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]

[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.