(Author's Note: The End of Jin's Story! Phew, finally! Please leave reviews if you've gotten his far… I really think I'm picking up momentum. No more chapters for another few days… I want REVIEWS, damn it! Warnings about future chapters… the worst is mostly over, but there is one very disturbed scene where Mugen gets curious about his sexuality in the next chapter. If you are someone who dislikes that stuff, such as Eminem, please stop reading. Eminem, if you are reading this, get off your lazy butt and go make another CD for people like me who like your charming, street-style beats.)
CHAPTER ELEVENEVEN
Jin collapsed forward on the ground, his stomach and lower back throbbing. It felt like his insides were expanding, pushing out all the blood inside. Certainly, it seemed that way. The floor was a veritable lake, with him an island in the middle, too weak to move from it, too weak even to complete seppuku.
He laughed bitterly. No one had ever told him how to complete seppuku, anyways. He had only a vague idea of cutting left-to-right, and he knew it should be in one slash, not several, but he couldn't possibly do it… not when he thought of his own father, insides spilled out over this very floor… Enshirou, tearing his sword upwards, spraying him with blood.
Jin turned his head to vomit. He could just lie there, he thought, let them find him and kill him. But no… they wouldn't slay him where he lay. They'd force him up, drag him back to the dojo. Everyone would see him, weak, stumbling, blood running down his legs and stomach. His family honor would be destroyed forever. He cried. He didn't care if he wasn't supposed to, he needed to. He hated honor, and he hated how confusing this was. He had never put a toe out of line, not in his entire life, and look where it had gotten him.
He pushed himself up to his hands and knees, and lay there over his blood, panting like a dog. Then, slowly, propping himself against the wicker couch, he rose unsteadily to his feet. He couldn't let them see him. It was more than he could bear, being paraded around in front of everyone, bleeding and drooling with nausea like this.
He turned his head and saw his obi lying there. It had taken him a long time to get it off his hands, after Shenji had left. It was soaked.
He reached for it and tied it around his stomach. It was throbbing, pumping blood all over him. He'd cut deeper than he meant to. He tried to assure himself that he could rip it open later, on his own time, but…
He got his swords and tied them inelegantly to his obi. He left his kimono open. He wobbled to the door. The sun was nearly set. He should have left already. But he couldn't force himself to go any faster; each step sent bolts of pain tearing up his back and searing through his stomach. He was practically gagging with pain. By the time he'd left the house and started down the hill, he had fallen into a routine of breathing; a sharp breath in, a low groan out.
He paused and turned. His house stood innocently on its hill, the peach tree leaning magnificently to the south. He bowed his head and closed his eyes. So many horrible things had happened there, but it was his home. He would miss it. He would miss it because it was there he learned to read, sitting in his father's lap pouring over old scrolls, and there he'd learned to cook, leaning over his mother's shoulder inquisitively to taste the stew she was making. It was there he watched his parents, their fighting and their dancing unidentifiable as either; there he'd heard wind-chimes and played with Yori and practiced kata for the first time in the tall grass.
He forced himself to continue downhill, turning his back on the house that was unfortunate to have so many bad things happen inside it. He resumed his breathing, a gasp and a moan, occasionally punctuated with rapid bouts of panting and whimpering.
He waded across the field, away from the city. He could not go there. He would run away. Far away. So far away that no one would know what the diamonds on his kimono meant.
"Swift as the wind, silent as the forest, fierce like the fire, steadfast like the mountain," chanted Jin as he stumbled along. "Oh, shit, shit!"
He collapsed on the ground and shrieked when his stomach felt the impact. White-hot fingers of pain reached through his body long after he'd fallen, tingling until it was no longer pain at all.
He rolled over and saw his house, a speck on the hill in the distance. He was amazed he'd made it so far.
He rolled onto his side and vomited before picking himself up and redirecting his path.
He had to hide his tracks and his scent. He was probably leaving a trail of blood, and indents in the grass. He walked parallel to the house, making for an old stream. He walked upriver, letting the current wash away his suffering, cleanse his clothes.
He turned when the grasses had cleared into a road. He followed the road, turned into a field, weaving through the crops, backtracking and going to follow the stream again.
It was dark by then. Still he went on. He was exhausted, but his mind was buzzing. He felt like he did after a good fight with Enshirou. He had nothing to eat, and even if he did, he wouldn't be able to stomach it. So he kept on, because there was nothing else to do. He went all night, alert, expecting at any moment for an enemy to appear. Could he fight in his condition? Yes, but he would be beaten.
The sun rose. He kept on. His wet feet slide around on his geta and his kimono hung off his like a tent, dripping and loose. His legs were slick with blood, and his obi had stiffened, moist and clinging painfully to him, like a parasite.
Finally, it was nearly noon when he saw a village. It was small, very small. But it looked promising.
He left the river and stumbled into down, head down, ready to pass out again. He went into the nearest teahouse; the screens and windows were all open invitingly, though there seemed to be more flies than people. There were two old men, one young man, and a girl; they were in a circle over a table, their entire bodies leaning over it, chatting excitedly. Jin stumbled into the doorway, leaning against the frame. A string of drool escaped his mouth; he was feeling nauseous again.
"Oh!" cried the girl, who spotted him first.
The young man rose, ran to him, and grabbed him just as he pitched forward. A moment later he was sitting in a chair with a wet cloth on his head and a glass of sake in front of him.
"What happened?" asked one of the old men anxiously.
"Hush!" said the girl. "Can't you see he's hurt?"
"Looks like someone slashed him across the stomach."
"The Takeda crest, see? He's probably after that kid who killed Enshirou."
"Jin," said Jin.
"Jin, that's his name. Did you meet him?"
Jin's head lolled. The girl's face came into focus, and Shenji's words rang through his head: "Never been with a woman, have you? No one would want to lay with a freak like you."
"Yes," said Jin. "He's… he's got others."
"He's got others!" repeated one of the old men. "How many?"
"Two," said Jin.
"Two! Spread the word to look for him with two others. What did they look like?"
"Stop pestering him, will you?"
"Boy, would I like to meet him," said the young man.
Jin choked out a laugh. He knew the young man was imagining him as a gallant, defiant youth, haughty and impressive-looking. No one was looking for a weak, stumbling, wet kid with glasses. It was the perfect disguise… as Shenji intended it.
Jin's laugh turned into choking. "I'm going to be sick," he said.
The girl and young man took his arms and dragged him outside, where he dry-heaved until he was too weak to continue.
"I can take care of him," she told the young man, as Jin leaned against the wall, still on his feet but sagging pathetically. "Go get the word out about the two cronies Jin's got."
The man left.
"Hold still; you're hurt."
"No," gasped Jin, pushing her hand away as she reached for his obi.
"I know you didn't meet anyone," she snapped.
Jin's hands fell. She untied the obi and peeled it from the cut on his stomach. She laid her hands on the top and bottom of it, and pushed gently; watery pus leaked out, and Jin cried out like a child.
"DAD!" she shouted suddenly. One of the old men peeked out of the teahouse.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he asked, seeing his daughter's hands in Jin's kimono.
"I'm squeezing pus out of a cut!" she snapped. "Can you bring some ointment and clean cloth?"
He disappeared.
"You did this yourself," she said wisely.
"I couldn't finish," gasped Jin. He was starting to realize he wasn't wet because of the stream, but because of sweat. He was soaked in it. "Ahh!" he cried, breathing heavily and trying not to cry as she pushed harder on his stomach.
"Hold still, there's something in there. I'll get it."
Jin shrieked bloody murder as the cut on his stomach suddenly released a glob of thick pus. The girl wiped it away without the slightest indication of disgust, just as her father returned with a basket of things for Jin.
"Poor kid," he said sympathetically. "If Enshirou couldn't kill him, what chance did you think you had?"
"Ahh!" wailed Jin in reply, while the girl rooted around in the cut with her fingers.
The man took this as his cue to exit. He left. The girl brushed her hands off, searched in the basket, and found what she was looking for.
"This will sting a little," she warned Jin. She couldn't tell if he even heard her; his eyes were closed, and he was hyperventilating, forehead beaded with sweat. He twitched when she began spreading the lotion over his stomach but didn't make any noise. She pulled him away from the wall and leaned him against her; she pulled off his kimono and began winding a strip of clothing around his middle. It struck her how funny they much look to the people on the street; Jin, in his huge hakama, standing there with his chin on his shoulder, eyes closed, arms dangling limply down while she wrapped him up.
She tied the cloth in back and gently stood Jin up. "I'm done," she said gently, their faces inches from each other. (She didn't think he'd notice her, otherwise.)
"Thank you," breathed Jin, swaying a little. He took a few steps away from her. Clearly he meant to be on his way. How far could he possibly get, she wondered? How far, dragging his feet with exhaustion before—
Jin tripped a little; for a spilt second he revealed his feet under his hakama. His heels were soaked in blood, and on one ankle he had a rivulet making its way down.
"Hey! Wait!" She picked up his kimono from the ground and hurried after him. "Stop! You forgot your kimono. And you can't leave, anyways, you're covered in sweat and blood. You need rest. You'll never heal if you don't rest. You need something to eat, too."
"I can't eat," he said in such a plaintive way that she felt immensely sorry for him.
"It's okay. We have rooms over the teahouse. My father owns it. Come on."
"I don't have money," he said, even more pathetically.
"That's okay," she assured him, dragging him into the teahouse. After quickly telling the old man in the house what she was doing (her father and the young man had left to share their news on the murderer), she helped Jin up the stairs. Three times they had to stop and rest.
"How did you make this far?" she asked.
"I couldn't stop," mumbled Jin, head hanging in exhaustion.
"What's your name, anyways?"
"Yori."
She laughed. "Oh… I'm sorry. It's just… I thought Yori is a girl's name."
"So is Jin."
She laughed again. "I'm Kumi. You're right, Jin is a girl's name. I never even thought about that. When I heard he killed Enshirou… well, obviously his name wasn't the first thing on my mind."
They made it to the second floor, and she dragged Jin to the nearest available room. It was actually only a straw mattress on the floor, a low table, a few cushions, and a chair, but it wasn't meant for permanent living; poor merchants used the rooms when they were passing through the village.
She pulled the chair away from the wall with her foot but Jin didn't sit. He stood swaying drunkenly with his eyelids half-closed.
"Sit," she commanded. He shook his head; instead he crossed the room and achingly lowered himself onto the mattress. He lay on his stomach; Kumi cocked an eyebrow. She thought it was odd that he would lie down on his wound.
She crossed the room after him and pulled the ends of his hakama over his feet.
"What are you doing?" he asked in alarm.
"Cleaning your feet, stop freaking out! You've got blood all over you."
He tried, she thought, for a moment to get up. But after straining for a moment he laid down meekly, breathing roughly. She stole a look at his face. He was resting on his cheek, staring at the wall through his glasses, mouth open. He looked a little like a fish, tugged out of water and dying.
She pulled off his geta and went for a bowl of water and a rag. He didn't protest when she began wiping the blood and dust off his feet.
"You walked a pretty long way, it looks like. From the Mujuushin Whatchamacallit dojo, huh? When did you get hurt?"
"Yesterday afternoon."
She whistled. "You were walking all night? No wonder…" She trailed off. She had pulled his hakama past his knees, and couldn't help noticing the blood had followed an odd pattern. The cut on his stomach was on his front, but all the blood caked onto his legs was on his calves and the inside, going down to his heels. She didn't see how…
"Yori?"
He didn't reply.
"Yori?" she repeated.
"Hmm," he said.
"That cut on your stomach isn't the only one, is it?"
"Hmm," he repeated.
"Yori, I need to know all your injuries or I can't take care of them."
He didn't respond. If his eyes weren't wide open, she would have thought he was asleep.
Kumi surveyed him. He didn't have his kimono on, so she knew he didn't have any cuts on his back. But he couldn't have any on his legs, or both wouldn't be stained. But he couldn't have one on his backside, because then his hakama would be ripped. The samurai of a thousand mysteries, she thought in annoyance.
"Yori, I'm really sorry. I'm going to have to undress you."
"No," said Jin flatly.
"You're bleeding really badly, Yori."
"No," repeated Jin. He reached for his sword before he realized that his swords were tied to his obi, and she'd taken off his obi, and it was lying on the other side of the room, on the table where she'd set it.
"Yori, I'm really serious," she warned him. "You could die. You've already lost a lot of a blood."
"I don't care anymore."
"Yes you do. If you didn't care you would have finished killing yourself instead of wandering into the village for help." She leaned over him. He wrenched away, rolling of the mattress with agility she hadn't expected. He leaped at him, tackled him, and forced him down. "Stop being so difficult!" she yelled. "Let me undress you!"
"No!" shouted Jin.
"Take them off!"
"No!"
Another girl poked her head into the room, grinning wickedly. "Kumi, did I just hear what I thought I heard?"
Kumi blushed when she realized what she had been saying, and that she was lying on top of Jin, who was half-naked. "I'm sorry," she said.
"Just make sure Dad doesn't catch you." She closed the screen behind her, leaving Jin and Kumi frozen in their awkward position.
"At least tell me what happened," said Kumi finally.
"No."
"How'd you get hurt?"
"No."
"Can't you say anything other than no?"
"No."
Kumi didn't want to manhandle him, but she was beginning to think she might just have to pin him down and forcibly remove his clothes.
"Listen," she said finally. "We can do this the hard way or the easy way. You can either let me help you now, or wait until you're about to die of an infection and then have a whole room of people gawking at you. It's up to you."
Jin faced her, sitting on the floor. Not sitting, exactly, but perched on his feet in a bizarre kneeling crouch.
Jin considered. He felt too tired to think, but forced himself. He had just met Kumi. She didn't know he was Jin. Would she figure it out? What were the chances? Weeks from now, would she be telling the patrons of the teahouse about Jin, the great Jin who'd killed Enshirou and come in bleeding and stumbling? Or would she be telling them that she'd met Yori, and the bleeding was Jin's fault? Did he want to be a victim or a rapist? As long as she didn't know he was Jin, he was safe.
"Do many people come through this village?" he asked.
"No. Just merchants. We're not exactly a big city." She smiled.
"But how do you already have the news about Master Enshirou-san?"
"Some guys came through here this morning, wearing the same thing as you. They told us what happened and described this Jin to us. But he's probably far away from here by now. I don't think they would come back unless we had a perfect Jin-look-alike chained up by his thumbs for them." She added quickly, "We can go get some of them for you, though, if you want—"
"No!" said Jin sharply. "No, no. I… I don't want anyone from the dojo to see me like this."
"I understand," she said soothingly. "You don't have to worry about anyone bothering you here. Just let me take care of you, and you can go back in a few days and tell your little story about Jin and his two pals. Does he have two people with him, by the way, or did you just make that up?"
"No, it's true," said Jin hastily.
"Anyways, no one from your dojo is around for miles. So you might as well let me look at you. I won't say anything, okay? You don't even have to tell me how it happened."
Jin bowed his head. "And… and you promise not to speak of it, ever, to anyone?"
"I promise, Yori."
Jin took a deep, shaky breath. "And you won't… won't ask about it?"
"Not if you don't want me to."
Jin took another deep breath. "Okay," he said in a small voice. "But…" He never finished. He crashed face-forward onto the floor, passed out. It was for the best; he wasn't conscious to hear Kumi's gasp of horror when she finally wrestled him out of his clothes, nor awake to feel her hands on his already violated body.
Just as Kumi promised, she didn't speak a word to anyone, including Jin. Jin stayed there two days, on his mattress, wrapped in heavy sheets, sleeping and taking only thin broths for food. Kumi's father, the owner of the teahouse, offered to go get some students from the dojo to help him back, but he reacted so violently to the idea that they assured him they wouldn't and didn't bring up the subject again. The word spread in the small village that there was a student of the dojo whose master had been killed, and all wanted a peek at him; but they barred all visitors. Jin decided to leave after only a few days. He thanked Kumi without looking in her eyes and left the village with his head hung down, trying to hide his face, holding his swords and his heart hammering with fear. But no one recognized him as Jin; later, they would only describe him as "that samurai kid with glasses."
Kumi watched him leaving; with a sudden burst of emotion she ran after him. "Yori!" she shouted.
He turned at the beginning of the road ahead of him, watching her run out of the village after him. "Yori!" she panted, running up to him.
"Yes?"
"I—I—"
She blushed violently, stood on her tip-toes, and pressed their lips together. Jin looked startled. Kumi looked at the ground, embarrassed, before running back home. Jin turned his back on her and went off down the road, wondering why he hadn't felt anything after receiving his first kiss.