Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You were always weak.

The other kids didn't want you on their team, so I pulled you over to my side. You know me: I got a little brother too. I knew what to do. I was younger than you, but I was braver, faster, wiser. On the dirt streets, by the riverbed, and under those clear blue skies, I was better than you at everything.

That's why we were invincible.

We were the strongest kids in Tosa. You were always one step ahead, but only in your mind, so it was up to me to keep us moving. I was doing you a favor, see? It wasn't out of pity. Nothing soft like that. It just ain't right to kick someone who's already down. When you tripped on the ground, I wiped a grubby hand on my clothes and helped you up.

You always did that. You tripped and fell and I'd bring you to your house, your small arms slung over my shoulders. Chizuru would fuss over you, Ei would hold you, and my sleeve would be soaked in your tears. Otome laughed like a man and told you to be one. I agreed. You cried funny and you couldn't even stand on your own two feet. The last thing you want is a reason for people to laugh at you. That's why I didn't like being around people for too long, but Auntie Harui served something other than hot tea over a bowl of rice and it was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for me. I stayed for dinner.

The Sakamoto clan ate with the women. Everyone in Tosa did that, but Otome was louder than everybody. Looking back, that meant she cared for you more than anybody. Her hands made this stupid chopping motion when she said, “I reckon if Izou weren't there to save your sorry behind, they woulda sliced you up like a salt-seared bonito!”

Anger bubbled inside me — I don't know why — but all you did was smile, your grin wider than the skies.

“I think I'm really lucky, though. Izou-san is the strongest person I know.”

Behind my frown, my anger crumbled.

Back then, I couldn't believe you were a samurai's son. On some days, I wish you never were.

You were never good at school. That's what we had in common.

Nah, you weren’t dumb. Hell, you coulda taken over the family business. This world's always gonna want booze. Coulda turned that into something. You had a knack for that.

But kids — them private school types — they'll pick on you for anything. You just had to be a little different. All those brats had these new clothes and fancy crests. Takechi said the Sakamotos ain't really samurai. Said something about your gramps buying the rank.

I don't care about that.

I heard about what they did to you. I woulda knocked their teeth out if I knew, but I guess you knew that too. That’s your problem, Ryouma: you’re too nice and you don’t tell me shit. You coulda told me sooner. I coulda shut ‘em up. We coulda shut ‘em up real good. Then you coulda studied harder. You coulda gotten richer. Then we coulda laughed at everyone who called us fools.

You were pretty good with a sword, though. Just a little. Takechi knew that, too. Him and your sisters wanted to toughen you up, so they sent you to a dojo in Edo.

I wanted to follow you. I was worried, see? I know you: you're a crybaby, a weirdo, and too nice for your own damn good. If your kind won’t last long here, you won’t last long anywhere. How the hell was I supposed to watch you leave?

You were always weak.

After I taught myself how to fight, I made Takechi take me in. I had to get stronger.

When you came back to Tosa, you said we didn't need the bakufu. I was just happy to see you.

We were together again—Takechi, you, and me. Suddenly what everyone said about me didn't matter. I was still the strongest person you knew. I told you about Edo and how I brought down dojo after city dojo. You remembered our childhood and how I stole more persimmons than you. You said you were right: I was a genius. I said Takechi trusted me. I said I could protect you.

When the words left my mouth, I felt stupid. You had more friends now. You knew more words now. You said something about things beyond Tosa and places beyond the sea. Something about the dangers of black ships and ideas beyond me. Before you started making sense, you clammed up like you didn't want any trouble. Then you laughed at yourself and looked at the horizon.

I couldn’t understand you, but you know me: I got a little brother too. And I know you: you were scared and didn’t know who to run to.

You were always weak.

That’s why I said it.

I was knocking some sense into you, see? I wasn’t showing off. I was only telling you what was always true. You had me. Takechi, too. I just didn’t know if you were still you.

Seconds passed, and I thought you were gonna cry. I think you almost did. Then you wore that same smile from our youth and thanked me.

“This world would be a better place,” you said, “if it had more people like you.”

You said I had a good heart. You said I could do great things. At the time, I really felt like I could do anything.

You left without a word. You were weak like that.

When Takechi told me, I yelled at the skies like a fool. Leaving your domain without a permit was a crime. Ei committed seppuku to protect you. As Chizuru wept and Otome held her, Gonbei drew in a breath and gave me your father’s sword, its sharp blade too long and cold steel too blue.

“I know you, Izou. You’ve got a little brother too, don’t you?”

Did they know you would leave them, too?

Back then, no one told me anything. I figured they didn't on account of me being stupid. You thought I was stupid. I thought you did. And I'm no good at thinking, but I thought about the past few days and turned them over in my head again and again and again. What did I say? What did I do? Was there anything I coulda done to stop you?

Takechi said I didn't need to think. I just had to listen.

After listening to you, I didn't know if that was true. You said I had a good heart. But Ryouma, I really thought I was doing great things. When Takechi said I swung my blade in heaven's name, I felt like I could do anything.

Takechi said I shouldn't swing my blade for him anymore.

He didn't tell me, but I knew. Everyone felt it, too. The whispers got louder when you left. You know how people are—they’ll pick on you for anything. You just had to be a little different. I was a genius, but they thought they were smarter than me. I could hear them talk when Takechi wasn’t there, yapping about stupid dog this and useless mutt that. And I know I’ll never get rid of the blood on these hands, but it ain’t like I could kill everybody who looked at me funny, and you always said that I was wiser than you.

So I left Tosa, too.

I was starving like a stray in Edo when Takasugi said he knew you. That's why he knew me, too. And I guess that's why he let me stay. He let me owe him more than I could ever hope to work for. Couldn’t stand him, though. He told me I should get a gun. I said I’ll pass. Then he said I should get a new sword and I told him to fuck off. Were all your friends from Edo like that? He was just as strange as you, just as smarmy as you. He said he had nothing to do with you, but I woulda said the same thing, so I said he was full of shit.

He said he was gonna change Japan.

It was wrong to laugh at other people’s dreams, but I couldn’t help myself. There was nothing you couldn’t do better.

But when Takasugi left for Kyoto, I followed. I didn’t have anywhere else to be, and he was always weak. You were weak too, but that bastard was smarter than you.

Why did you talk to me that day?

I thought it was out of pity, you know? Something soft like that. You shoulda just left me. It ain't like Takasugi was gonna turn me in. We were all in the same boat. I was still eating. I was still breathing.

“But Izou-san,” you said, “you're the strongest person I know.”

Protecting people was nothing new. You knew me. You knew how I moved in the face of danger — not mine, but yours. How I swept in at the sound of your steps, ready to take your hand and run. How I brought my blade up to block the next blow and counter with the next cut. You saw how strong I was and you wanted me to do the same for Katsu. Then Katsu trusted me, too.

I felt richer. I was richer, so I cleaned myself up. Got my sword fixed. The skies were clearer than ever, so I thought this would always be true: you had me, and I had you.

When spring came, they arrested me. Our skies were so bright, I forgot what kind of world we lived in. Was I weak for listening to you? I don’t know. I couldn’t ask Takechi anymore.

You were always weak.

But I was weaker, I think.

If you were me, I think you woulda kept your mouth shut. You woulda kept your mouth shut real good. You were always too nice. Smarter, too. The police said they’d let our friends off easy if I talked. Of course, they promised nothing for me. But I wanted to do something good, ‘cause you always said I was good, and if Takechi wasn’t gonna say I was good then I’d rather believe someone who would.

Maybe I shouldn’t have done that. You were why I was there in the first place.

After my first confession, we never saw our friends again.

Everyone wanted me dead. They dragged me out of my cell and I wondered if you were like them. No one was laughing, but the whispers weren't whispers anymore. They said I was the traitor from Tosa. There was a metal taste in my mouth as my lips curled into a bitter smirk. We all know who struck first.

I spat at Takechi and cursed you. When you fell, I was the one who took your hand by the riverbed. Was I the only one who didn't regret that? We coulda worked together. We coulda fought together. We coulda laughed at everyone who called us fools. But you left me twice and I still don't know why. 

And I'm no good at thinking, but I thought about the past few years and turned them over in my head again and again and again. What I shoulda said, what I shoulda done—I tried to think of something good, but my mind was drawing a blank.

I killed traitors like Takechi told me to. I protected people like you told me to. I tried to make it harder for the bakufu to go after our friends who hadn’t been caught yet—just like I knew you’d want me to.

You said I could do great things!

I really wished I could do anything!

But all I did came to nothing.

I dunno where I went wrong, Ryouma. I ain’t too smart, so you gotta tell me.

Because I'm telling you now: you were always weak.

On death row, I hated you. But I was still worried about you. My little brother would be fine, but I know you: you were scared and everyone wanted you dead, too. But Takechi was going soon, Takasugi too, and when that snake woman’s gone, who the hell are you supposed to run to?

In our next life, I pray we'll be stronger.

Chapter Text

You were always soft.

Your bones were soft. You were hungry, but you couldn’t reach the branches of that persimmon tree, so Izou climbed up the stone walls and took them.

Your soul was soft. You trembled when the tree’s owner—a hatamoto, if I recall—confronted us about our theft, so I stepped forward and shouldered the blame.

Your heart was soft. When we shared those scarlet fruits under the setting sun, you ate one and left the rest for the fishermen’s children, who missed their fathers almost like you missed your mother.

It made no sense to me. Their fathers would always come back. You had your sisters. On this side of Tosa, you needed to eat more than anyone else. No one could afford to be kind. The bakufu couldn’t protect us, so all we had was our own. You are family to me. We are family, from the truth of our roots to the blood in our veins. That is an immutable fact. In a world where a warrior’s worth is measured only by the wars their ancestors won, there could be nothing more important.

You were Tomiko's relative and five years younger. Otome said you were born with hair on your back; upon naming you, she couldn’t decide if you were more like a horse or a dragon. When Izou heard this, he laughed. Then he covered his mouth.

I suppose he thought it was a contradiction. I saw nothing wrong with it. I often saw you during our family gatherings, head up in the clouds if not sneaking past the crowds. You often tripped and fell, and in Izou’s absence, I helped you up. Everyone laughed at your unbecoming countenance, but as the years passed you would wipe your tears and stand tall.

Like your grandmother, you wrote a poem:

Let the world say what they want
I alone know what I’ve done.

I don’t know if that was ever true. You didn’t know it, but you had me. And I, you.

No one had ever seen ships like them. I saw the pictures: fearsome dragons with tar-black hides and lungs full of smoke. Their unholy roar heralded the coming of men from another land, their eyes blue like fire set in their ghostly pallor. You only saw those men in Nagasaki, but these men flew a flag of pentagrams. The heroic tales of onmyouji were popular then. The Seiman Douman protected those at sea. These men should have been good, but everyone knows that the ocean never is.

When you visited your sisters and spoke of this, I saw only the fear in your eyes. The shogun was ill, and his regent sicker. We both knew there wasn’t a thing the bakufu could do. You were nineteen and you had just lost your father, so I told you I’d take care of it.

“Our clans once fought against the Tokugawa in Sekigahara. Together, we can do it again.”

When I said this, you looked toward the sea, beyond the horizon. I should have known you weren’t thinking about Tosa then.

You were always soft.

You said you knew of a man who had been across the ocean, and I suppose the things he’s seen are true. But when the bakufu lets those demons eat us alive, will he protect you?

During your studies, we ran into each other in Edo. In our dialect—which you hadn’t used in a while—you asked me why I was there.

I first told you Izou was a genius, but you already knew that. He was so busy defeating the dojos in the city, he didn't even know he had the chance to meet you. We decided it was better that way. I didn't want to distract him from his training, and I wanted to keep him close. You wanted to see him when you were stronger.

Then I said I was studying the sword. That was a lie. The bakufu was weak, and the barbarians much stronger. If I wanted to protect our Tosa, I had to see our enemies myself.

The bakufu's corruption was rampant. I could not stand to see the shogun’s dogs break the commoner’s will while bending to those black ships. Downtown, city folk tattooed themselves like bandits from a Chinese novel. They said it gave them power. If only we too had the strength of the stars. They said our emperor had the strength of the sun—you believed that, too.

During my so-called excursion, there was trouble within our ranks. You remember our cousin, Kazuma. He was also in Edo, praying for a better future. After assisting at a dojo, he found a gold watch on his drunken way home. When the owner came to look for it, he’d already sold it off.

I got angry. You never did. Neither of us considered turning Kazuma in. He was like us—men from the country with no friends in the city. If he couldn't pay bail, we knew what the prosecution would do. While the authorities looked for him, you sheltered him. I did my best to deflect their attention. We from Tosa only had our own. No one else could afford to show us kindness.

Kazuma left Edo the next day. Years later, he became a Christian pastor in Hakodate. He was never religious. Christianity was against the law. You mused that he must have found his calling. I asked how you could have known what he'd do with his life, and you shrugged and said,

“It ain't right to kick someone when they're already down.”

I could have sworn I’d heard that somewhere before.

You were always soft. Sometimes, I wanted you to stay that way.

I had hoped you would change your mind. You understood the plight of the people and knew how to lead them. But you said that role was mine.

I told you to look at reality. They were joshi — samurai who would kick us into the dirt. We were goshi — samurai who would kiss the earth behind them. You were always soft, but we had strength in numbers. We can find justice in that.

Then you started talking about some nonsense you heard from America or Choshu. Technology? Democracy? You fool. Politics may change, but we are family. That is an immutable fact. When this nation comes crashing down, who else will protect you?

Yet I let you go. Whenever I looked at the empty space between your sisters, I felt the fault was mine. I was not strong enough to convince you. But you were no longer a child, and I could never hope for you to listen.

The only samurai who deserve to prosper are those loyal to the emperor. I will carve for us a future and crush the shogun pests under my heel.

In Tosa, our movement grew. Tanaka followed my every word, but Izou did not care for our cause. He couldn’t understand it. Perhaps I didn’t want him to. I myself preferred it when I lived in ignorance, stealing persimmons on simpler days, watching those sunsets along sandy shores. I wanted to give Izou a future, too. When I told him he swung his blade in heaven's name, I truly believed he could do anything. All he needed to do was listen. He had a good heart. At the very least, I should still protect it.

After Izou returned with his first kill, he looked up at me, his smile bright and expectant. In your absence, I told him what would always be true: you have me, and I have you.

Before he converted to Christianity, Kazuma went to kill a Russian pastor. He almost did. Then he listened to him teach. When you met with Katsu Kaishu, I suppose that is what happened to you. Katsu listened to your dreams. Izou’s, too. Should I have done that? If I had given you a moment back then, would you not have left?

You said this nation needed a navy. You said this nation needed unity.

No. This nation needed tradition. This nation needed reformation. The blood in our flesh is thicker than the water of the wide ocean — that is an immutable fact. You may have not wished for violence, but I knew what must be done. I had to get rid of Tokugawa’s dogs, so I did it for Tosa. For Izou. For you.

The movement was losing momentum, and Izou was a liability. That was what they thought. He was loud and crude and couldn’t comprehend their rhetoric. He spilled more blood than the movement could afford, and they feared he would come for them, too. For everyone’s sake, without a flinch of his brow, Tanaka said I should let Izou go. But the matter was far simpler than that.

From the very beginning, Izou was the first by our side. Among all our friends, Okada Izou could not be more important. He is family to me. We are family, from the truth of our roots to those days we spent on the dirt streets, by the riverbed, and under those clear blue skies. I remember how clear our hearts were, and how crisp our laughter was in the cool morning air.

Izou always knew you were soft. But I was softer.

One cold morning, Izou ran. I knew there was nothing I could do to bring him back. I deserved that. One night, for my protection, I made him give me Tanaka’s sword. When the bakufu captured Izou, my old and most trusted friend, I had no one to console me.

When I think of this moment, I think of you. I don’t like to think about what you would have done; you would have only cried. I would rather think of what could have been if we were allowed one breath in these changing tides. Your parents and all your brothers and sisters would be alive, and my wife and I would eat at the table with Izou and his brother by our side. The truth was I couldn’t stand being on my own. All I had was this dream. It was nothing close to my reality.

The movement considered poisoning Izou before he spoke any more, but I stopped this at the last moment. Izou would confess nothing further. He did not have that kind of heart. It ain't right to kick someone when they’re already down, was it? When I think about how crude those words were, I can’t help but smile.

Chapter Text

He was boring.

Yeah, he was boring. I guess that was the difference.

I was the coolest guy in Choshu. My family wasn’t too bad — we were samurai, after all — and sure, maybe there were a few bumps in my life, but I never let that get me down. Smallpox was child’s play. School was a breeze. After my miserable stint in Edo, I got hitched to the beauty of our town in no time at all. All things considered, everything from that point was supposed to be smooth sailing.

What do you mean I’m leaving out a few details? It’s bad enough that our pillow talk has to be this way. The way I’m telling this story is more interesting, don’t you think?

Hahahaha, ow. You know, Ritsuka, when you get adorably flustered like this, I can’t even tell what you’re mad at…

Anyway, this isn’t about me.

Sakamoto was boring. That’s why I gave him the gun.

I’m getting ahead of myself.

The first time we met was in ‘62. I’d just come back from Shanghai, and me and the boys were plotting something big.

Oh? You know about it, Ritsuka?

Mm, yeah. We were gonna blast the British out of their holiday home in Kanagawa. It would’ve sent shockwaves across the seas, too! But Kusaka told that spoilsport Takechi, and Takechi told the head of our domain… Whatever. I’m not that pressed about it. You know we got it right the second time, don't you?

Hehe.

Before I had my army and Sakamoto-kun had his navy…

This was a time before all that.

While I was sharpening my blade and preparing for the attack, I got hungry. Naturally, I ran into Sakamoto at a restaurant. Hard to forget an accent like that. Ahh, quit it. Don’t make me do it. Learning from others is one thing, but it’s boring if I start copying them. It’s bad civilization is what it is.

Snot-nosed Sakamoto had already left his domain, so I figured it was okay to tell him about my plan. I passed it off as a joke, see? But then Sakamoto said something just as crazy: he had plans of killing someone, too. Can you believe that? You wouldn’t have believed it if you were there. I saw it in his eyes — he wouldn’t hurt a fly. He wouldn’t hurt a snake, either!

But this was a time before her, too.

So I said, “No way a bunch of losers from Choshu could pull that off! So a no-name from Tosa shouldn’t try it either.”

Katsu wasn’t the sort of guy he should’ve been after. Besides, what was Sakamoto doing, acting all on his own? It was a world where a warrior’s worth was only measured by the numbers who could trust him. According to them, there was nothing more important.

That day, he called me a prodigy.

Anger bubbled inside me — and I knew why — but all he did was smile, his grin brighter than the skies.

What did a country bumpkin know? There was nothing special about me. He had the nerve to come to Edo with nothing but the clothes on his back. Before I could do that, I went back to my hometown to weep for the man who did his best to teach me. I was never the best at school until I sat in the academy. That teacher taught me anyway.

I scowled, he smiled, and I was so sure he was looking down on me, I couldn’t stand it.

I wanted to haze him more, but Kusaka found me before I could. My teacher always said it wasn’t right to kick someone who's already down, so I left him alone. Sakamoto’s boring to pick on, anyway. You’ve probably tried it, so you’ve seen it too. Sometimes I see it on you: that impenetrable smile, that stubborn gaze beyond the horizon.

Okada said Sakamoto was better than me.

This was back in ‘63. Before those guys from Choshu called me back to Kyoto for some mind-numbing job, I was in Edo, burying my teacher. They didn’t do it well the first time, see? The burial, I mean. It’s a little hard to carry one out when you and the deceased are both enemies of the state. I took care of it right away, so I had a lot of time on my hands.

You should’ve seen Okada when he showed up at my door. He was shivering like a wet stray. If anyone else had found him that winter, they would have let him die on the streets. No one wanted divine punishment when the bakufu gave them hell, so the less gods on the streets, the better.

My teacher always said that when a hero fails, they regard him as a villain.

Okada’s teacher had already left him.

He was easy to read, but the other rebels didn't want him on their team, so I pulled him over to my side. I was doing Okada a favor, see? It wasn't out of pity. I’m not that soft. Mencius once said the people were the most important element of a nation. If they were weak, it was a nation’s duty to strengthen them. When I recall my teacher telling us this, I feel that I shouldn’t disappoint him.

Besides, if I was on good terms with one of the most dangerous manslayers in Japan, no one would ever want to lay a hand on me!

… What? We’re getting off topic? I don’t know why you’re so interested in that Sakamoto, anyway. Didn’t you say I was the coolest?

There’s something to be said about pets and their masters. You and Okada are the same. Whenever we talked, it was always Ryouma this, Ryouma that. Don’t you two trust Sakamoto too much? I suppose that’s why Okada got a job protecting Katsu Kaishu.

Funny how the tables turn, isn't it? Katsu was mentoring Sakamoto back then, and I’ll admit it: I was a little jealous. The thing about teachers dying too soon is they don’t tell you everything you have to know. And they don’t tell you this because they talk too much. Isn’t that ironic? So when the bakufu takes them away, you try to bail them out because you think you’re hot stuff but you’re not. You don’t know anything, really. So they’re gone before you do.

Well, he and Katsu looked like they had it all figured it out. Okada said Sakamoto was going to change Japan that way, so I said, “Then I’m gonna beat him to it!” and then we’d drink the night away, and—

Haha. Why the long face now? Don’t worry about it. It happened a long time ago.

Don’t read into it. It’s not like I wanted to protect him.

When Sakamoto started doing all these crazy things alone, he didn’t know anybody who was happy about it. And you remember what a warrior is worth, right? I couldn’t trust a guy like that, so I couldn’t be by his side. I just wanted to save my own hide. But Kusaka went off and died, Izou and Takechi did that too, and for a minute I thought that maybe Sakamoto would be scared. Maybe he wouldn’t know who to run to. Besides, the world would have been boring if he left me with these idiots too soon.

In this day and age, a gun is easier to wield than a sword. If Sakamoto wanted to walk alone with one, he wouldn’t need anything else.

What are you smiling about?

Anyway, it was useless, that old thing.

Saigo and Katsura signed the alliance in ‘66. Sakamoto mediated, and you know what happened at Teradaya. Sure, he had that gun, but the one who saved him was that woman he met in the mountains.

It sounds like a dream, doesn’t it? Boy meets snake, snake follows boy to the ends of the earth…

I had my roguish charms, but it was Sakamoto who still had his allies. It must be nice, always having someone by your side. I think we’d all like someone strong and wise to lean on. Don’t you? Sakamoto had that crazy woman, so he didn’t need to worry about boredom or dying or death all around him.

Team up with him? No, no. That wouldn’t have been very interesting. I had my own plans. I wanted to change our country, too. I was the coolest in Choshu. On my own, I was doing just fine. We’ve already talked about this, so I don’t know why my throat feels tight all of a sudden—

Why are you clinging to me?

Sorry. This story got boring, didn’t it?

Since you listened to me for this long, why don’t I give you something nice? Turn around. Close your eyes. Relax. I can't do this if you resist. Our skies are clear now, so don't worry about tomorrow. I'll kill the crow before it wakes us.

... No, he didn’t come to see me on my deathbed. I didn’t tell him about it, either. My death was nothing to write about, so I didn't want him to see it. It was boring. On most days, I laid there, staring at the ceiling like a moron. Sometimes my lover would play all the songs I used to, and all I could think about was how I used to do the same on the battlefield, at celebrations, and for comrades I would never meet again. While I was there in my room, unable to do a thing, Sakamoto was probably plotting his next move.

We were different, and I was jealous.

I was unbearably jealous.

My body had always been frail, and in the early years of my life, I had always been alone. It felt like everything was going back to the way it was supposed to be. I just thought that maybe I could fight fate twice. That someone like me could make something happen in this goddamn world.

That someone as great as a soaring dragon could see it.