Chapter Text
The year was 1855. It had been two years since the Amanto had arrived in Japan, and the country had been thrown into turmoil. War between the Amanto, Bakufu government, and Joui rebels ravaged the land, each day bringing news of further violence and destruction. Yet for Hijikata Toshirou, then sixteen going on seventeen, life was uncharacteristically peaceful.
Safe from the war in the country province of Bushuu, he practiced kenjutsu, swordsmanship under the roof of the Tennen Rishin-Ryu dojo, guided by the firm (yet hairy) hand of Kondo Isao. He’d been there barely a year, but in such a short time he had grown significantly from the starved, half-feral and wild-eyed teenager he had been when Kondo took him in. For the first time since leaving his brother Tamegoro’s estate, he felt a sense of belonging, of family, of home. Wrapped up in the doldrums of everyday life and training, it was easy to grow complacent, to forget that the world was at war.
At least it was, until the silver-haired soldier came.
He was bloodied, injured; his face, hair, clothes and body stained in dirt, dried blood, and ash. The smell of death, blood, and gunpowder followed him into the main hall of the dojo where Hijikata was practicing his sword swings with the other disciples. They all stopped their practicing as he entered, and stared.
His cheeks were hollowed, his movements labored and jerky. He was unmistakably a soldier, wearing armor across his chest with two swords at his hip, a metal headband tied around his forehead underneath his matted hair. His face was young. He didn’t appear to be much older than Hijikata, if at all; but his hair, underneath the grime and blood, looked silver.
His eyes were red, and like those of a corpse.
“Kondo, sir, I’m sorry!” apologized a young dojo member, hurrying in after the soldier. “He just barged in; he says he wants to challenge the dojo!”
The disciples of the dojo stirred excitedly, abandoning practice and beginning to talk amongst themselves, but the booming voice of their leader, Kondo, quieted them.
“I’m sorry,” he addressed the soldier directly, stepping towards him. “I can’t allow our disciples to fight an injured man. It’s immoral.”
“I’m not injured,” said the soldier. His voice was deeper than Hijikata had expected, and he spoke with conviction even though he was obviously hurt. There was a lazy sort of drawl to his words, and for reasons he couldn’t explain, it pissed him off. “‘S’not my blood.”
Kondo wavered, obviously uneasy. To decline a challenge could insinuate that the dojo was weak, and reflect badly on its reputation. “Very well,” he decided, crossing his arms. He nodded his head at Okita Sougo, a short, eleven-year old boy with mousy brown hair in a bowl cut and a sour disposition. “Okita-kun here will be your first opponent,” he announced. Sougo grinned and stepped forwards in front of Kondo, gripping his wooden sword eagerly.
“Huh? A kid? Oi, whad'ya take me for, an imbecile?” complained the soldier, digging out ear wax from his left ear with his pinky finger. Hijikata felt his face twist into a scowl.
Kondo smiled. “Not at all. Okita is one of our best fighters, not many grown men can beat him.”
“Sure, sure.” The soldier extracted his pinky finger from his ear and inspected it, flicking a lump of earwax away. It fell at Sougo’s feet. He reached for one of the swords at his hip, but Kondo stopped him before he could draw it, saying,
“You won’t be needing that. We fight only with wooden swords here.” He handed the soldier one, and he took it, inspecting it for a brief moment. He ran his hands over it, testing its weight, and swung it in his hands a couple times.
“You ready?” Sougo asked, smirking slightly. He stepped into a fighting stance, readying his wooden sword.
“Sure,” drawled the soldier, though he did not move at all into a stance of any sort, only gripping his wooden sword tighter.
Kondo raised his arm, beginning to count down from three to one. Although Hijikata usually disliked when Sougo won matches against others (himself included), for the boasting and sneers that came afterwards were absolutely intolerable, this time he was almost eager for him to quickly beat the soldier. Something about that cocky smile of his annoyed Hijikata, and he couldn’t wait for it to be wiped off his face when Sougo would inevitably win.
Kondo finished the countdown, and the match began. Sougo charged forwards, swinging his sword at the soldier, but he stepped aside swiftly and brought his sword down onto Sougo’s wrist, causing him to drop his sword. Immediately, Sougo sprung back, knees bent slightly, on the defensive. The soldier swept forward, arm and sword extended, and struck the side of Sougo’s knee with the sword. He crumpled to the ground, and before he had even lifted his head, the soldier’s wooden sword was pointed at his throat.
Silence fell across the dojo. Any whispering that had occurred between the disciples had ceased completely.
“Ippon ,” called out Kondo shakily. The first round was over in under a minute. None of them had expected Sougo’s defeat, and especially not so soon. He was considered a prodigy, a genius with the sword, and yet some stranger, one who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, had beaten him with frightening ease. Hijikata gritted his teeth, a bead of sweat dripping down his jaw. He was to be next to fight the soldier, that was the order, and he felt his stomach churn, whether with anticipation or fear he did not know.
“Next, you will fight Hijikata Toshirou.” Kondo gestured for Hijikata to step forward, which he did, standing in front of the fallen form of Okita Sougo.
Hijikata gripped his wooden sword, palms slick with sweat. For a moment his eyes met the soldier’s and a spark of electricity traveled down his spine. His mouth grew dry. He knew that look in the soldier’s eyes all too well- the hopelessness, the anger, the thirst for violence. It was something he’d seen many times, staring into the reflective surface of a still pond or puddle.
Hijikata heard Kondo’s voice as if from a distance beginning the countdown. The match started.
This time, the soldier fought on the offence, swinging his sword so fast it was a brown blur and it was all Hijikata could do just to block his attacks, he had no time to make any of his own. Even then, it was taking all of his strength and concentration to block his sword, both arms shaking with effort. Meanwhile, the soldier wasn’t even breaking a sweat, only using one arm to make his attacks. His fighting style was unlike any Hijikata had ever experienced. It was impossible to predict where he would strike next, and just reacting and blocking his attacks was taking up all of his energy, and fast. He was being driven backwards, he realized, and had to do something quick, before his strength ran out.
Hijikata dodged to the side of the soldier’s next attack, holding his sword high and charging forwards with a yell. The soldier did not budge, and for a moment he believed he could win, that victory would be his. The moment did not last very long, for as Hijikata charged towards the soldier, he stepped to the side, sticking out his leg, and tripped him.
Hijikata fell flat on his face, his grip releasing on his wooden sword. It skid across the dojo floor and hit the opposite wall with a loud, clattering noise. He felt the floor reverberate under his prostrate body as the soldier approached, and rolled over onto his back to block the incoming attack, only to realize he had no sword.
The soldier raised his wooden sword, standing above Hijikata. His face, which had been slack and expressionless when he had first entered the dojo, was now fixed with chilling concentration. The tip of his wooden sword gleamed in the afternoon sun filtering in through the rafters, and the dojo fell completely silent. Wind rushed through the still air as the soldier swung his sword down in an arc towards the right side of his neck, ruffling his long black hair. Hijikata rolled to the right, out of the reach of the sword, and lifted his legs in the air, bringing them down quickly and using the momentum to launch himself back onto his feet in a crouch.
Not bothering to waste time looking back at the soldier, he sprinted towards his sword. He heard the soldier’s footsteps behind him, sensed the vibrations under his feet in the springy tatami; he was coming up behind him on his left. There was a displacement in the air above his left shoulder- if he timed it right, he could block the incoming strike, hopefully catch the soldier off guard, and use that chance to disarm him. He ducked, wrapped his hand around the handle of his sword, and whirled around, bringing it up just in time to block the soldier’s sword.
It clattered against his with a loud noise, a small bit of his sword chipping and splintering off under the force of the soldier’s swing. Hijikata gritted his teeth, channeling his weight to his feet, trying not to give way even as the soles of his feet slipped slightly on the tatami. He had fought grown men before that weren't nearly as strong.
“Not bad,” the soldier smirked, still seemingly barely breaking a sweat. Hijikata didn’t bother wasting breath to respond. His arms were shaking under the strain of holding back the soldier- there was no way he could win in a contest of strength against this man. He’d have to find a different strategy.
Sweat trickled down the back of his neck. He counted to three silently in his head, then relaxed his arms, giving way under the soldier’s sword, at the same time allowing himself to drop to the floor and roll to the left. If this worked, the soldier should topple forward, destabilized without an equal force to push against. If Hijikata could get back up fast enough, he could use that moment of imbalance to disarm the soldier and win. Just as he expected, the soldier stumbled forward, but instead of falling, he tucked in his head and arms and used the momentum to roll forwards, springing to his feet at the same time Hijikata got to his.
Hijikata charged forwards, swinging his sword at the soldier. The soldier brought his sword up to block him, but at the last second feinted, swinging it diagonally to the hilt in such a way that Hijikata’s wrist snapped back painfully. The blow was obviously intended to force him to drop his sword but Hijikata snarled and tightened his grip, refusing to do so, even as his wrist throbbed.
“Just give up,” the soldier said lazily. “You can’t win.”
“Fuck you,” Hijikata spat, and swung. The soldier blocked him easily, but that wasn’t what Hijikata was aiming for, anyways. He balanced his weight on his left foot and raised his right, hitting the soldier solidly in his shoulder with a well-placed side kick. The soldier cried out and he felt his lip curl in a crude smile- sure, it might be against the rules but at least he had done something- and then the soldier grabbed his ankle as he was withdrawing his foot and flung him onto his back on the floor, hard. The sword came down once again and Hijikata took a deep breath, preparing himself for the pain as it swung towards his neck, too fast for him to block.
It didn’t hurt. He tapped his wooden sword lightly to the right side of Hijikata’s neck, and Kondou’s booming voice filled the dojo with a cry of “Ippon!” once more.
The match was over, and Hijikata had lost.
“Nice work,” the soldier grinned lazily, extending a hand to help him up. “You lasted longer than I expected.”
Hijikata glared at him, before grabbing his hand and pulling him down to the floor. He yelped and landed in a heap on top of Hijikata, who sat up, forcing him up as well so that he was straddling his lap. He drew back his fist and connected it solidly with the soldier’s nose.
“The fuck!” the soldier screeched, and swung his own fist. “The fight’s over! I won!” It collided with Hijikata’s jaw, sending his head knocking backwards.
“The fight’s not over ‘till I say it’s over,” Hijikata hissed, and spat. It had been too long since he had fought like this, immersed himself so fully in a fight that the only thing that mattered was his opponent, his sword, and the will to win. He hadn’t even known that he missed it until he was in the grips of his fight with the soldier and realized the strange thing his mouth was doing was a smile (albeit a very crude one), even as he was losing.
“Hey! Stop that!” he heard Kondo yelling distantly, but for once he ignored him and focused his full attention on pummeling the soldier. He tried to punch him again, but the soldier grabbed his fist this time and held it steady, preventing him from making the hit. He saw the soldier swing towards him and managed to block his fist as well. They grappled with each other, arms shaking, neither willing to give in.
“Oi! Gorilla! Will you call off your wild dog?!” the soldier yelled, not breaking eye contact with Hijikata.
“G- Gorilla?” Kondo’s brow furrowed and he looked around at the other pupils, bewildered. “Who’s…”
“He means you, Kondo-san,” Sougo said.
“Don’t ,” Hijikata growled through gritted teeth, “insult Kondo-san.” He threw his head forwards and knocked it against the soldier’s as hard as he could. Pain rattled through his skull, but it was worth it. A moment later, he felt a burly hand on the neck of his gi, and he was forcefully dragged away.
“Toshi.” Kondo knelt in front of him, looking concerned. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Yeah!” the soldier yelled, from across the room. “The hell is wrong with you!”
“Do you want a list?” he heard Sougo mutter. “Because I can write you a list. It’s more of a book, really.”
Hijikata clicked his tongue and looked away, unable to look Kondo in the eyes. Now that the fight was over, he felt embarrassed at his outburst, yet he also, strangely, didn’t regret it at all. “Dunno,” he answered sullenly, after a moment. “He just pissed me off.”
Kondo sighed. “We’ve talked about this! I thought you were past this- you can’t fight everyone who makes you angry! How are you supposed to make friends, hmm?” He patted his shoulder awkwardly.
Hijikata chewed his bottom lip, not knowing how to answer. Kondo sighed again and got to his feet. “We’ll talk about this later,” he promised, and walked to the center of the dojo, sword on his shoulder.
He faced the soldier. “I apologize for that. Are you recovered enough for the third match?”
The soldier blew hair out of his eyes. “Who do I need to fight?”
“That’ll be me, Kondo Isao. I’m the leader of this dojo. Think you can handle it?” He smiled warmly.
“Course I can.”
Kondo chuckled. “Well, we’ll see about that. Hijikata, referee the match.”
“Yes, sir!” Hijikata snapped to attention. He spotted the soldier snort at his compliance and fixed him with a steady glare before stepping to the side and beginning the countdown.
Though the soldier was strong, Hijikata was sure that Kondo would win. Nothing could stop him, especially not some cocky brat with a stupid perm. As he watched the match from the sidelines, ignoring his sore body and aching jaw and head, he was reaffirmed in his belief: Kondo was driving the soldier back with his unceasing barrage of attacks. He allowed himself to relax slightly. There was no way Kondo could lose. And then he noticed Kondo’s mistake.
Though he hadn’t managed to actually land a blow, Kondo was becoming more confident, more brash in his attacks. It appeared to an untrained eye that he was driving the soldier back, but in fact, as Hijikata witnessed, the soldier seemed to be luring him forwards, to a certain spot in the center of the dojo. He couldn’t fathom why until the soldier suddenly ducked one of Kondo’s attacks, dropping to all fours.
“You give up?” asked Kondo, and it certainly looked as if the soldier was prostrating himself before him, begging for forgiveness.
The soldier said nothing, inserting his wooden sword between his teeth to hold it. He placed both hands flat on the ground, palms down and without warning, jumped using his arms. He soared over Kondo’s head, back arching, and it was then that Hijikata realized why he had brought him to the center of the dojo: the ceiling was at its highest point in that specific spot, allowing for the soldier to leap completely over Kondo.
The soldier twisted around in midair, taking his sword from his mouth, and landed squarely on his feet behind Kondo, sword poised under his chin.
“Ippon,” Hijikata forced himself to say, throat dry. He felt as if a stone had fallen in his stomach. Kondo- no, his dojo had just been defeated. That had never happened before. Even worse, they were beaten by that- that- miscreant , with the fucking stupid hair and disposition and ridiculous fighting style. How could this be happening?
“Well done!” boomed Kondo, clapping the soldier on the back with a large, hairy hand, though it was clear he was shaken by the loss. “You’ve just beaten the Tennen Rishin-Ryu. Very impressive.” A little quieter, he added, “I suppose you’ll be wanting to break our sign, then.”
“Huh?” the soldier blinked. “Why?”
“It’s customary for the defeater of a dojo to break the dojo’s sign,” explained Kondo, brow furrowed. “Do you not do that where you come from?”
“Dunno.” The soldier scratched the back of his neck lazily. “I’ve never challenged a dojo before. Takasu- a friend, I mean, said that if you challenge a dojo and win, you get money, so I thought…” he trailed off.
“You mean to say you’ve never challenged a dojo before?” asked Kondo incredulously. “But thats…” He shook his head. “Never mind. Come this way, I’ll get you what you need.” He escorted the soldier out of the practice hall, leaving Hijikata and the other disciples to wonder what had just happened.
Hijikata sat outside Kondo’s office where he was meeting privately with the soldier, trying to eavesdrop on their conversation. Okita Mitsuba walked along and sat down silently next to him.
“Ah, are we eavesdropping?” she asked sweetly.
“N-Not so loud!” hushed Hijikata, holding a finger to his lips and pressing his ear to the door. He could make out vague snippets of conversation inside and frowned, trying to piece them together.
“So you’re sure Bushuu is safe from the fighting?” Kondo asked, a stern look on his face.
“Yes. The front is miles away,” confirmed the soldier. “I just got… lost.”
“Right.” There was a pause. “Forgive me for asking, but which side are you on?” Kondo sounded hesitant.
“Joui.”
On the other side of the door, Hijikata froze. The soldier he fought was a Joui patriot? Moreover, said Joui patriot was sitting less than ten feet from him, separated only by a thin slab of wood. If the authorities heard that the dojo was housing a Joui patriot, they’d be shut down and sent to jail, or worse, executed. Though they were fairly isolated in the countryside of Bushuu, news of the Kansei purge had reached even them.
“I see,” said Kondo slowly.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone I was here,” said the soldier. “I just need a small amount of money from you so I can find a place to stay or some food, and then I’ll leave. No one will know.”
“If word got out that I helped a Joui patriot…”
“No one will know,” repeated the soldier firmly.
Kondo wavered. He knew that if he helped a Joui patriot, he could be executed, his students jailed for the slightest provocation. However, the soldier seemed desperate. His clothes were torn and bloody, his cheeks hollowed, skin pale. He didn’t seem to be any older than Hijikata, and the fact that such young men- practically children- were fighting for their lives filled Kondo with sorrow.
“Fine,” he decided. “I’ll give you some money. You can even take some clothes and medicine if you need. But that’s it. You can’t stay here, you’ll leave immediately. Understood?”
The soldier bowed his head in thanks. “I appreciate it greatly. Thank you.”
“You fought well,” praised Kondo. “Very well. After the war, there’ll be a spot for you here, if you wish to accept it. Free of charge.”
“If I come back, you mean.” The soldier laughed hollowly.
Kondo bit his lip. “Yes.”
He led the soldier out to the front gates, carrying a spare uniform, a small first aid kit, and a money pouch with some coins inside. Hijikata followed at a distance curiously.
“Good luck,” said Kondo, resting a hand on the soldier’s shoulder briefly. He nodded gravely.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Before you go, may I ask your name?”
The soldier paused. “Gintoki,” he said, running a hand through his silver hair. “Sakata Gintoki. Nice to meet’cha.”
And with that, he turned and vanished off into the sunset.
Hijikata was furious. He paced his room furiously, arms crossed, chewing on a stalk of wheat. It was bad enough that he had lost to such an infuriating person, but for Kondo to lose as well? Unacceptable. His blood was still boiling from his fight and he needed some way to blow off steam (that wasn’t fighting, Kondo had made it clear when he had been accepted into the dojo that if he continued to go around fighting strangers just for the hell of it, he’d be expelled).
Moreover, he needed to practice, get better, and then go hunt down that soldier and challenge him to a rematch. He would win back his dojo’s reputation. He’d make Kondo proud, for once.
There was a small stream near the dojo, and if one followed the stream north, it widened into a river, surrounded on both sides by thick forest. By the mouth of the river, unknown to many, was a small clearing enclosed by trees. Whenever Hijikata was troubled, or simply wanted privacy, he would steal away to this spot and practice his swordsmanship, swinging his wooden sword until his arms could no longer lift and his palms were covered in blisters. Surrounded by nature and peaceful quiet apart from the babbling of the river and the rush of the waterfall that emptied into it, it was a good way to clear his mind. And so, his mind clouded with anger, he headed to his secret enclave to practice.
When he arrived, however, he found he was not alone. Bent over, wading calf-deep in the river- his river, Hijikata thought angrily- was the silver-haired soldier from yesterday. He was naked save for a white fundoshi, his uniform cleaned and hanging on a nearby branch to dry. Hijikata wanted to yell out, chase him out of the clearing, but, perhaps against his better judgement, he hid behind a tree and watched.
The soldier- Sakata, wasn’t it- bent over and cupped water in his hands, straightening up and pouring the water in his palms over his head, washing his hair. Droplets cascaded down his broad, muscled shoulders, dyed red and brown from the blood and dirt matting his hair. He repeated this process several times until he was satisfied, and shook his head vigorously, water flying off his curly hair every which way like a dog. He washed the rest of his body slowly, as if savoring the sensation of becoming clean, and Hijikata watched silently as the river water turned red. With most of the dirt cleared away, several cuts, scrapes, and bruises were revealed, as well as many scars. The soldier turned slightly, revealing his whole back, and he almost gasped aloud.
A long, red gash ran diagonally from the bottom of Sakata’s right shoulder blade to the small of his back, garish against his pale skin. It looked immensely painful, but he moved freely, as if he felt nothing.
“Hey,” the soldier spoke up, and Hijikata froze, pressing himself to the bark of the tree. “If you watch any longer, I’m gonna start charging you.”
Hijikata chose to stay silent. Sakata sighed and shrugged, then winced at the movement.
“Look,” he said. “If you’re gonna kill me, might as well do it now, while I don’t have a weapon with me. If not, then get over and help me wash my back.”
Hijikata stepped out from behind the tree. The soldier raised a corner of his mouth in a crude half-smile.
“It’s you,” he recognized. “The brat from the dojo.”
“I’m not a brat.” Hijikata tossed his long black hair over his shoulder haughtily. Steeling himself, he placed a hand on the wooden sword hanging loosely by his side, remembering the decision he had made earlier to fight the soldier. “For… For the honor of the Tennen Rishin-Ryu school of kenjutsu, and for my master Kondo Isao, I challenge you to a rematch!”
“Sure, sure,” replied Sakata, waving his hand lazily. “But first, could you wash my back? I’m getting pruney in here.”
“Why should I wash the back of someone I hardly know? Especially a Joui patriot.” Hijikata narrowed his eyes, staring down the soldier.
“Because I asked? Because I beat you yesterday? Because I just provided you with a year’s worth of wet dreams? Because I-”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” spat Hijikata, trying to sound tough, although he felt his face heat up under the half-lidded gaze of the soldier. He floundered, trying to decide whether to leave or to help. He shouldn’t even be talking to Sakata, but it wasn’t as if anyone would find out. Besides, the sooner he was healed, the sooner they could fight. “Fine, I’ll wash your goddamn back,” Hijikata scowled, rolling up his sleeves and approaching the riverbank. He tied up his hair. “What do you want me to do, exactly?”
“For starters, could you rinse it off? And then- are you good with a needle?” Sakata waded towards Hijikata, stopping opposite the riverbank.
“I guess,” shrugged Hijikata. “Why?”
“I need you to stitch it up for me.”
Hijikata’s eyes widened. “Hell, no!” He took a step back. “I can’t do that- no way!”
“It’s okay, I’ll walk you through it,” appeased Sakata. “I’d do it myself, but I can’t exactly reach.”
Hijikata shook his head. “No. Uh-uh. I’m not doing anything of the sort.”
“It’s easy once you get the hang of it, don’t worry.” Sakata tilted his head to the side slightly. “How about this: I’ll accept your challenge to a rematch if you patch me up. I’ll even teach you moves if you want.”
Hijikata considered his proposition for a minute. Part of him wanted to refuse, to turn around and walk away that instant, and forget all about the injured soldier in the woods. He was risking so much just by talking to him. But if he left, he reckoned, he’d never get to fight him. He’d never reclaim his dojo’s honor, he’d never learn just how strong Sakata was and how to fight like him. “Fine,” he grumbled. “But if I mess up, it’s your fault.”
A fire was built, the needle sterilized. Hijikata knelt on a flat rock, slightly elevated behind Sakata, who had put on a yukata at Hijikata’s request, exposing only his torso. He sat cross-legged in front of the rock upon which Hijikata knelt. He had no disinfectant, so they boiled a pot of water and Hijikata rinsed the wound gingerly with a piece of cloth torn off from Sakata’s uniform sleeve. The area around the wound was red and inflamed, and though the gash was long, thankfully it wasn’t very deep. As he dabbed at it with the wet cloth, it began to bleed again.
“It’s fine,” Sakata placated him. “Just press the cloth to where it's bleeding for a while. It’ll stop.” Hijikata did as he was told, blood trickling through his fingers. He felt slightly queasy, and decided to ask Sakata questions to quell the churning in his stomach.
“What’s your name?” he asked, though he already knew.
“Sakata Gintoki.”
“Sakata-san.” Hijikata tested out the words. They felt funny in his mouth. The soldier laughed, his back rippling under Hijikata’s hands.
“Just call me Gin. Everyone does. Well, Zura calls me Gintoki, but he’s stubborn like that.” He chuckled, his tone lifting at the mention of this ‘Zura’ person, and Hijikata wondered exactly who they were to Gintoki.
“What about you?” asked Gintoki. “I know it’s Toshi-something. That gorilla- Kondo- kept boasting about you, his star student.”
“Really?” Hijikata couldn’t hide the elation in his voice. “I- I mean, I’m Hijikata Toshirou.”
“Long name. Can I call you Tosshi?” Gintoki snickered.
“You may not.”
“How about Toshirou-chan?”
“No way.”
“Hijikata-kun, then.”
Hijikata paused, deliberating. “Fine,” he decided. “How old are you, Sakata-san?”
“I told you, call me Gin,” Gintoki grumbled. “How old are you?”
“Sixteen. Almost seventeen.”
“Around that age, then,” mused Gintoki.
“How can you not know how old you are?” The wound on Gintoki’s back had ceased bleeding. Hijikata wrung out the cloth, now a dark red, and threaded the sterilized needle, the tip still glowing orange. “I’m gonna start now. You ready?”
“Fine.” Gintoki nodded. He made a slight hissing sound as the hot needle punctured his skin, but didn’t budge or show any other outward expressions of pain, at least as far as Hijikata could see.
“What about your birthday? When’s that?” Hijikata pulled the needle through to the other side of the wound, piercing the skin from below and pulling the suture together. He was already beginning to perspire. The questions, although meaningless, helped keep him focused. It probably also helped to distract Gintoki from the pain.
“Dunno.”
“How can you not know?! Can you not count? Or are you just an idiot?”
“I ain’t an idiot!” growled Gintoki, turning his head to glare at Hijikata from over his shoulder. “Stop asking stupid questions.”
“They ain’t stupid questions!” snarled Hijikata, then stopped, deciding it wasn’t worth it. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll ask something else. Where are you from?”
Gintoki thought for a moment, brows furrowed. “South,” he said.
“Huh? What sorta answer is that?”
“Be glad you’re getting any answers at all! How do I know you’re not collecting information or something to send to the Bakufu? You could be trying to get me killed!”
“If I was tryin’ to kill you, I wouldn’t be stitching up your back, would I?” Hijikata pulled a little harder on the string than usual on purpose. Gintoki didn’t make a sound, but his right eye twitched, as if he was trying to stop himself from wincing.
“Not necessarily. You could be keeping me alive so that you can hand me over to the Bakufu and get a reward. I did take your dojo’s money, after all.” He smirked. “Not that you had much of it.”
“Shut it!” Hijikata snapped. “After this, I’m gonna fight you. I’ll win back my dojo’s pride and money.”
“If you want,” replied Gintoki offhandedly. “I’ll still win, though. You’re a hundred years too young to beat me.”
“Cocky bastard. I’ll beat you, even if it takes me a hundred years and a thousand losses. Just you wait.” The wound was beginning to bleed again, and Hijikata took a break, rinsing the strip of cloth from Gintoki’s sleeve in the boiled water and pressing it to the gash.
“How’d you even get this, anyway?” he asked, running a finger along the length of the cut. “It doesn’t look like an ordinary sword wound.”
“That’s ‘cause it’s not. Got it from a claw.”
“A claw?”
“Yeah, an Amanto claw.”
“They have claws?”
Gintoki lowered his head, staring at his hands folded in his lap. “Some of them.”
“What even are they?” asked Hijikata in a hushed voice. “The Amanto.”
“Monsters,” Gintoki answered, and a shudder ran through his body. “Fuckin’ monsters, all of ‘em.”
Hijikata fell silent. He couldn’t fathom fighting monsters from another world- monsters with claws - at his age, yet sitting in front of him was a man- no, boy- who had fought them and lived. The idea seemed preposterous, but there was no other conclusion to be had.
Pressing the cloth to the wound, Hijikata felt Gintoki’s back rise and fall with every breath he took, firm muscles rippling under the scarred skin. He snuck a look at Gintoki’s face, wondering what his expression was, but his face was blank and unreadable. Though he was staring straight ahead, his eyes looked distant, as if he was seeing something thousands of miles away.
“I’m gonna continue stitching now,” Hijikata announced, and Gintoki started, seemingly emerging from his trance.
“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Go ahead.” Perhaps sensing the change in Hijikata’s tone, he asked a question himself. “That girl you were talking to back at the dojo, who’s she?”
“Okita Mitsuba. That first kid you fought’s older sister.” Hijikata smiled fondly, creating the second stitch.
“She’s cute. You bedded her yet?”
“W-What?!” spluttered Hijikata, pulling slightly too hard on the needle (“Watch it!” snapped Gintoki), “We’re not- It’s not like that!”
“Really?” Gintoki smirked. “She seemed awfully into you. Gin-san can tell these things, you know.” He tapped his forehead with an index finger knowingly.
“I told you, it’s not like that.” Hijikata licked his lips, concentrating heavily on threading the needle through Gintoki’s skin. “It’s complicated.”
“That’s what people say when something’s actually very simple, but they want to sound mysterious. Are you trying to sound mysterious, Toshirou-kun?”
“It’s Hijikata-san to you,” snapped Hijikata. “And no, I’m not. I just don’t feel like talking about it.”
“Why not?” Gintoki rested his chin in his hand. “I’m here all day. I won’t tell anyone else. Plus, there’s a high chance I’ll die when I go back to battle, so your secrets are safe with me.” He winked.
“Even so, why would I tell you?” Hijikata finished the second stitch and started on the third. He was beginning to get a hang on suturing.
“I’m a good listener?” offered Gintoki. “It’s not as if there’s anyone else you can talk to about these things, is there? You’re too volatile to have friends.”
“And you’re too idiotic to have friends,” snapped Hijikata.
“Aw, c’mon. I have friends. Gin-san is very popular, I’ll have you know.”
“And where are your ‘friends?’ Did you leave them behind on the battlefield to die? You’re a deserter, aren’t you? How can you talk of friends if you’ve abandoned them?”
“I didn’t abandon them!” Gintoki’s playful voice was suddenly harsh, his expression stony. “I’m not a deserter. I’m here because… because I got lost.”
He wasn’t a good liar, and Hijikata could tell there was something Gintoki was hiding from him. However, he could also tell that even if he pressed, he would tell him nothing, so there was no point in asking further. He cleared his throat awkwardly. Thankfully, the sutures were almost done, and he was able to finish them in silence. He cleaned the stitches with clean water, and wrapped the bandages Kondo had given Gintoki the day before around his chest.
“Thanks,” Gintoki muttered, standing up. “You did a good job.” He was a couple centimeters taller than Hijikata, and he placed a hand on his head, ruffling his black hair almost affectionately.
“Fuck off!” Hijikata smacked his hand away irritably. Infuriatingly, Gintoki merely chuckled.
“Zura gets mad when I play with his hair, too.” His eyes sparkled, and for a moment, they seemed like those of a living person and not a corpse. For the second time that day, Hijikata wondered who Zura was and why his chest tightened when Gintoki showed such an expression, and why he even cared in the first place.
Hijikata spent most of the day bickering with Gintoki, heading back to the dojo when it began to get dark. Though he had only just met the man, he felt some sort of connection to him. He was annoying, loud, and uncouth, and he irritated Hijikata to no end, but despite this he felt something towards Gintoki that he hadn’t for anyone else before. What this was exactly he didn’t know yet, and he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to find out.
Lying in bed, his thoughts wandered to the events of that day. Gintoki was strong, well built and heavily muscled, but thin, as Hijikata had seen while he was bathing himself. His ribs were prominent, cheeks hollow.
He rolled over, hugging his pillow, trying to sleep, but images of Gintoki filtered through his mind, keeping him awake. His spine, raised like mountain ridges on his back. The gap between his thighs. The veins in his too-thin forearms.
“Fuck,” he cursed, and got up.
Hijikata had gone to the clearing so many times traveling there at night wasn’t a problem, he knew the way. Still, he had to be careful not to trip, carrying a plate of hurriedly-made onigiri in one hand. It wasn’t great, but it could at least appease the hunger Gintoki must have been feeling.
He made it to the clearing, but it took him a while to find Gintoki. He was sleeping upright, leaning against a tree, clutching his sword, knees pulled to his chest. He was twitching slightly in his sleep, lips moving but Hijikata couldn’t make out any clear words, just small mutters. He set down the plate of onigiri and knelt beside Gintoki’s sleeping form, shaking his shoulder gently.
Gintoki awoke with a start, eyes wild. In an instant, he had drawn his sword and pressed it to Hijikata’s throat.
“Who are you?” he barked, voice hoarse.
“I-” Hijikata croaked, staring down at the sword, frozen.
“Oh, it’s you,” sighed Gintoki before Hijikata could properly respond, sheathing his sword and leaning back against the tree. “Don’t scare me like that, Zura.”
“I’m not Zu-”
“I know, I know,” Gintoki interrupted. “”It’s not Zura, it’s Katsura,” right?” He grinned. “I missed ya. What’re you doin’ here anyways? You should be back at the camp. You’ll break my cover if there’s too many of us.”
Hijikata was only able to stare at Gintoki. He had no idea what he was talking about.
“I got a bit lost, but I’m close to finding where they’re keeping Sensei,” continued Gintoki. “So sit tight and wait for my signal. Okay?”
“...Sure…” Hijikata trailed off. “Eat your onigiri,” he commanded, nodding towards the uneaten onigiri in Gintoki’s hand.
Gintoki smiled, but his eyes were downcast. “You really haven’t changed. Still making onigiri like always. Even in this war, I guess some things don’t change, huh?” He lifted his hand and took a bite, chewing it slowly. “We’ll get Shouyou back,” he continued, mouth full of rice. He swallowed, took another bite. His eyes glistened in the moonlight. He nodded, more to convince himself than Hijikata. “He ain’t gonna die. I won’t let that happen.”
He finished the onigiri in silence, eating with fervor as if he hadn’t had a meal in a while, which, Hijikata figured, he probably hadn’t. He even licked the solitary rice grains from his fingers, scanning the plate for leftovers, before leaning back against the tree and picking his sword back up, holding it to his chest as Hijikata had found him.
Hijikata stood up, preparing to leave, but a hand shot out and grabbed his sleeve as he turned away.
“Stay with me ‘till I fall asleep?” asked Gintoki, one red eye open.
Hijikata sighed, crouching back down next to him and leaning against the tree. “Fine,” he grumbled, adjusting himself into a more comfortable position.
Gintoki hummed happily and ran his fingers through Hijikata’s hair, bringing a lock of black hair to his lips. “Thanks, Zura,” he said, and kissed the strands of hair before releasing it and letting it fall back to Hijikata’s shoulder. Hijikata felt his heart skip a beat, even though he knew it was not him Gintoki was addressing.
“I’m not Zura, I’m-” he began to say, but fell short. Even if it was only for a little while, he didn’t mind being Zura, if he got to experience this side of Gintoki. He reached a hand out tentatively and stroked Gintoki’s hair, the silver curls surprisingly soft and feathery.
“Go to sleep,” he said, and Gintoki obliged.