hello friends i did a thing for gin's bday. had this in mind for over six months, but decided to write it down just today because i can. anyway i hope you enjoy :)
He measured time in the beginning - every new day was a tortuous line in his scabbard. But legend says a demon wanders in the battlefields stealing from corpses and bringing death to those who witness its devilish acts, and time becomes a forgotten casualty of life as he sharply moves his sword, sliding metal against flesh and bones with all the strength he can gather. It is not that hard, the killing. Mockery and disbelief fulfill the eyes of curious passersby once they realize the so called demon is merely a kid.
He measured time in the beginning - but not long enough to count the passing of years, as the number of days and deaths became forgotten casualties of life.
~x~
He is born a second time the day the kind swordsman comes. Holding tight on the man's clothes, he rests his muscles after the eternity into battle. The sun burns just as much in his skin, the wind sends chills just as freezing as before. But now they no longer are threats to his life, but pleasures he can enjoy in the quietness and safety of his new home. When the smell of decomposing flesh is replaced by the pleasant scent of open fields and the taste of rotten food leaves his mouth, he finally opens it and whispers his first words after a long time, coming out almost as a different language.
"Wha ay?"
"Do you mean to say what day?" The man asks and he nods against his back. "October the tenth."
He leans his head deeper in the soft folds of the man's clothes and welcomes the silent tears he held forever, for he was born a second time the day the kind swordsman came.
~x~
A year goes by as fast as candies do when he is around. The short time he spent in his new home is enough to awaken the child inside him - he realizes with a frown on his face that life up until now was not that much of a pleasure. His friends and daily boring routine are treasures he holds close to his heart.
One chilly morning he notices the murmurs and the frantic anxiety going through the boys, as well as the glares they share every now and then with Shouyou-sensei, who only smiles, so much better at hiding whatever they are planning. By the afternoon, all the curiosity and jealousy of not being part of their little scheme fades, and he greets a suspicious-looking pink cake with a warm smile and a laugh.
"Watch out, Gintoki," says Zura. "Takasugi and kindness don't match, I bet there is poison in there."
He gets hit in the face, hard. Even in his tiny size, Takasugi never loses an opportunity to glare at them with his best scary eyes. But it never works, actually.
"I hope you choke to death," he says.
They laugh a bit more, while they still can, for the cake leaves them with the taste of horror in their mouths, a wrong mixture of flavours that must never be placed together. By pure coincidence, all sorts of tiny accidents begin to happen. Someone has the urge to visit the bathroom and comes back with no cake, claiming he ate it in his way. Zura sees a mysterious shadow hiding on the brushes and everyone is surprised when he tells a wild animal stole his tasty meal. Another one sneezes and drops the unfortunate cake right into the dirty. He just watches them, eating anyway. The taste is horrible and wrong, but candies are candies no matter what.
"Are you not eating with us, sensei?" He asks when he notices him observing them from afar.
There is this look of betrayal in the man's eyes when all the kids notice him sneaking away and encourage him to join them. He takes the cake, smiling and thanking Takasugi for his effort. When the first bite happens, though, master join pupils in their silent screams of despair.
"Oh," he says, doing his best to keep a straight face, even if the curved corners of his lips betray him. "That surely has an… unique flavour. Might I ask you what is in here?"
Takasugi's eyes spark when he smiles and so eagerly begins to list the ingredients.
"Oh, I did a lot of research about cakes, sensei. In this case, there is strawberries, a few eggs, flour, milk- "
"Shinsuke, are you aware that fermented milk is not a substitute for real milk?"
There is a blink and a quiet pause while the little kid tries to make sense out of what he heard, but if he was ever to know its meaning, it was not now. The boys hold their muffled laughs for merely a second, after that it all resumes in noise and running and flying cake, in honour of what is left from their stomachs.
He laughs at the top of his lungs too, and hopes that the next year goes by as fast as Takasugi's cake does in his presence: there will always be a little bit still stuck somewhere in the walls.
~x~
In his 15th birthday, he buries fifteen of his friends. It usually is like this, only a few have decent ceremonies. The majority of bodies is lost or too damaged to be recognized.
The silence when they gather around improvised campfires to rest and treat the wounded is disturbing. It's when the blood goes cold and the muscles begin to ache that the realization sinks on him. Day after day, sometimes night after night, his life is a repetitive cycle of killing. He is scared of how numb he is to all of this. When he looks at the fire and his only companion is his own mind, he realizes how distant their smiles and playful walks and snowball fights are. A reality that once was lively as the flames now is nothing but the ashes.
Sometimes when he lies down next to the fire to keep himself warm during the night, he lets his hand rest on the hot ground, too close to the flames. It will hurt by the morning, but moving this tiny bit seems to drain too much energy. Physical pain makes him forget, makes it easier.
Sometimes, though, someone kicks his hand away.
"What are you doing?" It's Zura. "Are you not aware of how troublesome it would be if you were to hold a sword with a burnt hand?"
He opens his eyes.
"Are you my mom or something?" He sits down and feel a small package landing on his lap. Zura sits next to him, holding one as well.
"I got these a long while ago, so they don't look exactly welcoming. But it's something."
He looks down and his smile hides the tiredness of his face and the fatigue screaming through his muscles.
"Thanks."
It has been so long since he last ate chocolate, it feels like heaven. They sit close to each other, in silence, the entire time. After they are done, they throw the plastic package into the fire and observe the flames dancing around the unusual fuel.
"Gintoki."
"Hm"
"Hang in there."
He turns to face his friend. There is not reassuring grin, not a trace of happiness. Sometimes the shadow of his innocence is still there, and he wants to scream until it comes back, never to leave again, erasing everything else. He nods and Zura pats his shoulder gently.
"It's going to be alright."
In his 16th birthday, he buries sixteen of his friends.
~x~
He lays his head on the desk and frowns. The smell of noodles is still fresh, sending a pulsing, urging reminder of his unfortunate accident a few nights ago.
He catches himself looking at the now empty trash can and it's easily one of the most pathetic things he has ever done. But he doesn't look away, and a lump in the throat and expressionless eyes are pretty much unavoidable, for the sight is more of a suffocating one, driving him insane, slowly but surely.
The knock on the door takes him momentarily away from his thoughts.
"Gintoki," Otose calls him, "come down here, I have something for you."
He does as she says, and downstairs there is a bottle of cheap sake waiting for him. Hell, she even bought him a cake.
"I heard it was your birthday."
He half smiles, wondering about the many things she must know from the nights he drinks a bit more than he should. She pours a drink for both of them. They don't talk, except for a few little chats here and there. But it's alright, each other's presence is enough and the silence is way too comfortable.
He lays his head on the desk and frowns. The smell of noodles is still fresh, sending a pulsing, urging reminder of his need to throw up. That is what happens when you eat too much. He moves to his bed and smiles until he is half asleep, with the taste of sweets still in his mouth.
~x~
They migrate into his life bit by bit, in their own small ways.
The lonely mornings turn into a never-ending fight to decide who uses the bathroom first.
His own house becomes a battlefield when they get well paid and can afford a special meal: every blink is a threat, as the kids show no mercy when it comes to stealing meat.
Gambling is one of his hobbies - or curses - and thankfully it becomes twice as gratifying when he finds himself a loser buddy, someone to walk by his side just in their underwear when they go back home broke. Running away from the police is not even a problem anymore, their commander is very open-minded when it comes to nudity and public humiliation.
Hell, not even in his wildest dreams he would imagine himself being so close to a bunch of bakufu dogs, but here he is, discussing with a fellow sadist alternative methods of poisoning mayonnaise.
He panics every time Shinpachi invites him for dinner. But he developed techniques, he is smart now. All that dark matter never comes close to his mouth, he uses it to feed the only human being in existence to ever eat that stuff without facing oblivion.
Sometimes he drags Tama away from her job and walks around the city with her. Her happiness over the smallest of the things is contagious. They always have the best of times together.
He visits Yoshiwara quite often. There is always a good conversation and quality booze waiting for him. Sometimes he even teaches the kid a thing or two about fighting. They welcome him like he is family.
There are nights where insomnia gets him, but it's okay. If he calls there is always a stalker waiting on his roof, ever so eager to chat with him during the night. He wonders if the woman ever rests.
Zura got a duck thing and Sakamoto is doing fine with his business. Sometimes they meet again for a drink and it feels like they have never been apart. When they get drunk enough, they send Takasugi dirty messages, for the sake of the old days. They just hope they will wake up in the next morning with their heads still attached to their bodies.
They come as little patches, binding themselves on each other, holding on, tight and forever. The room that once was empty is now filled with people wearing ridiculously colorful hats, being loud, smiling and patting his back, wishing him a bunch of nice things. They make him wear one of the hats and bring him cake. He smiles. They migrate into his heart bit by bit, fixing it in their own small ways.
thanks for reading!