Chapter Text
This is not the first time he has fought for his life, fought in a whirlwind of boiling rage and untamable anguish.
This time though, he fights for more than just comrades and friends.
Gintoki pants, blood running down his face, leaving a metallic taste in his mouth. Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Even if your limbs fall off! Don’t ever stop! He reminds himself as he runs straight towards the seemingly unbeatable enemy, towards death himself. Utsuro turns, and Gintoki notes that the sight of the familiar (wrongwrongwrong) face no longer causes him to falter.
He leaps, face bared in a snarl, burgundy eyes utterly burning, bringing his wooden sword down with all his strength, every speck of his body screaming for blood and the life of the enemy. Blood for revenge, life for grief.
Utsuro meets Gintoki’s sword and the two clash in a spark of silver light, in his desperation, somehow keeping up with the monster’s terrifying swordsmanship. The dead bodies of his comrades (homelovesafetyfamily) lay behind and around him, but there is no time to grieve that second.
They had all fallen to the void and his disgustingly devoted followers. Damn crows! Scavengers! He turns his head to the side and spits, a splatter of red landing on the ground. Now in the (his) ruined town the two of them trade blows. Gintoki grits his teeth, despair carving its way through his body.
Absently, he wonders whether his intangible desperation will leave a visible wound on him. If he even survives.
Gintoki staggers to a stop, barely standing, dripping with red, he clutches his wooden sword tightly in his trembling, weak hand and stares down Utsuro in the brief break that he has been given. Given, afterall he knows he is merely being toyed with, like an interesting insect that has caught the interest of a higher being.
Gintoki shuts his eyes tightly and remembers. Allows himself a moment of grief. Just for a short moment. Just for a moment he thinks to himself.
Zura, the stupid wig, beheaded without hesitation, mid-shout to evacuate left-over citizens.
Tatsuma, the loud idiot, cut down trying to save Mutsu who was crushed by debris.
Takasugi, the bastard! (here Gintoki inhales sharply, to regain his bearings for the world seems to flip) For all his talk of Gintoki being the one to kill him and him the one to kill Gintoki, he was stabbed and died bleeding out.
How absurd! The lone samurai huffs an incredulous laugh, tinged with madness and echoed with fatal desolation. The Joui 4. Four Great Generals. Even though they had gone their separate ways, forced into separate paths, fate had brought them together again, only for it all to be wretched out of Gintoki’s hands. (Or maybe they had never been on the same path, maybe the four of them had always been walking to different hells. Oh well, Gintoki has never been a philosophical one)
The Shinsengumi (stupid, dangerous and protectors of the peace in Edo).
Otose, Catherine. Tama sleeping (what a nice way to say it) from fueling the canon to save lives.
Otae and the cabaret girls (Shinpachi had never felt such agony, would his father be disappointed?), the host club members, a violent pair of Father and Daughter and their group, Saigou and his ridiculous girls. All those rowdy ones who lived in the Kabukicho and loved the town as much as anyone (when there was no-one left, the town seemed to grieve on it’s own).
The Oniwabanshu, Sacchan and Hattori (Princess Soyo shivered where she had been evacuated, wondering whether her brother was watching over them)
What was left of Takasugi’s Kiheitai along with Sakamoto’s Kaientai (left behind after their leaders). Elizabeth (blood-splattered to avenge Katsura).
Tsukuyo and her Hyakka (Seita and Hinowa remained unknowing)
The Yagyuu family (Kyuubei in her beloved Otae’s arms).
Abuto, Kamui and his idiot father Umibozu. (Oh how Kagura had wailed!)
The Mimawarigumi (for a minute the Shinsengumi had been silent, ceasing their war cries).
So many others.
Gintoki exhaled, long and shaky, before his breath steadied as his resolve did.
Out of the corner of his eye, Gintoki spots a flash of violet and a glimpse of steel. He puts more distance between him and Utsuro (though not too far, don’t let him take anymore, not a single thing more) letting Kagura and Shinpachi, both with faces wet with tears and pure, devastating rage, make their way towards the enemy.
With the two of them, Gintoki feels something a little like hope. He felt something like fondness warming his heart.
The next moment he is numb.
His hope scattered in the wind like the beautiful pink petals they loved watching fall from the Sakura trees.
The samurai who holds the title of Shiroyasha stands still in shock as what remains of his family is skewered by the monster with empty eyes. He cries out, a moment too late. Just a moment.
He can’t move. Why can’t he move? Why couldn’t he have saved them?! He rages at his body, screams, beyond furious at his own uselessness. Gintoki’s voice is let out like a roar of fury (like a howl of anguish)
Gintoki stands stock still, voice trailing off as he tilts his head to the sky, letting the rain fall on his face (Oh it was raining. He hadn’t noticed. The sky is dark, inky like the feathers of crows. Crows, Crows, Fucking CROWS!)
Gasping, he snaps back to the present, eyes wide and breath catching in his chest as Utsuro leisurely approaches, something a little bit like defeat chipping away at his soul. Something hopeless growing, spreading like a stain.
And it happens like this:
Sakata Gintoki is twenty-something years old, and tired. He is far too weary and feels it right down to his bones. The last thing he sees before he closes his eyes is red. Cruel crimson eyes set in a mockingly kind face, mouth stretched in a spitefully sweet smile.
The last thing he hears is this; “I told you didn’t I? Gintoki. No matter what you do, or how many people you gather, your sword won’t ever reach me.”
The last thing he feels is agonising pain in his torso and the taste of blood and salty tears on his tongue.
Sakata Gintoki is twenty-something years old and tired. He is weary, feeling it right down to his bones. The first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is grey. Warm grey set in a wise yet youthful face displaying kind concern.
The first thing he hears is a hauntingly familiar voice, soft with worry; “Gintoki, are you alright?” Slowly he turns his head away from Sensei’s face and sees multiple small and startling young faces crowding him, faces scrunched in panic, "Ne, Sensei, Is he alright? Gintoki? Gintoki? You hit your head pretty hard. Sensei, has he lost his memories or something? Gintoki, do you know who I am??! Sensei! he looks like he's seen a ghost! Sensei, is Gintoki dead?!!"
Gintoki stares into the crowd of children ( children! ) and thinks Sensei? Am I dead?
Sakata Gintoki is twenty-something years old and tired, in a body far too small for his soul.