Four paths diverged in a red wood, and he took the one most traveled by

[fartbunnies]

Who: Sakata Gintoki (shamurai), Sakamoto Tatsuma (alcohololic)
When: Joui-era.
What: An alternate universe where the villain died a hero.

Comments

[kaihentai]

Where'd that bean sprout run off ta?

[Sakamoto takes this moment to adjust his helmet, which is a little too big. Everything's a size too large, especially since he's lost so much weight. He can't remember the last time he had an actual meal, real meat, something that wasn't an unlucky animal he had caught in the woods or a fish he had roasted over a fire. Fish... That had been when the water wasn't as polluted with rotting body parts and the excrement of both humans and Amanto.

Sakamoto, Gintoki, and a group of other soldiers decided to send out a search party after a faction of the Kihetai had followed Takasugi in the fray, disappearing for what had now been three days. Smoke shrouds the battlefield in some kind of mist, and the stench of carnage is rife in Sakamoto's nostrils.

He continues to grin as triumphantly as he did when he arrived on that ship, despite the screams echoing in his head and the growling of his stomach. The edges of his mouth are drooping slightly, and his troubled heart is about to give way.

For a new reason.]

Ya shoulda seen 'im that mornin'. Damn it! Short stuff was all a hootin' and a hollerin' about killin' all 'em Amanto bastards.

[He's well-versed in this pretense. As terrible as they were, Sakamoto couldn't help but be intrigued by their technology.

Those grinning lips of his are sealed.]

I guess he got a lil' too excited! But y'all know how he is.

[Sakamoto's accent was much, much thicker back them. Fresh off the boat from Tosa, he still spoke like a boy from the mountains. While it was true that he was a good merchant, he had yet to interact with people other than his own, yet to refine his speech to cater to the palettes of more refined Amanto. His words had been hard for them to understand, at first. Sakamoto did have to practice.

Peeking through the bushes, Sakamoto catches a glimpse of what appears to be Takasugi's jacket. That's funny. He's slouching and leaning back, something oddly uncharacteristic of him. And in the middle of this mess? Weird.]

God! I've found 'im! Yooooooo, pipsqueak, I was really startin' ta worr-

[As he bursts through the bushes, his trademark laugh dies in his throat. There were not one, not two, but dozens of corpses littered throughout the clearing, each body mutilated in a different way. There were definitely heads mountain on the swords of what had once been young, fit soldiers, and things like limbs and tongues were scattered everywhere. The Amanto responsible definitely had assembled this atrocity with little care, probably taking the time to reduce each man to the most humiliating sack of meat as was humanly possible. Sakamoto had approached the display in reverse.

There was Takasugi at the head of it all, right next to him- Lifeless, and being propped up by his own sword which was stabbed straight through his chest. That must have happened after his demise, because the wounds on his body had made it very clear that there had been a fight.

One side of his face has completely bled out. His eye has been gouged out.]

...Takasugi. Nah, nah, nah! No!

[Shaking his head violently from side to side, tears stream down his face without warning. He screams loudly, yelling at the sky like a beast being burned with a hot iron. Sakamoto quivers, his laugh high-pitched and frightened, like a door hinge finally cracking after years of misuse-]

Ya were one of our best. This is... 'S got to be some kinda mix-up.

[shamurai]

[Gintoki musses his hair. His stray, unkempt mop of a hair style. He doesn't think to cut it; doesn't care for it so long as it doesn't get in his way (so how Zura can live day to day with that crap draping at his back is beyond him). He won't mention that he's worried, won't even let it show on his face. They call him the Shiroyasha, after all, the Amanto and their own allies alike. It isn't a title Gintoki particularly likes, but he's aware of the responsibilities such a title bears. While not a direct leader, not like Takasugi was, he knows there are men who look up to him. To all of them. To show concern is to show weakness.

And samurai are not weak.]

He's probably fine, isn't he? Probably went back to Kyoto to get shitfaced at a brothel. That idiot bon bon, putting on a big show just to go and get laid...

[There isn't really any stock in what he's saying. 90% of the time, the things Gintoki talks about serve only to pad out conversation. To incite a response. He doesn't really believe what he's saying himself.

But then he enters the clearing, and his words die off in his throat. What he's looking at isn't the product of war. This pile of bodies, their arrangement... This is a fucking statement, and right in the center of it all...

He's vaguely aware of Sakamoto's wailing, but Gintoki can only hear the rapidly increasing volume of his own pulse pounding in his ears. At his side, his hand falls over the hilt of his sword, where it grips tight enough to hurt, nails digging into the palm of his now sweaty hands. Because it's Takasugi propped up in the middle. Like some sort of fucking trophy. Torn, battered, bloody and broken. Everything war creates in abundance; everything that tool he's gripping so tightly in his hand, creates.

He remembers that look in Takasugi's eyes as he went off three days ago. It's the same look he always wears. He was the smallest of their little band of boys, but there was no doubting the ferocity of his gaze; Takasugi Shinsuke always sees his cause through until the end.

To his end.

Releasing the hilt of his blade, Gintoki instead slowly, gently, places it upon Sakamoto's shoulder, and finally, his gaze lowers from the massacre in front of him.]

Tatsuma.

[Takasugi Shinsuke has fulfilled his duty to his end.]

[kaihentai]

[It is a weakness that Sakamoto has always had.

Gintoki's hand isn't enough to steady him, and Sakamoto can feel the pressure welling up inside of him, threatening to spew out.

He falls to his knees, his dingy hakama stained with a mixture of his own blood and that of his comrades. Turning to the side, just as ferociously as he had cried out, he vomits. Just fucking wretches until nothing can come up anymore.]

Haha...

[Wiping his face, smile broken, as broken as the bodies around him, Sakamoto rises to his feet.

Gently, as easily as he can without harming the body, trembling hands take Takasugi's shoulders and ease him off the sword.

What a big fucking bastard. Never willing to give anyone a hug.

Strange how limp and frigid the body feels, and how light he is, especially for someone of Sakamoto's size and strength. It's pathetic really, but he can't stop himself. Takasugi had always been the hardest of the three to win over.

Sakamoto lifts one battered arm over his shoulder, carrying Takasugi like one would a bride, or a child. He presses his curly mop near that hole in Takasugi's chest and just lets the tears fall.]

I miss ya already.

Cocky bastard.

[shamurai]

[For all the nonsense he would spout in abundance otherwise, Gintoki is always strangely quiet when things go awry, and it always serves as evidence to his mood. When the silence lingers, it usually means he's at war in his head; stewing, turning scenarios over to see what could have been done differently, to see what he could have changed. He joined the war with his friends to get their beloved teacher back, and what were they going to do when they finally did it? How would they greet Shouyou-sensei missing one student?

What the fuck do they tell Zura?

Gintoki raises an arm, using his sleeve to crudely wipe the sweat dotting his forehead. Or at least he thinks it's sweat. Whatever it may have been, his sleeve is spotted with moisture when he pulls away, and then he's approaching Sakamoto, studying Takasugi's lifeless body, taking in more details than he'd like. That gaping hole, all that blood, even the damn pattern on the lapel of his campaign coat; this is a sight he won't forget, the same way he never forgets a single person who'd given their life for this fucking cause. His arm twitches at his side, as if he intended to reach out and touch his former comrade's arm, but he decides against it. The biting winds and swords of steel are cold enough.]

Cocky bastard is right. Guy can't even admit he needs help.

This is why everyone picks fights with you, you damn shortie. [His tone becomes increasingly agitated as he speaks.] Carrying on like you own the damn place, we're not gonna--

[Gintoki stops himself there, taking a slow breath before he says something he regrets. His feelings are in an uproar, he realises belatedly, and he's well aware he's never been able to efficiently express himself worth a damn.]

Tatsuma. We need to bury him.

[kaihentai]

We need to bury them all.

[As close as they were to Takasugi, all of his men deserved proper treatment. War was a sick fuck. Hell, Takasugi was a sick fuck.

Sakamoto had seen the way he treated the prisoners.

But at the same time, for a man of this reputation to go out like this? It was despicable. Sakamoto had never understood Takasugi as well as the others.

Oh, how he tried.

Sakamoto hoped that Takasugi could feel his laughter, at the very least. Whenever Sakamoto had tried to put a warm arm around the other, he had been rebuffed.

This was the only time Takasugi had allowed himself to be held, and he was dead.]

What're we gonna do?

Shit.