Chapter Text
“Have you robbed this one too, Oniwa?” Tenzen nips as they ride into the desolate town. Gyoubu scowls and doesn’t justify him with a response.
It’s been two months now since his gang of bandits were routed and he lost his duel with the Sword Saint Isshin. He can still hear in his mind the way Lord Isshin laughed boisterously after he disarmed him and swept his feet from under him. Gyoubu had stared up at him, dumbfounded as Lord Isshin offered him a hand and told him he ought to use his strength in service to Ashina.
Gyoubu had once told himself that he would never answer to some entitled, jumped up lord, yet when Isshin’s voice rings out and orders them to sweep through the abandoned village and salvage what they can, Gyoubu makes his way to the leftmost houses.
He can’t actually remember if he and his band ever robbed this town. He doubts he would recognize the war-torn remains even if he had. They use the last dregs of sunlight to search, but the village was tiny to begin with, and Tamura’s men appear to have gone through and taken any valuables already. He kicks over a big basket only to find a couple crickets underneath. He sighs when Tenzen hurries him along to the next house.
It stands at the fringe of the town and it looks like it was left in marginally better shape than the others. After Tenzen tries and fails to open it, it takes a powerful shove from Gyoubu to dislodge the front door with a cacophonous crash. He’d toppled over a number of crates stacked inside as if someone attempted to barricade the entrance. The others brush past him while Gyoubu pokes through the mess. Most of the boxes were just weighed down with rocks, but one has a large iron pot inside. He hefts it up and examines it, pleased with the find.
A loud creak of the floorboards is all that warns him of his assailant.
Startled by a flash of motion he can’t discern, Gyoubu bellows when a stinging blow comes down on his lower leg. Hopping backwards, he kicks out and sends something careening into the crates. It felt bizarrely light. As he hears the others shouting from the hall, he gets a fleeting glimpse of a child’s filthy face, then the little beast leaps at him again, knife in hand.
“Gah- Fucker!” Gyoubu curses, bruising his back on the doorframe when he jerks out of the way.
The kid skids and wheels around, shrieking, “Get out!” Tenzen’s arm lashes out and catches the brat- a boy, he thinks- by the collar and shakes him when he jumps again. He tries to bite him, then Gyoubu grabs him by the ankles to prevent him from thrashing free. Theoretically. Writhing like a serpent, he screams at the top of his lungs, “Get out! Get out, you bastards!” He finds the angle to try to stab him again.
Someone else seizes his wrist in an iron grip, lightning fast, stopping the blow in its tracks. Flinching, Gyoubu finds Lord Isshin standing beside him.
“Is this what all the racket’s about, Gyoubu? I thought a soldier had ambushed you,” Isshin rumbles calmly. His face goes hot, humiliated that this scrawny brat was the one to jump him, but Isshin says, “I much prefer finding a child over an enemy.” Tightening his grasp, he forces the kid to drop his weapon: a cooking knife marred with a thin layer of rust.
Trembling all over, but with eyes still boiling with rage, he thrashes again. Tenzen twists his other arm behind his back. “Let go of me! Leave me alone! This is our home, I won’t let you take it from me! Like you took everything else! Everyone...!”
Gyoubu gasps out in frustration as he tries to tear himself free. “Tamura was the one who-”
“Liar! You’re all the same! You were stealing from us- our things from our house!” Gyoubu glances guilty at the pot on the floor. “That belongs to my mom! You’re thieves! Monsters! Murderers!”
“We’re on your side, your countrymen-” Tenzen tries in a growl. The village is in Ashina’s lands, after all.
Tears spill from the corners of the kid’s eyes. “Then LEAVE ME ALONE and DON’T COME BACK!”
“Very well,” Isshin states unexpectedly, letting go. “Release him.” Gyoubu and Tenzen share an uncertain glance, but drop their catch as instructed. He’s wary of being stabbed, yet he realizes Isshin must have subtly kicked the knife away already since it’s nowhere in sight. He can finally get a real look at the brat, kneeling on the floor sniffling. He looks about six.
“Take nothing and come with me,” Isshin commands. The kid watches them with bewilderment as he ushers his men back out the door. “Forgive our intrusion. We’ll leave you in peace. I promise you no one will encroach on your home. By tomorrow morning, we’ll be long gone.” This time, he doesn’t say a word, merely fixing his red rimmed eyes on Isshin. With his legs folded awkwardly under him and the wavering dip of his chin, it seems like he doesn’t have the strength to get back up after the tussle.
Irked by the uncomfortable situation, Gyoubu swiftly rights the crates in two stacks of two out of the way so the kid won’t try doing it himself, then lets the door fall shut behind him.
Instead of promptly leaving the house like he promised, Isshin makes his way around the side. Gyoubu wavers, peering after him with an uncertain noise, and sees the flick of his lord’s hand inviting him to follow. He catches up in a few quick strides. “He mentioned his mother,” Isshin explains without prompting, “but she didn’t appear and he didn’t request any help for her.” He stops behind the house. Gyoubu takes several more moments to recognize the shoddy, shallow grave, exhaling heavily. “No wonder he looked so neglected.”
“I’m surprised a wolf hasn’t torn through this yet,” Gyoubu mutters.
“Tamura’s attack would have scared them off for a while,” Isshin states. “But it’s only a matter of time now.”
“...Should we bury her properly?” he asks hesitantly.
Isshin shakes his head and turns, striding away with Gyoubu at his heels. “We have to return to the rest of the troops tomorrow and we can’t afford to linger. There are countless dead that deserve far more dignity, but during war, that can come at the cost of defeat, which is the greatest indignity of all.” The other men have started to set up a cook fire between the other houses and wave them over. “Besides,” Isshin adds with a sharp grin, “I don’t think our gracious host there would tolerate the attempt.”
Gyoubu grunts in concession and sits around the fire, accepting a bowl soon to be filled with the gruel bubbling in the pot over the fire. “No one is to approach that house!” Isshin announces loudly. “Understood?” The men chorus their agreement.
“Are you hurt, Oniwa?” Tenzen calls from the other side. “You howled bloody murder when that rat caught you!”
“Shut your mouth!” he snarls back over the sound of their laughter, but he notices Lord Isshin look at him expectantly and he bites back a groan. He’d forgotten about it, but he examines his leg now, pulling at his pants. “It didn’t get through the layers, so the edge couldn’t cut. But the point managed to get me.” Peeling back the fabric reveals a long, ragged scrape slowly oozing blood. “It’s fine,” he mumbles, “the brat just surprised me.” He rolls his eyes as Tenzen tells the others the story. Luckily, dinner being ladled out helps shut them up.
“For Ashina!” they toast before eating.
Isshin and Dogen discuss between themselves in the glow of the fire. Now that he’s studied a few of the bodies left in the village, Dogen confirms their suspicion that Tamura’s men attacked here around a week and a half ago. Gyoubu doesn’t make much effort to keep up as they and several others go back and forth about their next plan of attack. He’s here because of his strength, not his brain; all the strategizing just goes over his head.
A hoarse voiced call from across the way interrupts them unexpectedly, declaring, “You all failed, you know that?” Twisting around and squinting into the night, he can just barely make out the kid sticking his head through one of the windows like an owl in its hollow. “What good are you? You’re too late, way too late, you didn’t do anything when we needed you. My home was ruined because of you!” Grumbling ripples through the company and Tenzen spits in the fire, but there’s a tacit, tentative agreement to ignore him. Determinedly defiant, he shouts, “You’re worthless! I don’t want you here!”
“Ungrateful little...!” Jinsuke hisses at that, starting to push himself up.
“You’re right,” Isshin calls, stopping him mid-motion. Keeping his back to the house without shifting, he continues, “We were far away when your village needed to be defended. Tamura outmaneuvered us to postpone our confrontation and prolonged the war with deadly consequences. If we positioned ourselves correctly in time, we might have defeated the troops here, but we failed. That’s the simple truth.” Isshin’s eyes glint dark and vicious until he blinks. “We’re here now, but you seem far from impressed by that and I can understand why, so I won’t try to change your mind.”
After a long, bated moment, the kid vanishes back inside the dark house.
Gyoubu estimates that ten minutes pass before he notices the kid again, slinking closer to the campfire like a mangy cat. By now, everyone is aware and wondering what he might do next, so he quickly earns the attention of the whole group. Some men keep talking, but they’re also waiting for the next move. The circle around the fire is too tight to allow for him and no one’s eager to make space next to them; he stops three paces away and stares. Then Gyoubu realizes the others are looking at him now, pressuring him expectantly. He swears and grumbles, “Why should I have to deal with the snot-nosed brat?”
“That’s rich, coming from a snot-nosed brat!” Jinsuke retorts sharply, backed by several concurring utterances. He groans and makes a rude gesture, but accepts his fate as the freshest meat who has to prove himself with the worst tasks, so he shoves over to make room. Only recently have a few of Isshin’s older, closer retainers begun to warm up to him, still disgruntled that Isshin accepted an uncouth, criminal seventeen year old into their ranks. They only barely disguise their sneers. It’s exceptionally frustrating, especially after he led his crew of bandits like a lord. And yet, something stops him from leaving Isshin’s service every time. Maybe it’s that loyalty people love to wax poetic about.
The kid lopes up to claim the offered space and immediately sits- Gyoubu decides not to call it a collapse.
He watches Isshin heavily. Gyoubu is glad political nuance is lost on the kid, so unlike some of the other peasants who have confronted them, he won’t carry on his accusatory thread of logic that they’re to blame for his suffering because Isshin instigated the rebellion to begin with. He doubts he could have a knife hidden in the threadbare clothes hanging off his scrawny frame, but he doesn’t want to find out through an assassination attempt.
Isshin waves for them to pass along a bowl for him and he sets it on his thigh and hunches low over it. He devours the food with rapid little flicks of the spoon. Gyoubu hears him observe under his breath, “This tastes bad,” as he continues to eat it.
It only takes a couple minutes for him to finish, then he finally straightens up. Several men scan him sharply, but no one’s willing to disrupt the atmosphere by addressing him. After a beat, the brat says boldly, “I want more,” but he apparently thinks better of approaching the pot himself.
Isshin doesn’t either, leaning in to peer down at him. “What’s your name?” He glances back at the house without answering. “What do they call you?”
He wipes his nose on his sleeve. “Ichiro.”
“Classic,” Tenzen remarks.
“Hey,” grouses another man who, up until that point, Gyoubu had forgotten is also named Ichiro.
“Ichiro...” Isshin repeats slowly. “Have you counted the days since the attack on your village?” He shakes his head and narrows his eyes. “Ha, too long, yes of course... Do you know how many soldiers there were? Do you know what direction they left in?” He tremulously tightens his grip around the bowl and spoon with a frown.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Dogen, who was also studying the kid, intrudes. He snatches the ladle from the pot and pulls out the kid’s bowl. “He needs food, what the hell are you doing interrogating him like that?” He fills it up halfway. “Have that much now so you don’t make yourself sick,” the surgeon instructs. “You can have a bit more later.”
The kid- Ichiro, takes a first, hurried bite then stops short, glancing embarrassedly at Dogen. “Thank you,” he murmurs.
“It can’t hurt to triple check our intel,” Lord Isshin is saying. “And he could’ve known something we aren’t aware of. I wasn’t going to leave him hungry the whole night.” Dogen turns the ladle on him with a fierce jab, making Isshin guffaw and raise his hands in surrender.
It doesn’t take long for the second serving to disappear either, Ichiro scraping the bowl squeaky clean. He eyes the pot and swallows hungrily, but doesn’t ask for more under Isshin’s hawkish gaze. “What about your father, boy? Where is he?”
“Is he a soldier?” Jinsuke cuts in. “If he’s one of ours, we could bring you back to him. Settle things nicely.”
Sullenly, Ichiro hunches his shoulders and wraps his arms over his chest. “He’s not. Couple years ago, my dad got sick. He never got better. He’s been gone for a while.” Gyoubu suppresses a sigh. Oh, what a miserable stray.
After bowing his head for a solemn heartbeat, Isshin presses, “Any grandparents?”
Folding further in on himself pitifully, he whimpers almost inaudibly, “Stop.” Gyoubu winces. But then, even without Isshin saying anything more, he bites out, “Killed. Dead. They’re all dead! There, are you happy?”
“No,” Isshin sighs. “Not happy. But understanding is a good thing.” That doesn’t seem to please him, but he can’t find anything to say, so he goes quiet instead.
In his silence, over and over, the kid keeps looking over his shoulder at his house. “Quit that,” Gyoubu snaps after the nth time, elbowing him. “There’s just us, and no one’s going to break in behind your back. So stop, you’re making my skin crawl.” Ichiro sniffs impudently and looks back again just to annoy him. “There’s nothing you could do about it anyway! You couldn’t fight off a fly. We toppled your little barricade and caught you in a heartbeat, and a real enemy wouldn’t have let you go again!”
“It would have been different if I had a bow!”
Tenzen crows, “Hah! With the way you slashed with that knife, I would have figured you’d rather arm yourself with a sword!”
“Stupid. It’s better if they can’t even get close.”
“Then I think this is what you’re looking for,” someone asserts and hoists his rifle into the air.
Ichiro crosses his arms obstinately. “You can fetch arrows and use them again, but not bullets.”
One man- Gyoubu can’t name him but he knows he’s one of their archers- points emphatically at him and shouts, “I like him! He gets it!” over the general disapproving yowls of the gunmen.
Isshin tosses his head back as he laughs. “Is that so? And who’s the one who told you that?”
“Masato, my neighbor. He used his bow to hunt; he was good, and sometimes he would share some of his catch with me. He promised to teach me how to shoot! But-” His countenance locks up. “...I only got a couple lessons.”
“Then you shouldn’t go around boasting about how well you could handle a bow,” Isshin reprimands. “You never know when someone might decide to put your claim to the test, and then where would you be?” Ichiro scowls. “...And even if you could hold your own, I think you might find retrieving your arrows from the bodies of people you killed a more difficult task than you imagined.” The kid stares at him with startling intensity, aghast and angry and wounded. Dogen scoffs and smacks Isshin’s arm in unimpressed frustration. Ignoring him, he muses, “Would you still want to learn to use such a weapon?”
“Yes,” Ichiro hisses resolutely.
Isshin tips his head back and looks down at him approvingly. “That is good.”
As they start breaking up their dinner gathering, someone remembers to pour the last little bit of food into the kid’s bowl, which then occupies the full measure of his attention and energy for a minute as the men discuss sleeping arrangements. Several seem intent on staying up to chat, but Isshin insists otherwise, reminding them that they’re departing after daybreak tomorrow and ordering them all to sleep, except for a rotation of watchmen. “What about him?” Jinsuke asks, jutting his chin at the kid. Ichiro cautiously stands, looking between them and trying to judge where he thinks is safest.
“Not so fast,” Dogen steps in. “You’re a mess- I need a look at you.” When Ichiro shies back warily for a moment, Dogen snorts and grabs him by the arm, yanking him close to examine his skin. Fear and anger flaring, Ichiro cries out and digs in his heels, squirming away like an eel. The instant he wrenches his arm free, he skitters back into the shadows towards his house. Dogen lunges- much too slow.
“Shit,” he hisses, squinting vainly into the darkness before slowly picking himself up. If the brat has the good sense not to go beyond the village, it wouldn’t be too hard to retrieve him, but the doctor doesn’t seem intent to.
Standing behind them where he watched the incident unfold, Isshin proclaims, “Don’t worry too much. Strays always come back once they’ve been fed.”
He glares at Isshin’s chuckling. “It’s because the only patients I’ve had in so long are stubborn as all hell,” he accuses pointedly, “I forgot how a kid ought to be treated.”
Rolling his shoulders back, Gyoubu tears his gaze away from the shadowed house. At least now he can’t be his responsibility for the night, so he leaves his commander and shelters in one of the relatively intact buildings to sleep, worn down by the days of travelling. And he thinks Lord Isshin is right. No doubt the kid will be hovering around like a greedy crow while they break camp next morning.
By that time, after a night of sleeping like a rock, Gyoubu forgot all about Ichiro and needs to overhear Tenzen commenting on his absence to remind him. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and looking around, to his surprise he realizes the general is right- the kid’s nowhere to be seen. He wonders, but it’s not his place to make any decisions about it, so he keeps to his work. In spite of his own initial forgetfulness, as the company carries out their tasks business as usual, Gyoubu can’t help but wonder ever more often if they’re actually just going to leave the kid here. He’s not the only one glancing around, searching around for an answer, but no one says anything.
With apparent deliberateness, Isshin has his men meet near Ichiro’s house once they’re finished toiling. When perhaps half the group is prepared and milling around, the kid finally appears across the way standing in front of his home, silent and motionless. Even as Isshin takes the time to organize them, he doesn’t approach.
At length, the lord sighs loudly. “Do you plan to hang around there all day? I’m afraid we don’t have that long to spare for a timid little mouse. Stop gawking and get over here already.”
Still, Ichiro doesn’t move more than the slightest look behind him. “This is my home; I belong here” he states.
“That’s a noble sentiment,” Isshin allows, “but I know you’re hungry. There’s no shame in putting that first. We’ll keep you well fed and find somewhere safe for you once we can. That’s more than you have going for you here.”
“I don’t even know who you are,” Ichiro counters plainly. Gyoubu scowls with a spark of chagrin, but no, upon reflection, he’s right that somehow none of them have bothered to explain themselves to the brat beyond being Ashina soldiers.
Their lord lifts his chin. “My name is Isshin. I’m called the Sword Saint. I’m the leader of the men of Ashina who are fighting to free their homeland from General Tamura’s clutches. These-” he gestures out with a hand toward the rest of them- “are my allies, every last one of them dedicated and loyal.”
Ichiro doesn’t so much as budge. He doesn’t react to the dramatic proclamation at all except to narrow his eyes.
Carrying with it a harrowed shock, it begins to dawn on Gyoubu that he’s not just waiting for an encouraging nudge so he can join them with less guilt and more certainty. He’s ignoring his exhaustion and hunger to see through his resolve to stay. They actually have to convince this little kid to accept their help and come with them, to let go of his attachment to this place before it gets him killed.
“Does my answer not satisfy you?” Isshin probes when the silence extends itself. “I’m not lying to you.”
He keeps as still as a fawn spotted by a hunter. His eyes look watery, but the hard line of his lips holds strong. “...Why should I care about you more than my home? I can’t abandon it. I’m- all that’s left, and I have to take care of it.”
Isshin stays quiet for a long moment, watching him contemplatively. Gyoubu can’t bear the silence; it must be just his frazzled nerves, but he fears Isshin’s thinking of leaving it at that. He’s not so invested in this little beast, he’s not, but it would sit wrong to leave him knowing what fate he’ll meet. It would sit wrong for a long time.
“Ugh- Kid,” Gyoubu calls, “the only good reason to act so protective is if you have something valuable to protect. And the most valuable thing left of your home is you, and you’re just gonna die if you stay here. If you come with us, you’re looking after the last part that matters.”
The kid’s eyes go wide and he swallows, suddenly shifting in place uncertainly. Gyoubu notices Isshin staring at him and his shoulders tense, but he decides against trying to explain himself. Isshin doesn’t challenge his words nor add to them, only turning back to Ichiro expectantly. He bites his lip, squirming with mounting agitation, until two lines of tears break free when he squeezes his eyes shut.
“I need to say goodbye,” he gasps out before bolting, the crack in his voice reasserting his youth after that grave, stilted exchange made him seem anything but six years old. He vanishes behind the house and Isshin lets him go, content to wait while the final stragglers gather up.
Ichiro finally approaches as they ready the horses for the ride back to the army, his eyes red, but dry. His temperament suits the animals, equally skittish. He hesitantly carries a small bundle of belongings, but it’s so meager that they add it to the gear without debate or difficulty. For a minute, his presence stirs indecision as they figure out what to do with him, since he could hardly keep up on foot and they can’t afford to slow their place. They have spare pack horses, but putting a child in a saddle unattended feels like a bad idea, so they gripe back and forth over who should have to deal with him. Oh so predictably, the others conclude that Gyoubu is the perfect man for the job.
He’d hoped Dogen would volunteer for the opportunity to give a better examination, but no such luck.
“Fine, you’re coming with me then. Stick close- if you get kicked by a horse, it won’t be my fault.”
He does manage that much, at least. “Which horse is yours, mister?”
“Mister?” Gyoubu snarls. “Who the hell are you calling ‘mister’? Did no one teach you manners?” He pinches the tip of his ear to drive the lesson home.
“Ow-! Manners?” the brat cries out in return. “Why do you get to yell at me for calling you mister when you didn’t even have enough manners to introduce yourself! What else could I call you?”
Gyoubu goes red in the face as Jinsuke laughs loudly at his expense. He hawks and spits, but has to yield, muttering, “It’s Gyoubu. Now don’t make me tell you twice.” He mounts up then leans over, the horse neighing irritably as he grabs the kid under the arms and hauls him up. He doesn’t look comfortable, but Ichiro resigns himself to his place in the front of the saddle nonetheless.
With the sun peeking over the tree line, Isshin’s resounding voice orders them to form up and ride.
When the horse strides into motion, Ichiro grabs the pommel in a white knuckled grip. In the light of day, Gyoubu notices that his nails are raggedly torn with dirt caked underneath. He grimaces at the abrupt mental image of the kid clawing his hands through the dirt with only his mother’s cold corpse for company, struggling to give her at least some kind of burial. He pictures the wolves undoing his work now that the village is empty.
Ichiro keeps looking back over his shoulder, still trying to catch sight of his house. “Quit that,” Gyoubu murmurs. “It’ll make your skin crawl.”
He does his best to follow the advice, despite that Gyoubu can tell it’s hard on him. The distance does him good, gradually drawing away from the reminders of the life he lost. After a while, he’s gazing out at the new vistas, his tension bleeding out.
He lists a little in the saddle, leaning into the crook of Gyoubu’s right arm as he holds the reins. He instinctively wants to correct him, but he weighs so little that the horse doesn’t even notice the imbalance, much less respond to it, so Gyoubu decides to leave him be.
Soon enough, Ichiro is asleep, nothing more than a kit driven from its den who now can’t help but bed down wherever it can.