Author's Note: I skipped a lot of material, here. For those of you who didn't know, Hirayama was one of Serizawa's one-eyed henchmen. The details here were taken mostly from Shiba Ryoutarou's novel Moeyo Ken, and from the NHK drama Shinsengumi!, both of which are worth checking out. I believe Shinpachi was only stabbed by Saitou in Hakuouki, though...what can I say, I tried. "Naga" in Nagakura originally was written with the kanji meaning "long," but either Shinpachi or his father replaced it with "eternity," which is why he was sometimes referred to as "Eikura," though that small detail is hardly relevant here. By no account did Shinpachi approve of the Serizawa assassination.
Hirayama Goro died quickly.
In a heartbeat, in fact. That man would have lasted longer if he had woken up sooner, but it couldn't be helped, and Sanosuke was actually relieved that such a drawn-out, messy affair could have such a simple, protracted ending. In the room over, it sounded as if Hijikata and Souji were having a bit more trouble with Serizawa.
Stepping over the eye-patched head and and nude trunk (the girl had fled earlier, screaming bloody murder), the redhead slid open the door and met his fellows as they stood over a bloody futon and two mangled bodies that were barely recognizable as Serizawa Kamo and Oume. Souji looked exhilarated and a little scared, suddenly childlike with his sword dripping unnoticed; Hijikata was still and silent, watchful, surveying the scene with the barest shadows of distaste and regret; Sannan's head was bowed and he looked tired—was it that he could see his future, even then? Dark speckles had dried on his usually immaculate glasses and pale face.
Wordlessly, the four made their way across the grisly tatami, out to the pouring rain.
At the front gate stood Saitoh, quiet as always, dark midnight hair plastered to his face and dripping on his black kimono.
"I had to stop him," he told Hijikata softly, nodding slightly to a sprawled shape lying in a puddle of black rain in the shadows.
"Did you kill him? You're fucking crazy, Hajime-kun!" Souji was inappropriately excited, or maybe just trying to hide his horror as he crouched over the prone form. The shorter, stoic man ignored Souji, but spoke only to Hijikata.
"It was necessary." There was what could have been discomfort in his voice, "But he will live."
The vice-commander nodded.
"Very well, Saitoh."
Sannan paused as he walked past.
"Thank you, Saitoh-kun."
Sanosuke was barely aware of the twinge in his own belly when he examined Shinpachi, lying in the dark, for himself. The man's chest was heaving with shallow breaths, and there was blood running from his mouth and over his clothes and white hakama, dark liquid from his stomach or vitals. But his eyes were only half-shut as he lay in shock, sparks of hot blue fire under his lashes, even as his wild hair was soaked and muddy, and his right hand still gripped his sword.
Shinpachi.
But Sanosuke, like Saitoh, was here to do what needed to be done and no less. Ignoring the pain, he straightened up and turned to leave with the others.
He was stopped by Saitoh himself, and he could have easily grown angry at the sapphire eyes that weren't nearly as expressive as those that were like the oceans that swirled with warmth and cool and desert skies, but Saitoh was only doing his job, and Sanosuke knew that he himself would have done the same.
"He could have won," the younger man told him, and the redhead almost smiled.
"I know."
It was so hard to believe that solemn young man was only Heisuke's age, sometimes...
He followed Hijikata into the night beyond, trusting Saitoh and Yamazaki behind, and Shinpachi.
Waking up was painful. Head pounding like the mother of all hangovers, his back sore from lying down, the fight, the feeling of a iron thorn that had been torn out of his belly...
The sun through rice paper windows was too fucking bright, everything was fucking fucked up, and Shinpachi had proven himself the ultimate fool.
Everything was just too confused, and he wanted to sleep, so he could stop thinking about it. Serizawa was a bastard, but he didn't deserve what he got, what could have been prevented. What did loyalty matter if it was all too convoluted to make any sense? Who was a traitor, Serizawa? Hijikata? Saitoh?
Or even himself? It was as if everything he understood about justice and honor were thrown back into his face, like he'd just found out that the people he respected were just the kind of scum he'd been avoiding all along.
But really, Shinpachi just loathed losing.
"Bet you feel like shit," remarked a familiar voice somewhere above him, a soft, slightly raspy voice that sounded much too light for the occasion and one he'd been trying not to think about at the moment.
"Fuck off," Shinpachi groaned, not nearly his graceful self when he had been humiliated and skewered through the belly and found out all his friends were corrupt underhanded bastards.
"Get your head out of your ass." Sanosuke's voice said more sharply, this time, as if reading his thoughts.
Because he felt no desire to honor another lying bastard with his full attention just yet, Shinpachi took his time opening his eyes until he was looking up at his erstwhile best friend's pale, angular face gazing down on him, surprised to see dark circles under glaring bloodshot amber eyes and shaggy dark red hair untied and falling in disarray. It looked like he could have been drinking, but there was no alcohol in this damned place and there was no whiff of the spoils of Harada's charm at the Establishments.
It looked, for all the evidence, that the spearman had stayed up to watch him all night and into the day.
Well, shit.
It still did nothing to appease Shinpachi's anger, however.
"Who are you to talk? The whole lot of you are backstabbing psychopaths, aren't you? I didn't see anyone else trying to stop an honorable man from getting assassinated by a bunch of cowards, and look what I get—"
"Shinpachi, just shut up."
Funny how the injured man's indignant tirade still ceased at the request, Sanosuke thought. Maybe it was because the part of Shinpachi that had never grown up was still confused, still needed assurance and direction, but it wasn't his place or interest to make assumptions. What mattered was that Shinpachi did, indeed, shut up.
Speaking was difficult. Kondou had sworn him to secrecy (not even Shinpachi knew who exactly had been involved, though he could guess), and he just wanted to finally sleep, not try to reason with an angry warrior on his sickbed. But this was his duty, part of the debt he owed the men of the Shieikan; especially that which he owed to Shinpachi.
"I can't speak for any of the others," he began quietly, "but I promised myself that I would follow Kondou-san and Hijikata anywhere. And anybody I fought along the way, well, it wouldn't be a personal thing." there was sadness in his laugh.
"I don't want to live with regrets."
Neither one of them did.
It was so simple, too simple. But it was probably the most he would ever hear from his maybe-friend, maybe-enemy if things kept going this way. So Shinpachi did not laugh back in a mocking way, like he wanted to. Though he definitely had his own regrets, right now.
"And what if the people you follow are the wrong ones? What if you kill the people you should be fighting for?" he demanded, fixing the other with a steely glare.
Sanosuke merely shrugged.
"I guess I'd have to figure that part out whenever it came around, wouldn't I?"
There was a long, awkward silence as Shinpachi continued to glare at the redhead, whose indifferent expression slowly gave way to one of irritation, breaking the pause suddenly with a frustrated sigh.
"Look, I didn't ask to be your nursemaid and argue with you about the meaning of life," he snapped. "Everybody's worried about you, so they picked me to watch you because I have the most experience with stomach aches."
Here, the other snorted at the gross understatement, gritting his teeth at the sudden stab of pain.
"What if you all decide to finish me off while I'm lying here?" he snarled, still confused, still angry, because he liked to be on top of the fucking world, not lying in a metaphorical ditch, trying to muddle out some purpose or whatever.
The spear-wielder's face darkened.
"That's your problem then, but try to solve all the mysteries of the universe while you can still lie around. If you're still complaining when you're better, then I'll fight you myself so you can't drag everyone else through your shit."
And this time, he couldn't help it. He really couldn't. Despite the sensation of his gut ripped in two, despite his headache and everything else that was currently wrong in the world, Shinpachi laughed, curling up on his futon, hands clenching over his belly, tasting blood in his throat as tears of mirth or pain forced their way into his eyes.
"God...that's rich," he choked, feeling sick and angry and so close to something like plain happiness, "You know I'd win."
Red eyebrows shot up.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah...every single fucking time..."
To his relief Sanosuke said nothing more, but just watched quietly as Shinpachi writhed on his futon trying to get a grip on himself, trying even now to decide which of them was more of a child or idiot or just blind; who was right, who was wrong. His laughter started to die when his tongue was coated in his own blood and it just hurt too much to continue.
"I'm completely serious," the injured man rasped, glaring up with the ghost of a smile and hard blue eyes that were something akin to ice coated in deep hot fires, stars, maybe?
"And so am I," Sanosuke answered, his face finally softening into a sad, gentle smile.
"We can fight this out when you're better. You should probably hold off on eating, but don't listen to a word Yukimura-sensei says about sake. I've found that drinking a lot of it helps kill infection."
"You made that up."
"No way, it's true."
They immediately sobered up again.
The mention of drinking triggered something painful, maybe Serizawa's death, maybe the way that since Serizawa, they hadn't drank away the long nights together as much as they used to. There was still that gaping rift between them that still had yet to scar over like Sanosuke's old wound under the southern sun, or even begin to heal like Shinpachi's new one in pouring rain.
The two of them drifted off in the silence and their own exhaustion.
Waking up the second time was even worse, because Shinpachi now not only had strained his injury earlier, but he also hadn't found any answers. As a result, the agony and frustration apparently doubled or tripled upon his return to consciousness, immobilized and stuck in a house of murderers. He glared at the ceiling, wishing that he had never even bothered coming to Kyoto, or that he could have just been satisfied with a boring life as a rich samurai bastard and a Nagakura with the "naga" part meaning "long," not "eternity."
Oh, wouldn't everything have been much simpler then?
Life wouldn't have led him to a futon in shitty Mibu Village, recovering from being stabbed in the belly by one of his allies, left to lie there and stew in his own resentment and confusion.
It might have been worth staying in Edo and being fawned over by idiot civilians who just wanted his favor or protection and samurai who wanted his rank, like the bloodsucking ticks that they were.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of red.
Harada Sanosuke was sprawled out on the tatami, his long hair matted all over his face and obviously fast asleep. The younger man must have finally dozed off, though he currently looked more comatose than anything.
If Shinpachi had stayed behind in Edo, he would have given up the only people who treated him like a normal person, without any sniveling affects or ulterior motives.
He also would have let go of the best friend he could ever have.
He still didn't have his answers, but he had beliefs, he had strength in himself and his convictions, and he had time to figure things out.
There was rain, but wounds took time to heal, after all.
