Chapter Text
There is nothing he can do but stare, eyes flitting back and forth between children and Yoshida Shouyou. Children and Yoshida Shouyou who should be dead. Yoshida Shouyou and children who should be dead. Wait, he himself should be dead. Or maybe this is Heaven? Is this Heaven? If this is Heaven then where is everyone else?
He sits up abruptly and is met with the walls of Shoka Sonjuku.
“........What the Fuck?”
Sensei and the children gasp, unused to hearing the silver-haired child swear. He’s a child somehow, but then he’d always had to grow up fast (no time for kindness, no time for innocence).
“Sensei, Gintoki just swore!!” they giggle, (high pitched because they are children, Gintoki is having trouble comprehending the fact).
Instead of giving the child a bump on the head as he usually would -because children shouldn’t swear, no matter how wild- Shouyou merely replies “So he did,” eyebrows scrunched in worry because something is so distinctly wrong.
Well, excuse him for not watching his mouth because everyone here is clearly dead and one of them has the kind face (rightsafetywarmthhome) of someone who destroyed everything. (Huh? Wasn’t Takasugi the one always blabbing about destroying everything?)
“Am….. I dead? Is this Heaven or….?” (this can’t be Heaven because if Heaven existed then so did Hell, and Gintoki has always been on a one-way path straight to Hell.) Maybe this is Hell, and demons are wearing faces from his past.
His increasingly messy train of thought is cut off as he sees two staggering familiar figures standing slightly further than the crowd of children. They have faces Gintoki would be able to trace in his sleep (there’s one missing, the loud fool).
Faces he’s seen show every emotion (though one usually has a stupid expression, and the other either gloomy or angsty). One with silky black hair tied up in a ponytail and olive-brown eyes, the other with purple hair and two round green eyes.
“Oi Gintoki you idiot, stop sitting there like a loser! You're not in Heaven, have you gone mad?!”
“Takasugi, he hit his head pretty hard, Gintoki, you alright? Maybe the others are right, has he forgotten us?”
Gintoki bites back a whimper as he feels his panic rising, because he is young where he should be older, and his body is too small and weak, far from the battle-ridden body he is used to. Because his family is dead, everyone is dead, (but they’re not?), because Shoka Sonjuku was burnt to the ground along with his heart (but it’s not?).
Because he watched Takasugi Shinsuke and Katsura Kotaro die in front of him, (but they’re standing right before him, one placing more weight on his right leg, leaning to one side, the other with a hand on his left hip).
Gintoki doesn’t even try to prevent his breathing from quickening, the sight of his two companions breaking him and any calm he had attempted to draw to himself. His hearing filters out, and the world goes strangely silent, only a ringing in his ears. His vision blurs, unfocusing then hyper-focuses on the mouths moving before him. What are they saying? He can’t hear them.
Aaah, there's a horrible ache in his chest.
-Heneedsoutneedstorunawayawayfromworriedfacespeoplewhoshouldn’tbeherepeoplewhoshouldbedeadawayfromthisplacethat’sburningorangeamberred
-
So he does, suddenly planting a palm on the wooden floor to nimbly boost himself to his feet before he shoves past children and teacher, runs past the two boys (General and Destroyer, Runaway and Rampaging Noble, Leader of the Kiheitai) and darts out the door.
The afternoon light blinds his eyes as he sprints, leaving behind surprised shouts (Oh, he can hear again). There’s no destination in mind so he continues running because don’t stop, you can’t stop, keep moving, keep moving!
Wind whistling in his ears, Gintoki puts his head down, hair falling over his eyes, shadowing them and faces the ground, grits his teeth, hands clenched in fists so tightly he can feel blood dripping and knows there will be crescent-shaped scars indented in his palms.
There’s a tree he knows, an old tree that positively radiates tranquillity and so he changes direction to head towards it.
It's alright, Sensei will find him, he always does (until he no longer can, when his head goes flying, strands of grey slowly drifting to the bloody ground)
Bent over to catch his breath, Gintoki presses his palms into his eyes until spots of light appear. He collapses against the thick trunk of a tree, staring blankly up at the green leaves turning brown. Pays no mind to the tears welling up and spilling over, sliding down his face, leaving trails of wetness.
He closes his eyes and takes a moment to just rest.
Opens his eyes when he hears footsteps approaching him. Stares up into the looming figure of his Sensei. Looks back to the ground as he comes closer, sitting next to Gintoki and leaning against the tree. He can feel the warmth as they brush shoulders.
And so they sit. Feeling the cooling wind sweep past them, watching the sky change colours. Gintoki opens his mouth. Pauses. Closes it. Repeats as he tries to say something, anything.
The words just won’t come out. So instead he takes Sensei’s hand.
Softly, gently, almost reverently he reaches out to enclose his fingers of one hand around sensei’s pinky finger and squeezes, still looking at the ground.
His hands are probably freezing and sweaty but Sensei doesn’t shake him off, instead curls his pinky comfortingly.
His finger he promised on. A promise Gintoki kept but was destroyed in the end.
He clutches Shouoyu’s warm calloused hand in both his small ones and closes his eyes, presses his bent fingers to his forehead, almost like a prayer. Because, although so many people wormed their way into his heart, his Sensei had been there long ago and Gintoki had been the one to say goodbye ( thank you ) first.
He breathes, long and deep and makes a decision.
“Sensei, I had …… a dream. Wanna hear about it?”