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

[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.