Chapter Text
“Yeah, but why do I gotta come with ya?” Hijikata complained, whacking Gintoki and sending his permy head jolting forward with an oft! He recieved a glare in response as Gintoki rubbed his curls.
“Because I'll only be two minutes! Does your Royal Highness have a spare two minutes?!”
“You're not just after my wallet, are ya?!”
“Not unless you're offering.” With a huff and a flick of his boot, Gintoki sent a flurry of pebbles skittering across the dry earth path.
“Well I won't be; I didn't bring it.” He sucked in a breath, held onto Gintoki's collar, and puffed smoke into the annoying bastard's face whilst his victim whined and scratched at the air, muttering ungentlemanly curses with his sailor's tongue. It quietened the fool for a good few minutes as he feined a pout. Gintoki was never great at staying angry for long. They finally rounded the corner to Gengai's and Gintoki adjusted his grip on the rice cooker in his hand. Gengai squinted up in their direction and immediately began to power shuffle back into his shop. Hijikata swore he heard a groan.
“Oi! Old man! Don't ignore me!”
Gengai wasn't the only one sighing as Gintoki scampered away, dancing around the old man, making flamboyant hand gestures as he explained exactly how their recently-fixed rice cooker was once more producing black smoke instead of edible foodstuffs. As Gintoki held the device right in front of Gengai to block his escape, the reluctant engineer eyed it like the device offended him. And whilst Gintoki had a temporary tantrum at Gengai's refusal, Hijikata flipped open a new packet of cigarettes, preparing himself for another long 'two minutes'. Everything was a long two minutes with Gintoki. Two minutes to wait outside a shop, a two minute chore, a quick two minutes behind the shop ... never two minutes. He wondered once more why he was casually dating this infuriating buffoon. After he calmed himself on a couple of long drags of his cigarette, he began to absent mindedly fiddle with the broken array of electric corpses lining a table near the entrance to the shop. He span the dial of a clock, listening to the satisfying clunk of the minute hand, pushed open coils so they sprung back to life, and flicked dead switches to the tune of a rhythm in his head. Gintoki was such a chatterbox, not to mention a magnet for trouble. He began mental bets with himself on how long they would actually be here.
Their destination had been a bar on the outskirts of town, and Hijikata had kicked up a storm as Gintoki left his apartment with the rice cooker slung under one arm.
"Is my company not dull enough?" he joked at first. But when Gintoki explained they were making a quick detour, he rounded on the silver arsehole with scathing words. The evening sun was already dipping over the tower blocks of Edo, casting its murkey orange spill of haze into the cumulating clouds. It really wasn't often that they both had a free evening to do this. Hijikata had better things to do than watch Gintoki bicker with an old, decrepit man. He was still in denial that he wasted any time on this permy fool in the first place. Even having sex with him was a mistake, if you asked his consciousness. But, really, he knew it was not. The perm-haired pest had done little more than grunt a few words into his neck and he'd practically dragged him home to make the mistake a second time. And that time he'd been chatting in the street to one of his many acquiantences. It had been a fine mist of rain that day, and in some parts of the city you could make out a hazy rainbow. Something about Gintoki's damp skin as he stood with arms folded, biceps popping, his hair flattened against his temple. Something about the way his teeth flashed into a smirk as he bantered easily with the stranger. And Hijikata had taken him a third time, so full of heat that Gintoki remarked snidely about the speed of his heart which thumped dangerously loud against his chest. The demon commander did not repeat mistakes, especially not three times. Especially not thirteen times. So, unfortunately, he had to admit to himself that this was not a mistake. Finding other words for it, though, was challenging.
“300 yen is enough for this pile of shit!” Gintoki broke Hijikata's train of thought with a yell and he found himself rolling his eyes. He'd have to fork out his wallet soon (he'd lied about that) and pay, just to get them out of here faster.
“It's a pile of shit, which is why it will take more than 300 yen to fix it!”
“You rip off old man.”
Hijikata drowned out the noise and continued to prod and poke through the metal disfigurements opened up on the table, a mess of wires spilling from its belly. He thumbed the buttons, until a sudden jolt ran through his fingers. He snatched his hand away. "Lesson learned," he murmured, looking at his hands in surprise. The buzz in his fingers began to fade.
Shit, must have still been connected. He mused. That was close. Could'a electrocuted myself.
As it happened, something much, much worse began.
A moment later, the buzzing had fired up stronger. Hijikata couldn't tell if the deafening noise was inside his head or out; in seconds, his whole body was rattling with a numb sort of charge. There was an electric whine in his ear and he just caught Gintoki's cute fuddled brow looking over – ah fuck, he said it was cute – when he vanished.
He literally felt himself vanish.
The sensation was so odd that he couldn't even panic. He glanced around himself and felt like he wasn't seeing anything, which was possibly an odder feeling than that of vanishing. Would he call this white? Or just blank? There was nothing around him – nothing at all.
He crashed into reality with a jolt, the foreign feelings evaporating into dust as the world settled back into focus. The world though, wasn't as he expected. Gone were Gintoki and Gengai - instead he was surrounded by a wide plain that had been desecrated by fires. Jutting from the earth were the shadows of collapses buildings, blackened by char - wooden housing foundations, trees and fences were little more than stumps in the ground. The smell of smoke quickly followed, assualting Hijikata's lungs and throat. He felt the smoke cling to his throat and eyes. He began to move in search of cleaner air to breathe, covering his mouth with his cravat, desperate to escape this village graveyard and find normality.
He stumbled little more than a few buildings down the road when a glint of silver halted him. Without thinking too much, he stumbled over towards it. Something familiar would be nice, since he’d been ripped out of normality into some sort of other world. Just what had Gengai been fixing?!
“Gintoki?” he almost whispered, voice still hoarse from the smoke. It was Gintoki, but Hijikata was quick to realise something was wrong. There was no unnecessary racket coming from the man for a start. He presence was silent, ominous. He was hovering before the remnants of an archway, maybe the entrance to a temple. Without his white yutaka adorned with blue swirls, he held a completely different presence. And somewhat smaller. Not shorter, just without some of the familiar bulk he'd come to recognise. This Gintoki was lean. From the back presented to him, Hijikata could make out the glint of armoured shin pads and a long, white yukata stained a murky red colour at the edges. It was the kind of stain that had stubbornly persisted after many washes and water would no longer remove it. Something prevented him from calling out. As Hijikata advanced stealthily without alerting Gintoki to his presence, the stranger tapped the wood with gentle fingers and mournfully watched it crumble.
“Shoyo.” He said, the words barely audible but Hijikata recognised them. He'd heard the whispers of nightmares on a cold night under the moon. He'd felt the night tremors shake Gintoki, and the only word he could keep uttering during these uncommon fits was Shoyo, Shoyo, Shoyo.
One more pace brought him almost close enough to reach out and touch him, but that was as far as he was apparently going to get. Gintoki swivelled in shock and a sword was glinting through the air before Hijikata could grasp his own katana in defence. The blade stopped a fingernail away from his throat, cold eyes pinning him to the spot.
“Who're you?” Gintoki grunted and despite the blade licking at his throat, Hijikata couldn't urge his body to react. This was not his Gintoki. This Gintoki hadn't slept properly for a long time, his burgundy eyes dull and lifeless, framed by a dark shadow. He was forcing a glint of hostility into those eyes, but it was half-hearted and careless. The look of utter and complete despair was palpable - like a wild animal that had lost hope of survival. His pale skin seemed to hang off his cheek bones and had weeks of grime embedded into the pores. His pallor, his dirtied clothes - they were all a dull, dull grey.
“Gin...toki?” The words left his mouth before he could bite them back. Confusion flashed across his agressor's face and the sword edged away slightly, but didn’t remove itself.
“You … know me?”
“Maybe not ...” Hijikata admitted cryptically, and kept his eyes on the stranger before him. His chest tightened; he'd never seen Gintoki look so defeated, a hangnail from death. He had also never been at the other end of his genuine malice - it was hard to swallow. No matter how brutal their arguments had become, Gintoki had never looked at him like this. The katana at his neck rattled again in impatience, calling for attention.
“Answer me, or you’ll lose your head.” And every word was entirely serious. These were no empty threats. But unfortunately, Hijikata was programmed by now to have an innate reaction to Gintoki, and that was one of irritation.
"Who do you think you're pointing a sword at, you permy-haired bastard?" Hijikata bristled and edged closer to the blade. The sword faltered and a look of befuddlement contorted young Gintoki's face. The pain in his chest eased slightly. This wasn't his Gintoki, but it still was at the same time. He could tell by the familiar expression that had now returned to his face, the way his brow furrowed and the edge of his lips twitched in confusion. How he'd gotten here, he had no idea. Maybe he’d passed out from being electrocuted, and this was all a very lucid dream.
Regardless of whether he knew this Gintoki or not, or even if this version would carry out his threats, Hijikata was not letting a teenage boy point a sword at his throat – more so if it was the sword of a buffoon. Gintoki's eyes flicked to Hijikata's sheathed katana, and seemingly he came to a decision. The sword retracted and Gintoki stepped away.
“You'd better get out of here. Amanto troops are advancing this way.”
“Don't tell me what to do, brat.” Hijikata spat, folding his arms.
“Hah?!” Gintoki's mouth hung open; obviously he hadn’t expected a stubborn stranger.
“What are you doing here?”
“Why are you...?” The samurai shook his head in disbelief, but Hijikata raised an expecting eyebrow. “Stupid old man.”
“I'm not old!”
“Stupid old man!”
“Don't say it twice! And don't dodge the question.” Hijikata stepped forward as the younger Gintoki moved away from him. He was completely on the back foot now, the growling bad-guy façade little more than a teenager's bravado.
“Why would I tell you?” He pouted, bottom lip protruding outwards ever so slightly. God, he hadn't changed.
“Because I asked, you damn brat-”
“I'm not a brat.”
“Then I'm not an old man.” Hijikata reached out to ruffle his curls and the teenager cringed away, scampered backwards like an animal. After a moment, red eyes frowned, then looked away, and that previous sadness crept back once more. He hated that look. It was misplaced on someone who hid what he felt so well. When had he learned to hide this sadness? He was certain it had never gone away.
“This was where I used to live, before it was burned to the ground.”
“Mmm.” Hijikata absorbed their barren surroundings, still smoking though the fires had all burned away. Something had brought Gintoki back here. “It's … nice.” The young man shot him a scathing glare, but Hijikata easily deflected it.
“Someone I know … was killed two days ago. I just came back to return something of his.”
Shoyo.
Hijikata pondered on what to say. He thought about saying nothing at all, but the dead, red eyes beside him were burning holes of vengeful hatred into the ground and he couldn’t leave him be. There was so much raw pain in young Gintoki. It must have been breaking him from the inside out and from his complexion, he wasn’t too many steps away from destroying himself.
“A not-so wise man once told me,” he began, leaving a suitable pause to catch Gintoki's attention, “that it's always darkest just before dawn. But don't close your eyes, because those who turn their eyes away from the darkness won't be able to see the light shining on them tomorrow.” Turning his head, he found that Gintoki was gazing at him with slight dismay. A red burn hit his face. “Or something ...” He mumbled.
Gintoki laughed.
It started off with a chuckle that barely made a sound and was only noticeable by the way his chest popped. Then a slight whistle of air blew from his nose. And suddenly a smile lightened his face. It lasted less than ten seconds, but even that was enough to alleviate the darkness from around his eyes even slightly. It ended far too soon.
“I'll remember that.” Gintoki sighed and looked up at the darkening sky as rain clouds began to circle. At that moment, the buzzing from earlier began to spark up in Hijikata's veins. His whole existence seemed to flicker like the image of an old television and Hijikata knew he was going back or waking up or whatever the hell it was. Young Gintoki wasn’t watching him, instead admiring the clouded sky. He was looking up now, not down at the burned remnants of his village. Hijikata was going to call out to him, but everything wiped out. A second later, he jolted back to Gengai's garage.
“Hijikata?!” Gintoki, his Gintoki, was above him, one hand under his head, the other gently cupping one side of his face. Seconds of confusion dragged by until Hijikata realised he was back and he was on the floor. The buzzing had gone. “Hijikata, oi, can you hear me?!” The hazy curls above him began to sharpen into focus.
“Shu'rup.” He complained, sitting upright with several grunts. Gintoki offered a hand on his back, but it wasn’t necessary.
“You got yourself electrocuted, you damn moron! Didn't your mother ever tell you not to play with things when you don't know what they are?” Hijikata reached out to cuff him gently.
“She also told me to marry a good wife from a wealthy family. You're neither a woman, nor rich. And you ain't good.” The furrowed brow eased away and Hijikata swore Gintoki smiled a little, possibly in relief. He erased this instantly and burst into the usual bout of insults, but in his mind, Hijikata could still see the hopeless eyes of a Gintoki he'd never met.
“We're not married, you fool. But people have proposed to me in the past after tasting my baking.”
This was his Gintoki.
“C'mere.” Hijikata muttered, pulling Gintoki mid-rant into a strong embrace. The words melted out of Gintoki into an unintelligible slur, whilst his hands flapped in a panic. Hijikata held him to his chest and nuzzled his face into his neck to breathe him in. One hand softly patted the head of curls. He'd been through a lot, his Gintoki. He would never say anything, but the demons were there.
“Old man,” Gintoki whispered, frozen. “Can you call an ambulance?”
“'m fine.”
“Oh. Okay.” His tone said that he didn’t believe him, and the rustle of hands suggested he was silently gesturing to Gengai. Hijikata held on for a moment longer, then began to pull away. Gintoki let him and that oh-so-adorable furrow of his brow was back. “Did you hit your head? Not at birth, like now?”
“Maybe,” he shrugged, his eyes completely melting as he took in this gorgeous fool.
“... Since you're in a good mood … wanna go at it? OUCH!-”