to hear your voice again,” the voice says, and Gintoki shrugs in confusion.
“Who? I don’t know you,” he says, but the voice on the other end just laughs. “What’re you laughing about, oi.”
“Does this jog your memory? Eleven years ago, you were at the Tonegawa river, with your companions. You and your fellow rebels tore through an entire battalion, only leaving a miserable few alive. You, Sakamoto Tatsuma, Katsura Kotarou, and Takasugi Shinsuke, along with your men,” it whispers, and Gintoki’s blood runs cold.
“I’ve been in a lot of those, don’t really remember,” he tries to say nonchalantly. “Get on with it.”
“Sakamoto is in space, with a crew defending him. Katsura is difficult to track down and has his own band of rebels,” the voice continues, and Gintoki shudders subconsciously. “Luckily for us, it seems Shinsuke-chan has no such protection. It was hard to find time alone with the general, but a rather fortunate set of circumstances had us running into him earlier today.”
“And?,” he snaps, and Shinpachi’s still trying to listen in but he’s really not in the mood so he shoves him away. It’s not appropriate for him to hear anyways.
“I believe it would be wise to head to the east side of the docks, Shiroyasha,” the voice says, and there’s no faked joviality now, it’s ice-cold with bitterness. “We await your arrival.”
The dial tone rings out and Gintoki stands, shaking, before spitting a “Fuck you” at the phone.
His hands are cold as they fumble around for his bokutou. Takasugi had left everything but his short sword behind, a single flimsy blade that barely qualified as a knife that they only carried out of slight lingering paranoia. It’d been ten years, after all, ten years of mundanity and safety and a hundred other things that had probably led him to go out walking in broad daylight with minimal protection.
If you die, I’ll kill you, Takasugi’s voice echoes in his head, a little sarcastic and a little annoyed, and he’d heard it a thousand times but it sounded louder than ever at the moment. Takasugi was no slouch, they’d been tied hundreds of times over and over again, his only fault being a little too stiff and proper in his swordplay when they were children. He wouldn’t fall to just any Amanto. What’d they do to him? he thinks, and has to stop himself from hurting his knuckles clutching the bokutou.
Gintoki picks up the phone again and dials a number, praying that he’d pick up and that he hadn’t inexplicably switched cell service plans again. It takes three rings before he hears the click and he doesn’t give any time for a response, blurting out, “Zura. Someone attacked Takasugi. They want me to meet them at the East docks. Go there within fifteen minutes.”
He doesn’t wait to see if Katsura responds, instead heading out the door and onto his moped in record time.
—
“Let me ride on Sadaharu, Kagura-chan,” Shinpachi wheedles, and Kagura only lets him out of fear that they’ll lose Gintoki if they don’t hurry up. “Gin-san looked serious. Seriously, what’s going on?”
“I dunno,” she says as Sadaharu runs his lop-sided run. “I heard him call Zura earlier.”
“I hope it’s nothing bad,” he says, but there’s a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
—
Katsura’s there even faster than he is, hair blowing every which way in the cold wind that the spaceship docked a couple miles out is pushing towards them. “Gintoki,” he says, but doesn’t continue any further.
“Just wait. They’ll probably show up soon,” he mutters, but doesn’t miss the look Katsura shoots him. “I’m fine. He’s fine.”
It’s a long few minutes of waiting before his phone rings again, and he fumbles with the button to hit “answer”. “We didn’t expect any guests,” the other line says coolly, and Gintoki frowns.
“Never said I couldn’t bring any,” he retorts, and the voice sighs.
“Very well. All the more convenient, I suppose,” it says. “Now, please comply with these instructions, or you will never approach within sixty feet of our ship. You are to discard all weapons and wear these bands around your wrists. Please do not attempt any violence at any point.”
You hear that? he mouths, and Katsura nods solemnly. “Fine, alright,” he says, and tosses his bokutou to the side, along with Takasugi’s sword. Katsura discards his own bombs and sword in turn. They fit the bands on their wrists, and turn to the small shuttle three feet away that had landed during the conversation. “I assume we board this?”
There’s no response, so Gintoki tugs Katsura onto the shuttle, hip feeling empty.
—
“That looks like some funny business, Shinpachi,” Kagura whispers, and Shinpachi nods in agreement. “Do we go save the day?”
“No, Kagura-chan, there’s not even anyone else there,” he whispers back. “Maybe it’s just a weird reunion thing?”
“Gin-chan’s taking his bokutou off, though,” she says, and Shinpachi blinks in surprise at the sight. “Zura’s getting rid of his stuff too.”
“...That doesn’t look right,” he says, and he makes up his mind as he sees Gintoki’s hand wrap around Katsura’s wrist. Katsura had covered it with his other hand, a soothing gesture, and Shinpachi’s struck by the weirdness of Gintoki just letting it happen. “Let’s get on that ship, Kagura-chan.”
“I bet we could just stick to the bottom,” she thinks out loud. “Just grab on. I think Gin-chan’s too distracted to notice.”
“Maybe you can, but I sure can’t!” he nearly yells, before realizing their position.
“I’ll just grab your arm,” she shrugs, and Shinpachi deflates after realizing their lack of options. “I’ll jump up there after they start it up—oh shoot, Shinpachi, they’re moving! Go go go go!”
—
It’s a slow start to their ride up, and Gintoki’s half-distracted by Katsura, who keeps rubbing circles into his wrist. “Quit it,” he snaps, and rolls his eyes at Katsura’s complete dismissal of his comment. “Cut it out.”
“It’s a pressure point, Gintoki, known for enhancing circulation and oxygen to muscular tissue,” Katsura says, and takes another surreptitious glance at him. “Just in case. It also happens to assist with relaxation.”
“I don’t need relaxing,” he says, but shuts up. He’s not being fair to Katsura, he knows this. Katsura had been their strategist during the war too, calm and cool-headed if you didn’t know where to look, and he’d always been good at looking after other people to keep it that way. Gintoki’s tempted to snap You don’t know what I’m feeling right now, tempted to bite and gnash at the nearest target, even if that target happened to be the person who would know those feelings better than anyone else.
What do you know, he still says bitterly in his head, a swirling mix of anxiety and rage. You disappeared for ten years. It’s not fair to Katsura, who had gone through the same pain if even more than they had, but when he and Takasugi had had to navigate life without Katsura’s mitigating presence, he had quickly grown sick of wishing he was there. You don’t know what it’s like. You know how to be alone.
There’s an absence greater than his bokutou gnawing away at him, a yawning hole that had opened up at two yesterday and had only grown larger until it threatened to consume him. As much as they’d fought, as much as they still did fight, as incompatible as they were, Gintoki hadn’t known his life without him and the possibility shreds him “Zura,” he says, and stops.
“What is it?” Katsura responds, and his hands haven’t stopped in their smooth circles. Gintoki’s anger cools just a little.
“If it’s me or Takasugi, take that bastard and run,” he says, and there’s a sick feeling welling up inside his throat as he relives history. “I’m serious. I’ll get out. You know I’m crazy, Zura, I’ll do it.”
“I’ll save you both, then,” Katsura says calmly, and for a moment with his long hair he looks so much like Shouyou it hurts. “Don’t fret, Gintoki. It’s unbecoming of a samurai.”
“Listen to me for once in your life, Zura,” he says, but there’s guilt weighing down his voice and he knows firsthand just how awful of a burden it is. “Think of it as finally growing a brain.”
“I’ll make that decision myself,” he says, and his hands pull away from Gintoki in a rare display of anger. Gintoki feels a pang of regret at the loss. “We’re here, Gintoki.”
—
“Welcome,” the voice speaks, and an Amanto wearing a cape appears to them, well-muscled and holding an obvious weapon. “Please follow me.”
Gintoki’s on a razor’s edge as he walks, maintaining the veneer of politeness as well as he can. He keeps twitching his hands, and he can tell it’s noticeable because Katsura shoots him a look, but try as he might he can’t get them to stop.
“Please enter this room,” he hears, and it’s only after he and Katsura walk into the dimly lit room that Gintoki realizes that the darkened wall on the opposite side is more than just a wall as the door slides and locks shut. “Now, let’s enjoy the show.”
The lights brighten with the wall, and Gintoki’s heart freezes as he sees Takasugi through what he now sees is a surveillance mirror, tightly restrained with chains and rope. Takasugi! Katsura’s roaring as he surges up to the mirror, but Gintoki barely even registers it as he stares, uncomprehending, at his body slumped on the floor.
“Let’s make it a little brighter, shall we?” the voice says from a speaker above, and Gintoki watches numbly as electricity flickers and crackles along the metallic chains, watches as Takasugi jolts forward and convulses in pain. “Watch, Shiroyasha. Katsura Kotarou. These are the consequences of your rampage. The good men you cut down in battle without a second thought.”
“As if you didn’t try to do the same!” Katsura cries out, fuming, and slams his body against the mirror. “Do not preach to us!”
“I’m not preaching,” the voice rumbles. More volts rush through Takasugi’s body, and Gintoki hears Takasugi’s throat hitch in a voiceless scream, the same voice that had been already half-ruined by smoking, and aimlessly wonders how much it would piss him off if he went mute. “I’m telling the truth. You aimed for the legs knowing we’d die from blood loss or an infection instead of a merciful end. You let dozens of my brothers die after hours of agony as I watched,” the Amanto says, sudden vindictive anger filling its voice. “You two now have the same honor.”
Another Amanto enters the room Takasugi sits in, and they can do nothing but watch, locked behind reinforced metal and technology they can’t begin to understand. “Begin,” the voice commands, and the Amanto does something with a weapon that Gintoki can only describe as a flail, striking out at Takasugi’s chest and leaving deep scores. “I wonder how much blood loss a human can take before death? Certainly less than I read, considering his smaller size,” the voice derides, and Gintoki yells obscenities at the speaker.
In the end, it’s the Amanto’s taunts that are his downfall. “Shall we dig out his other eye?” it says, mocking. “I’ll even turn off the mirroring. Let him see the two who did nothing but stand by and watch before his eye closes forever.”
Katsura looks deeply disturbed and angry at the thought (he had been Takasugi’s first and oldest friend, after all), but Gintoki doesn’t see any of it. What Gintoki does see is the feverish paleness of Takasugi’s face after they’d spent too long walking in the dead of winter and the sickly red lines of infection spreading through his veins, the gasping breaths of pain as Takasugi had finally lost his battle with pride and asked Gintoki to sterilize it while he tried to keep from biting his own tongue off. He sees Takasugi bumping into the couch, the table, the counter, a million other mundane things until his arms and hips are as much a mess of bruises as during the worst of the war, until he relearns how to move and beats Gintoki’s ass a dozen times for every time he dared to laugh at him.
“I’ll fucking kill you,” he says, and he’s said that a million times but never meant it quite as much as he did now. He throws his entire body weight behind the punch to the mirror, over and over again, even as he feels his knuckles crunching in a way they shouldn’t. He screams as he does, a roar that seems like it’s tearing its way out of its throat, covering up the voice’s mockery and assurances that they’ll never be able to break the mirror’s superior engineering.
“Gintoki,” Katsura’s voice cuts through the haze, and Gintoki stops briefly to glare at him.
“If you try to stop me, I’ll shave you bald,” he says, but Katsura just grits his teeth and turns to the mirror.
“I’m joining you,” Katsura says simply, and the relief that comes with his steady presence as he turns to slam the mirror over and over again gives him a second wind. “Use this,” he hears him breathe into his ear as he slips something hard and sharp into his palm. “It pays to be prepared.”
Gintoki gives no indication of having heard, only angling his strikes to better let them land on the object, but lets out a sigh at the rapidly increasing pace of the fracture’s formations. “If you continue, I will have no choice but to make good on my promise,” the voice says, increasingly panicked, but Gintoki pays it no mind. Takasugi’s gurgled choke as the Amanto brings down another strike only spurs him onwards.
“Aim for the eye next,” he hears the voice order just before the glass crackles and falls away, and he scrambles ungainly through the jagged hole it leaves, ignoring the rips it leaves in his kimono.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Katsura spits from besides him, and it’s only a split moment before he grapples the weapon away from the stunned Amanto who clearly did not expect a break-in. “Gintoki, take this,” he says, and thrusts it in Gintoki’s general direction. Gintoki swings and catches the Amanto broadly across the back, slamming him into a spare end of the chains which crackle and spark loudly before knocking him unconscious.
“I believe this was a breach of our agreement, gentlemen,” the voice crackles from a half-smashed in speaker, real anger present in its tone. “I do not take kindly to such behaviour.” Their wrists lock into place at their sides as Gintoki thinks Shit, I forgot about those, but Katsura fidgets with something for a few moments and frees himself quickly.
“Mine next, Zura,” he says, and Katsura obliges. “Years spent evading being put in handcuffs pays off, I guess.”
“Speaking of handcuffs, we need to get him out of those now,” Katsura says quickly. “Before they get their terminals booted again. Gintoki, cut them open.” He quickly obliges, smashing open the heavier links and cutting the smaller ones, and lifts Takasugi up. He’s not moving, but Gintoki nearly collapses in relief when he notices the slight rise and fall of the chest, weirdly patterned from his smoking.
“Now what?” he says, but it’s rhetorical.
“Now go get a sword, Gintoki,” Katsura responds, and Gintoki prepares to fight his way out of the worst ship he’s ever been on in his life.
—
They’re finally on the main deck, heaving for air, when Katsura finally admits the worst: “Gintoki, we’re in a difficult position.”
“No shit, Zura,” he shoots back, because he’s juggling between carrying a still-dead-to-the-world Takasugi tied to his back with strips of their kimonos and trying to fight dozens of Amanto with an extreme grudge, and there’s no clean shot to the edge of the ship without significantly more damage. “Fuck.”
“The way I see it, there are two options,” Katsura begins, and Gintoki prepares to hear the worst plan he’s ever heard in his life. “Either we just make a break for it and sandwich Takasugi between us, or one of us draws the attention while the other runs.”
“I feel like there’s a pretty easy solution to this,” Gintoki mutters. “Your turn to carry this heavy bastard. He’s so short it’s a wonder he’s such a pain to carry, aren’t short people supposed to be easy?”
“You’re more injured, Gintoki,” Katsura says, and Gintoki knows it’s true but bristles at the insinuation regardless.
“I’m not fucking arguing over this with you,” he says, and he’d feel a little bad at the way Katsura reels back slightly if it wasn’t for the impending volley of Amanto after them. “Give me this one thing. You freeload off of me and Takasugi so often you’ve got to owe me at least one favor by now, you asshole. Aren’t you the famous Runaway Kotarou? Show off those talents.”
“We could just both run,” Katsura suggests, but Gintoki cuts him off.
“Won’t fucking work and you know it. There’s no way we can do anything if we’re both too focused on this guy. We’d just all be dead,” he says, and makes a last-ditch effort. “Please, Zura. I’m sorry I can’t be your general this time.”
Katsura stands there for longer than they frankly should, searching his eyes for something Gintoki isn’t privy to. “I won’t forgive you,” he states after seemingly finding whatever he was looking for, reaching to hoist Takasugi up on his back. “Unless you come back alive. Don’t break a promise, Gintoki. We samurai were not taught this sloppily.”
“Sure,” Gintoki says, and feels his heart pang as he sees Katsura’s hair flutter in the ocean air as he dodges left and right, sprinting towards the closest escape. He turns to pick up a discarded sword as he prepares for the onslaught, catching a glimpse of Katsura’s white parachute in the corner of his eyes as he does. “Sure, I’ll do that, Zura.”
—
“Gin-san!” Shinpachi cries out when they finally find the right vent that leads them to the main deck. “Gin-san, what is this!”
Gintoki’s head jerks up from his kneeling position and they meet eyes from across the carnage that litters the wooden floors as Kagura pushes her way out. “Idiot kids, what the hell are you doing here?” Gintoki shouts back, and his voice is hoarse and broken. “Get out!”
“Not without you, Gin-chan!” Kagura yells back, and shoves them both out of the vent, landing with a thump on the deck. “You’re really easy to track, you should stop that!”
Shinpachi’s never been in a proper fight before, but he finds he supports Gintoki easily as he steps into the fray, stepping in at moments where Gintoki can’t reach or when there’s an unexpected kunai flying at him. Kagura fights in a whirlwind away from them on the other side, a violent burst of fists and bullet holes, and it’s only when he feels like there are enough dead for them to take a breath that he asks Gintoki how they’re going to get off this ship.
“I wasn’t really planning that far ahead,” Gintoki says, huffing a tired laugh, and looks at the water below them. “How well can you swim? Just kidding, I can’t swim.”
“Gin-chan, there’s life boats, I guess even violent weirdos have standards,” Kagura calls from afar, and Gintoki winces as he walks leaning on Shinpachi’s shoulders towards the lifeboat. “I can row with my umbrella, I bet.”
“Nobody’s rowing with any umbrella, they give you oars,” Shinpachi retorts, and fiercely resists the urge to ask Gintoki what had happened. “Gin-san, we should get in this fast before they start picking up more reinforcements. Do you know how to lower it?”
“Sure, just like this,” Gintoki says, then slices the intricate rope system tying it to the boat with a single slash. “Now jump in.”
Shinpachi’s jaw drops open, but he makes the terrifying jump down regardless, only getting a little soaked. He’s further saved by the fact that Gintoki had lowered himself down with a rope instead, citing his aging bones as the reason. Kagura, of course, has no such reservations, splashing them all as she lands with all the grace of an elephant.
—
“Why’s Katsura-san here?” Shinpachi asks as they stumble back over their doorstep and Katsura peeks his head out from Gintoki’s bedroom. “Please tell him that he can’t keep stealing our futons.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Gintoki slurs, and Shinpachi is tempted to press the issue but he’s dropping dangerously low on his shoulder. “Just shove me in there, Zura will take care of it.”
“Okay,” Shinpachi starts to say as he slides open the sliding door fully, then shrieks at the sight of Takasugi, splattered with blood and red patterns tracing his skin. “Gin-san!”
“He’ll be fine, he’s like a cockroach,” Katsura says from the corner where he’s dabbing the blood off his hands with a soaked towel. “Just put Gintoki in here.”
“But Katsura-san,” Shinpachi begins to say, and is stopped by Katsura’s whispering.
“I don’t want Leader seeing this, so please rest up tonight in your dojo,” he says quietly, and presses a couple snack crackers into his hand. “Hopefully these rations shall be sufficient.”
“...Thank you, Katsura-san,” Shinpachi says after a long moment, giving up completely on understanding him. “I’ll take Kagura-chan.”
The final sliding door slams shut as Kagura and Shinpachi leaves, and Katsura waits another moment before unfolding his legs and walking over to Gintoki. “He’s got some more scarring, but I can’t see anything else wrong,” he says, and shakes Gintoki awake again as he threatens to drift off. “Gintoki. Wake up.”
“I got it, asshole,” Gintoki says, but he hauls himself up anyways. “...Sorry. I kept my promise.”
“Don’t do it again,” Katsura says quietly, but there’s an anticipatory silence, and Gintoki waits for him to start up again. “I understand I have been absent for a spell, but the years have not diminished my care for you two any less.”
“I didn’t—that wasn’t what I was saying, Zura,” Gintoki says quickly, but Katsura shuts him up with a look.
“I know I was in the wrong for leaving, and I accept my faults as best as I can, but I do not wish to choose between you two,” he says, but his expression softens and he says, “I regret that you were not given the same freedom of choice.”
“...Whatever, don’t worry about it,” Gintoki mutters. “I guess I was annoyed about it for a while, but—understand, Zura, that after all that the only thing I knew and recognized was this bastard. It isn’t because of anything about you or him. I still hate him, mostly, but he’s the kind of guy that, like you said, doesn’t go away. Like a cockroach. I don’t think you were wrong for leaving, shit, we all cope in our own shitty ways.”
“I appreciate that, Gintoki,” Katsura says softly, and they sit quietly together in the dimming light until the silence is broken by a wracking cough and they both turn their head so fast it hurts.
“Who called me a cockroach,” Takasugi says, and his voice is weak and barely present but they both respond loudly as they can that of course he’d be a tiny bastard cockroach, one of those that breeds in the walls and survives the nuclear end, until he tries to get up out of sheer spite and is immediately forced down by the full weight of both Gintoki and Katsura.
“Die,” he coughs, and Gintoki is equally glad to retort, “Only if you die first.”