Tags: , swearing like a lot, ptsd , mild suicidal thoughts, flashbacks, suicidal ideation, IDK MURDER, bisexual gintoki ur welcome, mentions of shouyou and shinsingumi arc

"Love,

is it real love?

It's like smiling when the firing squad's against you

And you just stay lined up

Yeah

(Fuck)"

For more than a year, Gintoki had thought that his red-stained vision might be a permanent thing now and that the stupid sword wasn't doing its job properly.

As a child, young and alone, there had been periods before Shoyou where he had been in such an emotional state during dangerous situations that his vision had been tainted. It didn't matter what stood before him (other Amanto, samurai, a snake once) as long as it terrified him. It was as if blood-stained glass had been placed in front of his eyes, and instead of it enhancing his sight like one should hope for with awesome half-Amanto abilities, it was the opposite. It had blurred the faces of the people around him. A giant, red fishbowl had been placed over his head; he couldn't hear anything but the sound of his breathing and the dull thud of blood pounding in his ears. It had allowed him not to see the spray of blood until they were all dead and he was alone. That was before Shouyou had found that damned book and cast that spell under the moonlight, and sealed all those powers away.

And if Gin was honest with himself, he would know that fighting here and now, fighting for the men around him, for Shoyou, was nothing like those times by himself. He would know that now, the red wasn't from those "special abilities" that allowed him to kill without seeing it at all. It was from the bodies around him, people he recognized and humans and Amanto he didn't, that had all slayed eachother or died in the hurricane that seemed to rotate around him. And if he was being really, really, honest to God honest, he would say that it wasn't red he was seeing. The smoke around him, the different shades of blood from different species that seemed to coat this battlefield, was a smorgasboard to his vision. It had been as it was before he had Shouyou, and as it was now without him: black and white.

The worst part about it all, the one thing that made his stomach clench at the disgust he had for himself as well as made his heart pound and blood boil like nothing else could, it was that he enjoyed the fighting. He could brush it all off, the cheering of the soldiers around him when they won, the chanting of his newfound nickname, the looks that Takasugi and Katsura gave him when they thought they were one step closer to their sensei. He could tell them with a straight face that the reason he went into battle was because of their teacher, but could not tell them what really made him survive it. That, he told no one and vowed to never tell anybody, even Shouyou if they ever got back to him. He survived, he fought with the strength of any demon or monster people compared him to, because somewhere, throughout that fight he enjoyed the blood he spilled. There was nothing like knowing he was the strongest on the field, nothing could touch him or bring him down. And if they did manage to land an arrow, get a lucky slice in his flesh, they all died knowing it was the last thing they did and that it didn't slow him down at all.

Gintoki grips Shouyou's katana in his hand tight, and he no longer needs to worry about the slick blood loosening his hold on it. He had held it for long enough that it was now an extension of his arm, and if they wanted him to drop it they would have to cut off his hand. It had to be days now that this certain fight had been going; hell, it felt like weeks, and Gintoki didn't know how he would get back up after falling asleep the minute it was over. He will try to keep to himself later, not trusting anybody not to see how he didn't really care if he woke up, like it was written all over his face. These thoughts of later did nothing to help him now; the Amanto were endlessly coming, but for a moment it seemed like they were just as tired as he was and he took in the sounds around him. The screaming of soldiers and the sometimes deafening roar of creatures he'd never seen before seemed to override everything. The laser cannons on the floating ship above them didn't make a sound when they fired; there was only the instant heat of it and feeling as if the top layer of your skin had been incinerated if you were close, or the quickest sunburn ever no matter how far away. Gintoki could laugh about it now, pressing his back into the only other warm body he could trust right here, right now. The first time he had witnessed the cannon beam, the light sabre, whatever you wanted to call it, it was so bright it seemed to cut through all the smoke and his senses. It was so distracting, it seemed to be the only time that the enemy around him could touch him, the only time he noticed the pain. Now it was just another streak of white to his black canvas. What a joke that it even scared him before. It either killed you or it didn't; you were either fighting or running away. This day only had two ends: they strike out that ship or they run away, but retreating together wasn't such a bad idea with odds like this.

He felt the body behind his push back at his shaking shoulders and the low voice of his friend reached him despite the deafening sounds of battle. "What are you laughing about? We're about to die." Katsura Koutaru paused for a moment before continuing, his voice a lot smaller but heard nonetheless. "Insead of being slaughtered by these monsters let's cut our bellies and die like true samurai."

Gintoki couldn't help but scoff at his words, pushing his fist into the wet-soaked earth to leverage himself up. "Shut up. If you have time to fantasise about a beautiful death, why don't you live beautifully to the end?" He couldn't help but mutter under his breath, unsure if Zura heard or not. "I sure as hell ain't dying on my knees."

He could only think of the years he spent with Shouyou growing up. Actually growing up; getting to laugh with him about the weird shit like growing hair downstairs and pressing him on the 'what the fuck' of morning wood. About gaining the inches of height he had once thought he'd never get, feeling the pain in his legs and arms as his bones stretched, watching his face change as he added a digit every year. It was almost funny, a secret game that they had; a joke to be played on everyone else as they saw a young boy when he really knew so much more, saw more years than his age presumed. Gintoki didn't know how many years he had spent alone, it was closer to 15 than his six-year old appearance gave away. Not to mention years in the woods kind of blended together as the trees did. That didn't matter anyway, just those years he spent with Shouyou. He could turn to them, forget everything around him and just relish in the memories he spent with Zura and Takasugi, just getting to be a kid, or to the times that he just followed Shouyou around- the comfort of having someone who loved you look out for you, he could let everything crumble away until it was just them.

That would never save Zura on the battlefield now, where everything was muted but them. He needed to save Zura at least before he let himself die, he would save everyone else on this damn front that he could because he still could. Maybe afterwards he could fall asleep and just, sleep until he stopped breathing. But if that didn't happen, he would get up and help any way he could. Help some of these kids get back to their parents, their wives, their kids. Shouyou would want him to, before his kids came back to him.

He was in his own head for a short while before he heard Zura scoff back and stand up, and he just knew Zura was raising his own sword the same time Gin did. Just the same as he knew that when he said "Let's go, Zura", he heard the smile in "My name is Katsura!".

They got away that time, along with at least a dozen men. Less than Gintoki had hoped for, but he could only shove down that feeling with 'at least they're alive'. Takasugi survived as well, clothes tattered and torn and looking like he was going to fall over, but he was wiping his wet blade dutifully without a care in the world otherwise. Zura couldn't help but sit beside him and do the same thing. Inside him, something told him that everything was ruined. Zura saying what he had said, no more hope left in his voice. The expression on Takasugi's face told the same thing, and he couldn't bear to stand any of it. Gintoki thought it was okay for him to feel hopeless, he shouldered that thinking he could shield them from that black hole feeling. Now it was apparent; it didn't mean a damn thing, what he thought, what he felt. After a year of searching, they had all been affected. Every day that idea got stronger, the idea that maybe Shouyou wasn't alive, had probably died months ago, and here they were; fighting for nothing, but themselves. His fists shook with something he couldn't name, something that made him tear his arm out of Zura's grip when he went to walk away. He would rest somewhere else, somewhere closer to… whatever he was looking for. Peace and quiet without the silent "We're dead, but save him for us, okay Gintoki?" was all he needed right now.

The promise he had made to both Shouyou and Takasugi to save the other was weighing on both shoulders, and the feeling of being crushed was overwhelming.

It felt real enough, that when he awoke on the rooftop alone and everything inside him felt like it had disintegrated. His heart, Shouyou, turned to dust, along with his spine and backbone, and everything else around him, destroyed. Gintoki didn't want to get up, didn't want to fight in the battle they were so desperately losing. Sakamoto knew it, Zura and Takasugi knew it even if they wouldn't admit it, and he knew it. They had to see the inevitable end of their path; destruction. Whether it was collateral of being around him or not, the shame was enough to want to be buried.

Barely a week later, Gintoki made the choice. Takasugi, the fool, should have known that a pupil always listens to his master in the end. And Gintoki knew that the last thing that his fellow disciple saw in that left eye was his clean, single strike. He'd had plenty of experience of lobbing off heads, they all had, but never like this. Not executioner style, which he supposed he was now. He couldn't bear to look at them even when he knew Takasugi would lose his eye, and heard Zura fall to the ground almost the same time Shouyou's head did. He just stared at his body as it fell to the ground, and knew he could give this father a better burial than he gave his other parents. At the time, he wasn't aware of his tears leaving streaks in the blood and dirt on his face. All he could feel was his heart die, truly, and he wanted to beg, let a man die with his father. He had it now, mortality, and why shouldn't he get to cash it in? The urge to cut his own throat was so overwhelming his fingers tightened on the scabbard and his arm jerked a mere centimeter when something stopped him cold. Was it not a "get out of jail" free card, was he not cheating at life? He had always wanted to be like Shoyou, and suddenly all he could imagine was the look he would get if he left this life early instead of just 'being' like Shoyou had wanted for him in the first place. He lowered the blade back to his side.

When the crow bastards finally left, Zura patched Takasugi up while Gintoki hacked at the dirt with his sword, Shouyou's sword. The fuckers couldn't even leave them a fucking shovel, and he fed on this anger until, before he knew it, he was swinging at the ground like a miner with the fervor of a madman. When the topsoil was loose, he scooped and dug at the ground with his bare hands, using the sword like a shovel to stab at tough spots in the dirt. When Zura approached to help, Gintoki couldn't help but turn and snarl, baring his teeth like the beast he was, before remembering he was hiding in the body of a boy barely a man. Zura had just as much a right to bury him, and Gin had the least of all. He pursed his lips and turned, continuing to dig and ignoring the radiant heat from the body at his back he had long since relished in. Right now, he was the killer. The demon. He should have stayed a child, stayed in the insipid life of a nobody scavenging corpses.

When the hole was wide enough to lay his body down, minus the length of his head, but at least six feet deep, he took off his overcoat and wrapped his head in it, gently as if handling a baby. After he placed the head at the bottom of the grave, sitting in its owner's lap, he pulled himself out and stripped himself of his armour. His breastplate, unbuckled, fell to the ground, scarcely missing the toes that he exposed a moment later. Everything that wasn't the shirt and pants was discarded, his knuckle guards along with his forearm and lower leg plates, the band around his forehead. He would later regret taking off his shoes, but at the time he just wanted to drop everything. Shouyou was gone, and nothing was really worth carrying anymore. His promise had been kept, his duty fulfilled, and he was now left with nothing, which is just what he started with and he shouldn't be surprised.

But it still fucking hurt.

He went over to where he had thrown the sword that he'd called his for so long and when he picked it up it inspired none of the feeling that it had before. Before, during a fight, it filled him with courage. It wasn't just something to have in his hand, it was something to hold on to, to hold onto the memory of who wielded it first. It was his anchor, to his teacher and to his humanity. Now, it was just a weapon, a weapon that weighed him down with the knowledge of what he'd just done with it. He threw it in the grave before he could think twice about it. He knew he wouldn't regret it though; he would live and grow old, and die as he was meant to do. When he turned around, his face was schooled into a blank mask as he made eye contact with two he had once called brothers. When he felt their eyes search his face and watched as Takasugi grew furious, he knew he'd given nothing away. It would all be taken to the grave. That's how it was meant to be. Why burden the backs of these boys barely sixteen, children practically, when he had at least nine years on them? The big brother's duty was to do what he did, but now it was time to let them live, develop their own code. He couldn't fix any more than he destroyed, like he knew he would.

When Gintoki spoke, his voice was low, but even and clear like they've just buried a goldfish instead of the only real father they've ever known. "I've paid my respects. You two can finish the job," he made eye contact one last time before saying a short "see ya", turning and leaving. He had to force his shoulders to be unwavering and let their voices calling after him tune out. They could have been mosquitos buzzing above his head, because after years together, they were only worth the wave of a hand. "Thank you" was still ringing in his ears, loud enough to drown everything else.

Neither of them saw him for ten years.