Chapter Text
Shinsuke sits on the edge of the porch of a modest country house, leaning his chin on the hilt of his sheathed sword. The yard is in the shadow of an old cherry tree, high sun peeking through its green leaves.
Sweat drips down the small of his back, and he curses the warmth, the sun that is making him uncomfortable. Alas, he doesn’t own any thinner clothing. The only set of proper robes he owns are the ones he had on when Shoka Sonjuku burned down, the ones he's currently clad in.
He shudders at the thought of moth-eaten stockpile clothes the rebel army had gathered and what had been donated. Oftentimes he had no choice but to wear them. But even if he had the money to buy something new, there hasn’t exactly been any chances to go shopping.
He must look as he feels– grimy, drained and gloomy.
There’s a beautiful summery meadow in front of him. It’s a captivating sight, a peaceful scenery. The bright wildflower field stretches out as far as the eye can see, but he’s gazing somewhere beyond it, feeling an odd, empty churning in his guts.
Lately, he’s been very restless.
His body is exhausted most days yet sleep brings him little refuge. The days they are able to sleep indoors he feels like he’s jolting up every couple of hours, his body being ready for something– needing to react to something. It doesn’t help being surrounded by his fellow sweating, snoring, piss-smelling rebels in the barracks, but it feels he’s endlessly drifting in and out, bothered by weird itching under his skin, buzzing in his veins.
He doesn’t know if the feeling precipitates him of something, or if it’s just some condition all soldiers experience in the middle of a war.
No rest for their wicked souls… too much baggage to carry.
A samurai’s sword represents his soul. He’s been swinging his a lot lately. And he’s had a fair share of dreams about ghouls and anguished cries as a result.
Shinsuke muses and grabs the hilt of his katana. He balances the tip of the covered blade just above ground. It clatters subtly in its scabbard.
He tries to estimate, to remember, if the sword feels any heavier than it did a few years ago.
All he feels is his own sore forearm straining from not holding the blade properly.
It doesn’t feel heavy– his soul. But it’s burdened with something unsettled.
Something he can’t quite escape from.
Behind him, he hears a cough, and it startles him. He’s been lost in thought for a while.
Gintoki had joined him on the porch a while ago, having escaped the sick-beds earlier.
When Shinsuke turns to look at him, he’s slouching against a post. Though physically he is in recovery– he looks as sluggish as always: relaxed, his robe open, an unbothered expression on his face.
It seems Gintoki, his ‘brother-in-arms’, isn’t afflicted with any soul-burdening condition Shinsuke might have caught.
Looking at him in his natural state is somehow placating, though. There’s a little bit less worry in the world than in the past few days.
He watches as the silver-haired boy yawns and rolls his undershirt up and bends, taking a look at his bandaged side.
“Shit… just changed it this morning.”
The gauze around his middle is thin and the dressing patch right on the wound is slightly discolored. Gintoki pokes at the patch and nudges its edge.
Then he lifts his eyes and Shinsuke sees his lips curve into an impish smile.
“Wanna see it?”
Shinsuke scoffs.
“Not particularly.” He says, though some part of him is, indeed, curious.
Shinsuke hadn’t seen him get hit. Apparently, it had been a big spear plunging right toward him. And even though Gintoki was usually extremely nimble in his evasions, this time he must’ve calculated his move a bit off and the serrated blade of the spear had grazed his flank.
The wound had bled a lot.
Shinsuke had caught word of him being injured when he came back to camp that evening. He had felt his heart drop deeper and deeper each step he took toward the medical tent.
Seeing the silver-haired boy on the bamboo stretchers, all covered in his own blood was something Shinsuke had never wanted to see. But although Gintoki was grubby and his skin was drained of color, to the point where its gray hue almost matched the hair on his head, the boy was flinging complaints at the orderlies attending to him and being a usual general nuisance.
Just a couple of days later he was back on his feet. It was a relief. Also a reminder of how tough the blockhead could be. It was the first bigger injury any of the three of them has suffered. It definitely left Shinsuke on edge, kickstarting a whole new set of anxieties– least of which was the concept of people close to him not being immortal after all, even if their perpetual presence has lulled him into thinking so.
Katsura had been beyond worried, too. He was very insistent on proper care and rest from the start. Changing Gin’s bandages all through the week in the place of the medics, and tolerating his superfluous requests like a docile servant. Or like a mother would.
Maybe he had wanted to be there as much as he could before his orders came through. Katsura had left in the morning to join the vanguard ahead of them. He has somehow managed to cultivate himself some responsibilities by being trustworthy and resourceful, and was needed there.
Shinsuke feels he would be needed here, too. His absence is noticeable. They haven’t been apart outside the battlefield since the start of this all. Somehow, Shinsuke feels slightly punished, having been left alone with Gintoki.
But he can suck it up. He can keep himself together just fine. It would be silly for him to be so shaken up about it all with the amount of death and suffering he has witnessed. If Gintoki can be fine, so can he.
“C’monnnn, it’s so gross. Ufhh–” Gintoki peels open the dressing and racks the hem of his shirt further up. “Just look.”
The expectant grin on his face makes Shinsuke cave in, even just to get him off his case.
Yes, the wound is grotesque. He makes a disgusted face. It has a bright red rim and a bit of yellow-ish goo on top of the forming scab. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, although it is quite big and wide.
Inadvertently, Shinsuke’s eyes wander to the other parts of Gintoki’s uncovered abdomen. To the stark whiteness of his skin compared to his tanned forearms… to the line of muscle that definitely wasn’t there before.
It could have been just an innocent glance but Shinsuke realizes his gaze has lingered a little bit too long– a little bit too to the right– just when Gintoki lets go of the hem of his undershirt.
Leaning back he sees a repulsed look on the other boy’s face.
It flusters him, makes him feel like he’s just been caught doing something bad.
He really hadn’t. Gin asked him to look. And he had just looked.
So, he scowls back at him and turns, feeling his cheeks heat up.
“I hope it rots.” He hops down from the porch and secures the sword back on his hip.
Even if it was only a couple or more seconds, he’s mortified that the sight made his mind race.
There really is no novelty to the sight. He has known the bastard forever. And just a while ago, they had bathed in the river together with the other men, like they always did. He'd been careful with his glances in general then, but hadn't even bothered to regard the silver-haired boy.
So what was so special about it? Skin… Smooth skin he wouldn’t mind running his hand over, maybe.
But not Gintoki’s skin.
“Hey– don’t you dare fucking go!” Gintoki yells after him and stumbles to follow.
The two of them had stayed behind with the injured for the morning, but were due to return to the troops and Katsura later in the day.
Shinsuke, however, is done with staying still, waiting for Gintoki to regain enough energy for the hike; it would be a pleasure to leave him behind and be alone with his thoughts.
A soldier intercepts him just a few steps out from the porch, by the small fence separating the meadow and yard. He is one of the officers, Shinsuke recalls. He’s a big man with an intimidating stature. The Joui rebel headband looks small on his enormous forehead.
The rebel forces suffer from scattered leadership and overall lack of hierarchy sometimes, but there are a number of older, impressively skillful samurai in their ranks, whom Shinsuke looks up to, who have taken on commanding roles naturally.
The man scowls and his gaze lands somewhere behind Shinsuke.
“What are ya two pipsqueaks still doing here? The last group to the front camp just left. Only those unable to walk stay behind.” His voice is stern.
Shinsuke hears footsteps in the dirt, and soon Gintoki flops down to lean on his shoulder, forearm squishing against his cheek. The boy smiles up at the man. “Gotcha. We’ll catch them up.”
Shinsuke grits his teeth, Gintoki is propping up against him with nearly his full weight, but he waits for the big man to nod, huff, and turn away before he shrugs the boy off of him roughly.
“Oi– I thought you told Zura you’d carry me all the way over, if I couldn’t walk.” Gintoki complains. He then grabs the hem of his shirt between his teeth and re-tightens the loose bandage around his middle.
He should get it replaced at the medic, Shinsuke thinks briefly, but can’t be bothered to tell the boy what he should or should not be doing.
“No. I told him I’d make sure you get there with me, period.”
“And what if the only way I can make it is to use you as a walking stick?” Gintoki leans his elbow on top of his head and it annoys Shinsuke how easily, without standing on the tip of his toes or anything, he can do it.
Shinsuke shoves him off, this time planting his hands on his chest, and stupidly, instead of thinking of an insult, his brain tunes up to note the firm muscle he feels under his fingers.
Gintoki’s tousled robes are thin and meant for summer, unlike his own. The boy looks dumb with his hair all puffed out, his headband crooked, food-stained undershirt riding up.
While withdrawing his hands, Shinsuke’s mind inevitably returns to the sight of his abdomen, even if he didn’t look at it this time… And he cusses, feeling his cheek hot, shaking his head, and pushes forward, away from the other boy.
Get a grip, get a grip.
He has just gotten less bitter about the silver-haired boy passing him in height, he really doesn’t want to give Gintoki the pleasure of knowing he’s also jealous of his brawn.
Truthfully, a chiseled body tells nothing about one’s fighting skills. And it’s not like Shinsuke is that far behind; somehow the gap between them just feels bigger lately.
He wishes the physical distance between them was larger, too. They are more forcibly glued to each other’s side than ever before. Staying in the same unit, same places, same routines everyday. The only break he can get is sleep, and well, he isn’t getting a lot of that at all.
The churning in his gut returns. Maybe it’s his conscience knocking. He truly is breaking his bushido with these frivolous thoughts.
The only thing that really mattered was doing his duty. Winning this goddamn war. He’s set his mind on it, and would not let it waver.
He also sets his mind on reaching the group the officer had told had left ahead of them, but when the way to the house merges into the larger road heading to their destination, they’re nowhere in sight. He even speeds up, hearing Gintoki’s steps fall somewhere behind him. Ultimately, it seems they might have left too late to catch up with them.
“Wait up, you bastard!”
He hears Gintoki’s yell, and does slow his steps. They really shouldn’t be marching in such a small group, but even a dumber idea would be to go on alone. And to leave his injured friend alone. He might have a bone or two to pick with Gintoki, but he's not completely heartless.
The road is dusty, it hasn't rained in a while. In no time his legs are covered in a layer of dust, mostly because of Gintoki’s careless stomping beside him. He thinks back a few years, to a time when he probably wouldn't have tolerated these little inconveniences. He was no stranger to getting his hands dirty, but he has some innate poise in him, hailing from a family of samurai.
Though, now, being perpetually sweaty and grimy it doesn’t feel like it.
Shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand, he gazes forward along the road. Far in the distance, in a huge field of wheat, there are some workers. Shinsuke recalls that there is a small village nearby.
The people in these villages were wary of ronin and rebels, for a good reason, of course. There were always bad people taking advantage of a bad situation, but Shinsuke is willing to bet the lives in this area, all around, have been irreplaceably more changed by the Amanto than by any rebelling, patriotic samurai.
And to be lumped in with them? That felt unfair, wrong. But admittedly, being a champion for the common people doesn't exactly spark his fighting spirit. In fact, lately, in passing moments, he has begun to not care at all about what will become of this rotten country.
He just needs to play out his part to reach their goal.
Gintoki has fallen a bit behind again so Shinsuke waits for him to catch up. He wonders briefly if the other boy is truly recovered enough to walk.
"Do you know where we’re moving next?" He asks the boy, when they are side by side again. Not that he really expects him to know.
"Nope… Gah, I hope it's near a city, though. I'm so tired of trekking around, pooping in the woods.” Gintoki complains, elongating the words. “There’s nothing to do! There’s only so many rounds of pocket-pool a man can play… and I dunno what else… Throw rocks at birds. Stare at your stupid neck.”
He flicks a hand at Shinsuke’s head, but it mostly just ruffles his hair. Shinsuke scowls and smooths it down.
"You're really only thinking about sparetime and reverly? Typical.”
"I just spent almost a week bedridden, can I not think about having some fun? Jeez… My brain is melting, I haven’t even seen one woman in a month." Gintoki groans.
“You mean the women have been spared from seeing your ugly ass for a month?”
Nowadays, Gintoki was always implicitly reminding him of his conquests. Which are nonexistent. As far as Shinsuke knows, paying for someone to laugh at your jokes, and other things doesn’t count.
“Shuddup! Ya don’t even know. Tsk .”
There’s a large tree by the side, it’s hanging leaves and branches creating a curtain on the road. It’s a landmark mentioned by the officers, to start diverging to the right. Shinsuke ducks to pass through. Gintoki uses his hand like a machete in the jungle, chopping his way through the leaves.
They emerge to find a path leading into a forest. There’s still some ways to go. And there’s still no sight of the group in front of them. Granted, their pace is awfully leisurely. Shinsuke decides to speed up again.
“Bakasugi-kun…” Gintoki falls into step right behind him. He sounds coquettish and it makes a bad shiver run down Shinsuke’s spine.
“Tell me… do ya like women?”
It makes his brain halt and he has to fight instinct for a second so he doesn’t stop his steps too. Shadows fall over them as they enter the thick forest, somehow it feels like a dramatic special effect reflecting what’s happening inside his head right now.
“Yes.” He says, biting his cheek, and he thinks it’s true. It doesn't sound too wrong coming out of his mouth.
Truthfully, he doesn't know, but he also doesn't care to know at this moment. He’s too busy dealing with a dozen other unsettling things about his current life.
“So… if you would’ve stayed a little lordling, you would’ve wanted to marry a pretty girl and settle down?”
“Probably, yeah– Now, what the fuck is your point?”
It’s not the first time Gintoki annoys him with questions like this. It's the same thing as always– Shinsuke tries not to feed into his incessant goading. All he wants is a reaction, and all Shinsuke should do is just not react.
But it’s hard.
“Hmm… Then, how come I’ve never seen you approach one? I mean, I know you’re a coward and all, but, I dunno, you seem very indifferent…”
Shinsuke scoffs, then huffs. Unbelievable.
“Maybe—just maybe— I have more pressing matters on my mind. I do plenty fine without–”
“Are ya shitting me? …My dear little friend, you're as stressed out as they come… There's only so much your tiny body can take, Sugi-kun! You should try to ease up– You know, the district where the older regiment goes, they have men, too…”
This time Shinsuke’s steps halt to a full stop, because a furious rush of heat engulfs him. He whips around, bumping into the boy walking right behind him. Shinsuke puffs up his chest and grits his teeth.
Gintoki’s face is so brazen. His crudeness truly has no limits.
“You’ve been on my case the whole morning. Do you want to get knocked out? Left to be mauled by wandering animals? Because I will do that.”
Along with his smug expression, Gintoki’s lips creep up to a grin.
“Oh… Are you blushing right now? Shit, Takasugi–”
Shinsuke pushes the other boy off with force and flings a punch at his jaw. It’s not nearly his full power and it misses its mark slightly, but Gintoki tumbles back, his foot getting caught in the roots on the side of the path, and he falls back on the thicket, not without hitting his head on a low-hanging branch first.
He lands with a thud and groans loudly.
“Gah, mercy! I’m injured, remember? Stop–”
Shinsuke is fuming– he lunges after him, grabs the front of his robe. They end up scuffling, because Gin tries to toss him off and Shinsuke tries to push him down.
When Shinsuke tightens the grip he has on his collar and lines up his fist for another punch, Gin slumps back on the ground and lets out a sigh.
“Don’t you worry about my needs,” Shinsuke hisses through his teeth. “I get plenty out of beating up your ugly mug–”
The boy gasps dramatically, then shields his face with his hands. “Huh, you’re getting off of this right now? Stopppp, I feel taken advantage of. I never consented–”
Of course, Gintoki is just being facetious but the shrill of his voice jolts Shinsuke to a stop and he holds back. He feels his cheeks burn, and really considers letting his fist swing to its target when Gin lets out a howling laugh.
But he loosens his grip and pushes himself off.
Gintoki tuts, and grunts as he tries to raise up. “I was joking.”
“I know.” Shinsuke makes sure to thread malice through the words. “Everything’s a joke to you.”
They’re both slightly out of breath. Shinsuke straightens his robe, his mouth set in a straight line. Gintoki shifts, pulls his legs in while holding a hand to his side and another one to his jaw.
“... I didn’t mean to offend you, you ass. Not this time. What you’re into is your own business–” He stumbles to a stop as Shinsuke gets up. Gintoki reaches a feeble hand after him. “Ahh… wait, no– Punch me again, or something. I can help you get off–”
It’s Shinsuke’s turn to shoot him a repulsed look and he’s actually pleased to see Gintoki has paused to consider his own words and is slightly flushed.
Shinsuke considers flipping the script on him, but decides it would be very counterproductive, since he wants to get away from this topic. He’d rather not discuss anything with Gintoki if he could choose, but especially not this.
He balls his fists and continues on the path.
He’s bravely ignoring the racing heart in his chest whilst his mind unfortunately wanders again, albeit confusedly. It browses through a catalogue of touches the two of them have shared in the recent past, and he can’t deny they’ve been in close contact more than he’s ever been with anyone else. And he is a man.
Just now, too. Punching someone was surprisingly intimate.
But that doesn’t mean anything.
If he wanted to touch someone, Gintoki would be the absolutely last person on Earth he’d choose to touch.
He doesn’t need to touch anyone. He doesn't need to ease up.
Right now, he just needs to survive and fight. To get his focus back. They need to obliterate the Bakufu and save Shouyou-sensei, so everything can go back to the way it was.
Get a grip.
He doesn’t wait, or look if Gintoki gets up.
Eventually he stops, when he spots a small brook that follows the path. The shadows of the forest provide some cooling, but it’s still summer, and he’s been striding aggressively for a while.
He squats down by the babbling brook and scoops up some water in his cupped hand. It’s cold and refreshing.
To his disappointment, Gintoki hasn’t fallen that much behind, and soon the boy emerges from the path. He kneels down by Shinsuke.
Shinsuke is careful not to spare him a single glance.
“Ahh, so nice.” The boy slurps up water.
Shinsuke gets up and turns his feet around.
When he continues on the path, Gintoki speeds up past him, and settles on a pace in front of him.
For a while they just walk in silence.
Then Gintoki starts singing some stupid song that has obscene lyrics. As it goes on and on, Shinsuke is successfully vexed by it.
“Can you shut up?”
He does stop the song, then twirls around. Shinsuke tries to ignore his sneer.
“Yeah… I will… if you would shut up at night.”
“...What do you mean?”
“Well, the other day, I was barely able to fall asleep, and I heard you moaning in your sleep. Sounded pretty desperate–”
Shinsuke’s jaw drops open and he freezes in shame, eyes wide. Furious heat spreading on his cheeks. “Why the fuck would you tell me that?”
“For my own sake! Do ya think I wanna keep hearing that while I’m trying to doze off?… For fuck’s sake.”
That’s it. He was never going to sleep in the same room with him. With any of them. No one. Shaking, he turns in his tracks. He stomps off the path, into the thicket.
He wants to disappear into the wilds.
The mocking voice of Gintoki sounds from behind him. “Takasugi-kun, hear me out, it’s okay… It’s a completely natural thing for a boy to go through in his tee–”
He covers his ears and speeds up. Dead, dry branches snap under his feet. It’s not smart to just go off the path, but he doesn’t care. He hopes everything around him would perish.
It’s just one thing after another. And it’s such a familiar narrative it bores him. It bores him to always get baited by Gintoki’s mockery, and end up angry, embarrassed. Flustered.
And the boy is not discouraged even if he gets punched. What the hell is he supposed to do?
He arrives at a ledge. The drop down is a mild slope that ends at the edge of the trees.
There, near a bridge crossing a river, gathered around the ruins of some old house, is a small group of Amanto. It’s easy to spot them in their alien, interestingly colored armoring. The Amanto tended to be as disorganized as the rebels sometimes. They were intergalactic mercenaries, not forced to conform to Bakufu army’s specifications, at least too rigidly.
Shinsuke has the high ground, he can examine them without being noticed.
He glowers, smoldering rage tingling in his chest. The feeling lurches in the pit of his stomach again.
Maybe this is it. The restlessness, the sleepless nights– His hand, his blade is itching to kill, to draw blood.
Tear those heartless bastards to pieces.
It hasn’t been long since their part in this war began but sometimes bloodlust comes to him so naturally, it almost scares him. He worked all his childhood to become a fearsome fighter. He’s honed his instinct, his mind for this.
There’s barely anyone he can’t beat. The new Bakufu line soldiers were sword fodder to any samurai, but even most of the Amanto, while they had extraterrestrial advantages, couldn't stand a chance against his blade.
There's a different mindspace he can enter while he’s on the battlefield–and this all– it’s all just agitation from being away from it.
It must be.
It’s what all great warriors must feel.
Yes… Killing them makes it all better. There's no feeling quite like getting revenge. It’s all he should focus on right now.
If he can’t do anything else at least he can swing his blade—
A hand grabs his elbow as he begins unsheathing the sword.
“Stop,” Gintoki says. He is out of breath, probably from sprinting after him. “There’s no point in charging at them. They’re just some random group.”
Shinsuke doesn’t whip his head back to Gintoki, but goes tense. The last thing he wants to do is face him now. He shakes himself off of his grip and settles to adopt an icy tone.
“It’s the enemy.”
“So? Use your brain. It’s what Zura says always too: ‘avoid unnecessary conflict’ and the other bla-blah.”
Red, hot wave of anger sweeps through him. Now he whips around, and looking up at the boy makes him even more irked. It’s hard to seem intimidating when he has to look up.
“How thick of you to lecture me about battle tactics, you slob.”
“‘Battle tactics’? I’m just telling you to chill, man.”
Oh, Gintoki really is fuel to his flame. He doesn’t get it.
He’s as aloof while fighting as he is now. He gets on everyone’s nerves with his slacking off. He’s unfazed by a life-threatening injury. Won’t stop being a fucking vermin.
Treating all of this like it was some field trip he’s been forced to go on.
Shinsuke cusses, feeling his chest tight. He turns back to peer at the Amanto but– They’re nowhere to be seen. Maybe they already crossed the river.
“See? They’re gone, are you happy!?” Shinsuke yells, thoroughly enraged.
“Yes… extremely!” Gintoki yells back.
Their voices echo in the woods, probably alerting any nearby enemy, if there even was any anymore. It pisses him off that Gintoki is right, there would have been no point in fighting them. But–
Shinsuke feels his shoulders shake, but he wills them to stop, and he wraps a hand around the hilt of his sword, flinging the blade out, stepping into a stable stance.
“Come on, then. Since you’re so intent on humiliating me, let me humiliate you back. Draw your blade.”
Gintoki sways back in surprise, but regains his footing fast. He gives Shinsuke a snide look, brows curving to a frown.
“Uh… no thanks.”
He picks his nose, rolling a booger between his fingers, and it makes Shinsuke’s blood boil even more. “You really want to try to fight in the bush?”
He flicks the booger off.
They are in the middle of the thicket, surrounded by various trees. There’s no way they could swing their swords around. Still, Shinsuke flicks his sworded hand forward.
Gintoki lifts his arms in surrender. “Calm down–”
“Don’t fucking tell me to do anything!” He is dangerously on edge, more so than a moment ago.
He steps and slides the blade close to his neck, and it forces Gin to push against a tree.
The other boy looks alarmed. Usually, he was up for a fight with little to no hesitation, though not in these conditions, exactly. Shinsuke doesn’t care, he just really wants to wreck someone– him– right now.
“Okay… okay. Shit, man.” Gintoki pushes further up against the bark, tilts his neck away from the blade. “I’ll also refrain from saying this is exactly what I was talking about…”
The damn bastard really must want to get cut–
“Why the fuck are you so concerned about me anyway?”
Gintoki gives him a strange look. The boy is careful not to move his body in front of the swordpoint, but he turns his head to the side. Then he just shrugs.
“I was… curious?”
Shinsuke squints his eyes, his head thudding. Curious… more like meddlesome. Like he always is. The boy could be so insufferable.
He is so tired, so, so tired. The tingles under his skin are not pleasant– there’s adrenaline rushing in his veins, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s so tired. For days losing sleep and not resting, feeling like shit, and then to use his precious energy on Gintoki and these stupid quarrels?
It’s all so pointless.
“You should learn to mind your own business,”
“Look, okay, I get it. But I don’t wanna fight. I’m injured. Capiche?”
“Ugh.”
Shinsuke bites the inside of his cheek, jaw clenching. Pointless.
He lets his hand fall, not without feeling like he just lost at something. Then sheathes his sword with careful precision, thumb edging the dull side of the blade. It’s a calming habit, a recentering one. The familiar clank as the hilt hits the scabbard should allow him to feel a bit more collected, but it really doesn’t.
Gintoki titters, bringing a hand up to scratch his neck.
“Man, you really are so high strung lately. So jumpy, like a squirrel, ha…”
Shinsuke breathes out of his nose, the zen he had wished for is clearly unreachable at the moment. The angry pulsing in his veins picks up again.
“You’ll never take anything serious, will you?”
It isn’t fair. How the other boy can be so carefree in the middle of this, while he has to battle to just stay afloat at times. How he can just boast and joke around frivolously.
It's beyond arrogance, the way he acts.
“Uh, excuse me, I happen to take my well-being very seriously. And my well-being includes me feeling well. Is that what this is? You need me to teach you how to feel well, Takasugi-kun? Well–”
Shinsuke grabs his collar, hisses through his teeth. “Then take this seriously, too: You’re a clown. And I fucking hate you.”
Gintoki lets himself be wrung by his robe. Close up, Shinsuke can see the bruise forming on his jaw from where he punched him. The smugness of his grin doesn’t fade at all.
“Ah… I missed you saying that. It just doesn’t feel the same coming from anyone else.”
It may be a bit of a cheap shot, but Shinsuke jabs his fingers into Gintoki’s injured side. Hard.
His breath gets stuck in his throat when Gintoki groans and the white of his robe is immediately flooded with red.
Gintoki slams a hand to his side. His breath hitches. The fabric is wet with blood, his hand getting stained with it.
Hand fisted in his collar, Shinsuke is forced to kneel down as the other boy doubles over.
“Fuck–”
Shinsuke feels an icy rush of panic, it washes away his anger. Gintoki sways back and slumps down against the tree.
He lets out a shaky breath and untangles his robe, lifts his shirt. The dressing patch is completely soaked through.
Startled, Shinsuke realizes the wound must’ve opened earlier, whilst he tumbled down. Cold hindsight chills him. Dread begins to infect his body. His eyes flit between the growing bloodstain and Gin’s face.
Seeing the blood greatly unsettles him, even though moments ago he had been ready to swing his sword and let it flow.
“Ah, nice. It’s not that bad… just hurts really fucking bad.” Gintoki grunts.
“N-no.” Shinsuke jolts into action and fumbles to help him, tugs the side of his robe aside, plunges his hand in to press against the wound.
He settles closer and tries to blink the blurriness of his eyes away. His fingers touch hot skin, hot blood.
“Hey.” Gintoki’s voice is softer. “You’re just making a mess.” Gintoki grabs his wrists to bring him to a stop. “Stop shaking like a maiden–”
Shinsuke’s breath comes out shaky too. He doesn’t pull back. “You’re so stupid. Why can’t you be normal about things for a second?”
His voice is laced with panic, he sounds pathetic, but now–
“Uh, I? Normal? I’m very much the same as I always am. It’s you who’s losing it,” he huffs out a laugh, then grunts, because the convulsion must’ve hurt his abdomen.
Shinsuke suppresses a snivel.
Yeah, he doesn’t know what normal is anymore. Was it normal for him to keep seeing dreams about hurting others. About killing people? To actually do it, too. To pierce his sword through flesh without caring about the soul he was expelling.
Doing it day after day.
Nothing is normal anymore.
Well, this– this was normal, just bantering with Gintoki, getting annoyed by him. But somehow he’s made it into a bloody mess, too. He really doesn’t know how he became like this.
There was a time when their brawls were more harmless… There’s no way he has become this convoluted to purposefully hurt him, to cause his friend to bleed.
He’s always contradicting himself– Punching him, threatening him– but he doesn’t want this.
“God damn it.”
Shinsuke presses on the wound, hoping it will stop the bleeding, and realizes the shallow breaths he’s hearing are his own. He sees flashes, scenes of blood flowing, thinking back on the other boy lying on the stretcher.
It was dark pooling on the wooden floor, now it’s painting his fingers and Gintoki’s skin bright red.
“That’s good, it’s enough.”
Shinsuke barely hears him.
“I think you just nudged the scab. Let me rewrap it.”
Gintoki has let go of his wrists, but he grabs them again and nudges them to make him detach. Shinsuke moves stiffly in his hold until the hands are back in his lap.
He sags down on his knees when Gintoki lets go and takes over the nursing. Shinsuke’s eyes fall down.
He gets stuck staring emptily at his lap, at his palm, the leather of his armguard and the sleeve sullied with blood.
He doesn’t even know if it’s all fresh and Gintoki’s. Probably not.
“‘m sorry…” he says, but it comes out too quiet, too hollow.
“What? Ah-hhugh–” Gintoki wails, and then hisses as he peels the gauze off his skin. “You better be,” he mutters.
Shinsuke hangs his head, his lips don’t want to move anymore.
“That was foul, you ass–” Gintoki starts but he trails off. The mood seems to cut into him.
A moment of silence follows. Gintoki’s gaze is on him, Shinsuke feels it. He’s only a forearm’s length away. Between them, there’s the splashes of blood on both of their clothes.
Gintoki shifts, Shinsuke sees his hand reaching outward in slow-motion. He lays it on top of Shinsuke’s palm, with something nested on his own; the soiled, wet bandage patch.
Shinsuke blinks, but then Gintoki squeezes his hand. His eyes flicker up, meeting Gin’s. There’s something complicated in the boy’s eyes, and his jaw is set. The squeeze is firm, it’s… compassionate?
“You need to focus on other stuff. It’s that simple.”
It bears such stark similarity to his own thoughts, yet has the opposite message, Shinsuke is stunned for a second.
With that, the boy lets go, leaving the bandage behind and stands up with some difficulty and grunting, propping his back against the tree.
Fortunately, it seems he's stable on his legs. The bleeding seems to have slowed down.
He takes the edge of his undershirt and grabs it with his teeth, then rips the fabric up all around it. It’s still stained and now bloody too.
And his stomach is bare again… Shinsuke’s eyes fixate on it. But now, he notices the bruises around his ribs, some faint and some more fresh… some smaller cuts on his hip… the wide wound on his side in all its gory glory.
It makes him feel somber.
In addition to all the damage he has suffered, it would be quite impossible for the other boy to be spared from the mental repercussions of this all. He was just better at dealing with it, probably.
He’s always been the toughest one, even if Shinsuke would want the title for himself. Or maybe just the most stubborn.
There was no way to swing a sword fatally and not be aware of the grave consequences of it. They’ve all learned that long ago.
It has always been the most important lesson. One that Shinsuke thought he had internalized, one that wouldn’t cause any quarrel within him.
He hadn’t guessed the reality of it would be so soul-crushing– so benumbing. So mundane once he lost count how many men he has slashed down… once he realized he can do it without hesitation or remorse.
What else was there to focus on? Not concentrating on the fight was a death sentence. And concentrating on it was… Well.
All of his thoughts feel jumbled.
Mostly, he just wants his mind to rest, the churning in his guts to stop– This all to stop–
He wants to be able to sit down somewhere, feel peaceful and safe again.
Have a mellow moment of nothing, just doze off while feeling his world narrow and narrow, until it would center on just the filtered ambience and sensations– and they would be soft, they would be easy.
They would be normal.
Gintoki’s muttering sieves through his shrouded awareness.
“...Gotta do until we get there.” The boy is patting his abdomen, rag-covered and bloody.
They would be normal...
Them.
Shinsuke blinks up. Gintoki meets his eyes, there's a frown on his face. He was occupied with his own wound earlier but now he seems… worried. For him?
Shinsuke feels his chest tighten.
It was irrefutable, what a relief it was, ultimately, to have Gintoki here. To have Katsura, too. The three of them together. Even if he might not say it often enough, he cares about them so much. In fact, he doesn’t know where he’d quite be without them.
He didn’t belong anywhere in the world except with them .
Yet, he finds himself wanting to isolate. As if they all weren’t here in the same situation. As if just being with them didn’t make a world of difference to his mood. He sees it now– maybe he’s been an idiot, suffering in silence and alone. Maybe he should try to focus on other things besides the fight. On things that make him feel better.
But where should he even start?
Gintoki cocks an eyebrow and looks back expectantly.
“Let’s go then? Unless you do want me to bleed to death? Oh~ silly me, of course you do, you're such a melodramatic fella, aren't you? "
Shinsuke lets out a breathy snort.
It does feel some weight has been lifted off his heart, like he's set free a cluster of balloons filled with murky thoughts up to the sky. Somehow he’s sure they’ll just burst and rain down on him again soon. But…
He takes a final look at his palm, then lets the bandage fall out of his hand, and raises.
"No… I don't." His voice is a bit coarse, he hopes Gintoki won't pay attention to it in passing.
He wipes at his cheek at some tears that weren’t there, though they could have been. He's still a bit too pent up to do that in front of anyone.
"You don't, huh?" The silver-haired boy sounds skeptical.
Shinsuke shakes his head, and gazes back at him.
"Not at all."
The other boy tuts, and averts his maroon eyes. Shinsuke might be imagining the faint blush he sees on his cheeks. Before he can confirm, Gintoki reaches a hand forward and he instinctively tilts his head away from it, swats it away.
“Damn…! You won’t even offer me support once you jab me down? I never pegged you for such a villain, Sugi-kun…”
Shinsuke bites the inside of his cheek. His eyes fall to look at Gintoki’s abdomen and the makeshift bandage.
There was still some way to go to the camp. The day isn’t far along, but it wouldn’t do them good to linger in the forest. Even though Gintoki seems to be holding it together and is pretty unfazed… a crumb of guilt gnaws up his heart.
“Alright, alright.”
He extends his arm to the boy leaning against the tree. It’s embarrassing to give in, to do a nice gesture, even if he owes it to the boy.
Gintoki pushes off the tree with a grin on his lips. Guess it's a good thing he’s smiling.
First thing he does is ruffle Shinsuke's hair. Second, he leans on his shoulder, much like back at the country house. Shinsuke braces himself but Gintoki stays still, observes him for a while.
He hums, face twisting into a pensive expression.
“Y’know… Girls like pretty faces. I guess men, too… I think you could be really popular if you tried to be a bit less sour and, uh, violent.”
Shinsuke’s heartbeat picks up, he feels a flush rushing up his neck, hating the reaction.
“...Why are you saying that?”
Gintoki snorts, he leans even closer and grabs his jaw, not very delicately.
“You’ve got blood, my blood, all over your face, runt. Do you really want us to show up to the camp looking all beat up? Zura’s gonna flip.”
Shinsuke fails to see how that matters, since there was no way to make Gintoki’s robes any less bloody, and–
His heart vaults, it jitters at the proximity of the boy, who raises another hand to his face.
It's daunting to not try to escape his touch and just stay still. Touch. It's just a touch.
Gintoki's eyes are fixated on his cheek and it gives Shinsuke an opportunity to look at his face unattended.
The boy's jaw is scruffed, the bruise on it is forming in a cluster rather than a fistprint, faint red all around it.
His face is quite blank now, but Shinsuke wonders what array of emotions Gintoki is hiding behind that expression.
Shinsuke doesn't remember seeing him be glum in years but… Maybe he just hasn't looked at him that carefully.
It saddens him, he realizes. Not being more present and attentive; more tolerant and patient, even though that's a monumental task when it comes to Gintoki.
He realizes he’s genuinely curious to know what's in the boy's mind.
Also… getting called pretty by him, albeit indirectly, is something new and weird.
Is it… beguiling? No… mostly just weird.
His heart definitely seems confused, but Shinsuke doesn't want his thoughts to swerve. He's certainly never had ideas about a dalliance with his friend and he's not about to start now.
Knowing it's all a joke, a tease to Gintoki it's easy to snap back.
So, he adopts a frown, and relaxes, lets Gintoki angle his jaw. He doesn’t want to upset Katsura, after all.
Gintoki wipes his cheek in a rough manner with a clean sleeve of his robe, overdoes it on purpose, rubbing hard at the one spot until Shinsuke grimaces and bends away from him– almost shoves him too, but he recalls the boy’s condition just in time.
“There.”
Gintoki, a smile on his lips, loops an arm around his shoulder, pulls himself in a bit, scabbard clattering against his hip, the edge of his bloody robe catching wind. Shinsuke supports his weight and sighs.
Despite the grumbling, he finds himself feeling even lighter. The hold the other boy has around his shoulder and the squeeze of his hand earlier were some of the most grounding things he has felt in a long time.
Strange.
“Sugi-kun… You owe me at least two weeks worth of dessert rations for opening my wound.”
“There’s no such thing as dessert rations.”
“Yea, there is. ‘Cuz you’re gonna buy me some.”
"Mmh… Fine."