"i still am full of hate, i still am full of pride.
is it all that you need? cuz it's all that i got."
After the war, Gintoki just… meandered. He had no purpose but eat, drink, piss, shit, sleep, repeat. It didn't matter where he did these things, whether he was hidden in the farmer's fields or storage sheds, or in dirty alleyways. It was all the same to him now, he didn't really give a shit. He felt disconnected from the rest of the world; people seemed to move around him like he was a trash can in the city, it didn't matter that once he had been fighting to try and save people like that, or their family members. Nothing mattered. Samurai were getting executed left and right, all those who participated in the war were being sought out and left to rot. He didn't mean to get missed, he didn't think it was all that bad to die like that, but others still died around him. It didn't matter.
Those years were dark and blurry for Gintoki. He never did anything illegal, would resort to eating garbage then steal again just to avoid the coppers, and he often found menial comfort in the woods as he once did. The pull of cities was too strong in the end. He always ended up there in fear of disconnecting from humanity completely. His promise to Shoyou would be broken in a way if he went, well, full feral, like he'd been as a child. In the end that was what got him caught by the police; that and him not being able to watch some asshole sell out his daughter, aaaand his big mouth.
Time blurred as well inside of prison as outside of prison. Now his routine was to starve, dehydrate, get beat, sleep, occasionally talk to a little girl, repeat. He didn't really give a shit about where he was or where he was going, more mild torture or the chopping block. He almost enjoyed getting waterboarded; fuck he was so thirsty, plus he didn't mind being on that cusp of unconsciousness. He never sleeps anymore, he missed when he didn't dream. Gintoki knew he made the right choice with the girl. That was that.
So he thought.
The intrusion of the warden on one of his beatings was a surprise, especially when he told them to tone it down. He'd always thought the guys in these positions of power must be sadists, must be here to watch and maybe get in a few hits. It was even more of a surprise when he visited him at his cell in the night and just. Let him out.
Gintoki didn't think he could get very far, but he managed to find a low-key district that was already busy with drifters. He was definitely starving, and his feet had stopped burning with cold a few blocks ago, and even with his thin yukata he'd walked out of jail with, everything was numb. At least he had a mop of thick curly hair to protect his poor ears. When he found the cemetery, he couldn't help but be drawn to it. He needed to see if there was a place that was quiet enough to let him rest for a bit. There were just lots of stone memorials, but nothing covered. No matter, he found one nice and secluded in the back that was good to lean on. He didn't even feel his wet ass in the snow, let alone what heat he had leaving him. There was nothing left for him to give. Where was he to go? He stayed there long enough the falling snow covered his lap and his tracks from before. It was so quiet here, nice. If he strained his ears hard enough and kept his eyes closed, he could almost hear two young boys teasing and an older man laughing, a familiar, comforting sound.
He didn't even hear her approach the grave until she was speaking to it, or more specifically, the bones underneath it. Something about manjū that he could smell almost as if in a dream. If they could splurge on the cash, Shouyou used to buy something similar. When he opened his mouth it was as dry as bone, but it didn't take long for him to start salivating at the mental image. He'd heard from somebody on the battlefront about Pavlov's dog and he didn't feel any shame at the similarity. It fact, it was fucking hilarious. He would gargle some water laying down from some pigs, and he would beg on his knees to eat from some grandma. Or he would harass her. Gintoki was too desperate to really care which.
She finished her prayers, and the snow crunched underneath her heels as she rocked back. It was now, or ever hold his peace, or whatever.
"Hey, Granny," he rasped, dry as a sandal dragging on stone. "Are those manjū?" He knew damn well what they were, "Could i have them? I'm about to keel over from starvation."
Might as well be honest if he was going to take them from a grave. He looked down at himself, stretching out a leg a little to regain the feeling a little bit. He was covered with dried blood head to toe, pulling at the hair of his bare arms and legs uncomfortably. The silence stretched on, but he didn't hear her running away. He could still almost hear Zura teasing Takasugi, while the other snarks back. Soft laughter was just out of range, and if he tilted his head he could almost hear-
"These are for my husband. You'll have to ask him."
Gintoki couldn't believe his luck. Ask a dead man if he was gonna eat that? The woman was old and must be senile- who knew when she'd lost her husband. Most likely to war, to which he'd personally spent a lot of time sitting with men like that. Ate with, watched backs for, shared scavenged food with and slept beside. If he'd asked any one of those many soldiers he'd met over those two years for some manjū 'cause he was about to flop, he could hear the answer clear as day 'cause he'd heard it a thousand times before. His fingers grazed around the stone altar until he felt the small plate she'd brought them on. Almost falling over to pull them around and towards himself, he began stuffing them into his mouth as soon as his numb fingers cooperated. The old lady waited until he swallowed them. Very polite.
"So what did my husband say? Can you guess what he said?" Her voice was almost amused instead of affronted which was a good sign. In his mind's eye, the black and white battlefield he spent a good half of his life in, he could see into the endless sockets of a dead man and felt comfort. It was the best thing about corpses he'd learned as a boy. He looked at the sky, and knew there was only one thing to do.
"Why would a corpse say anything? But I repay my debts." The clouds shifted, letting sunlight illuminate the snow like glittering diamonds. He hadn't seen something so beautiful in months, had maybe lost the eye for it years ago. "Your old lady probably doesn't have much time left so i'll make sure she gets back to you safely."
Can someone ever get used to actions of sympathy? Because Gintoki had become numb to the guilt (or just good at masking it- he couldn't remember) of being lucky to survive, but couldn't get used to strangers looking at him and thinking 'i'm going to help that'. Looking at a man half feral, exposed in the snow with nothing but a conman attitude and a threadbare yukata, covered in blood; who in their right mind thinks that's a good idea? Otose seemed to think so, and one look at her said she was everything but feeble. That was the old lady who insisted he come live at her Snack Shop. She had a stern look, but he could tell instantly she was big softy inside. Probably fed the stray cats in her alley with good cream or something. When they got there, Otose had grabbed him by the ear and dragged him to a low stool to cut his hair. After that, she pushed him towards her bathroom with a shower and told him to figure it out. He'd hadn't bathed in water that wasn't natural rain since the weather turned. It took him so long to figure out the knobs he felt like one. When he got out, feeling cleansed of more than just collected grime and blood, she brought him a few of her late husband's yukatas. The tour upstairs was short before he was left alone, and he thought she trusted too much.
Living above somebody was definitely unusual, but he sort of liked it. Gintoki always liked the advantage of high ground, could never stop thinking about it or at least looking for it. This place was comforting in that, at least. Being big and empty was definitely not a bonus. He would never admit it to anybody that he stuffed a blanket into the closet and slept in there most of the time. He did get some sleep that way; every time a nightmare started, he would thrash. This way, he woke himself up before it could get too bad. After a while he hoped he would train himself out of turning into a wraithing mess on the floor, kicking over furniture or something. Gin could at least put a closet door back in its track.
Until one night, a dream that was a little too vivid of a certain execution.
His arm thrashed out, and before he could rein it back in, he punched the door right in half. It clattered to the ground in what sounded explosive in the early morning. Gintoki shot up in a flash, reaching for a sword that wasn't there. He was panting and sweating, and it was so real he wanted to cry, but he couldn't if he wanted to. Staring at the closet door and thinking about something, anything else. The weird screen box thing in the streets with moving pictures, how there were things blaring noise on every street corner, random ships in the sky that had him humming for a fight, braiding Zura's hair before a battle back when it was silky smooth on his fingers and not matted with blood, beams of light striking out his sight. Eventually, he came back to Earth when he heard people milling about outside. Gintoki brushed his teeth with a toothbrush he found in the cabinet. He carefully avoided looking in the mirror. He needed to talk to the old hag about the door, he would have to pay to fix that.
With what money? Unless you wanna be turning tricks, you won't be having luck with much else.
Shut up, stupid voice. Otose won't kick you out for that, and that old hag will for sure need help with something. Hopefully, she had something he could fix with his fists.
He eventually headed downstairs. It was an overcast day, mild in its temperature without any wind. Better than the freeze he'd been sitting in not too long ago. The snack shop door rattled open and shut and it smelled like cigarettes inside which was somehow comforting. It helped ground him to reality and she had soft music coming out of a small box on the counter. He hopped up beside the bar and looked longingly at the liquor. He tore his gaze away only when he heard her soft footsteps. She was dressed pretty much the same, with easy makeup and her hair up in a dignified bun with hairpieces to match. Her yukata was put together perfectly, and she always had that no-shit look on her face. Otose just stared at him with an eyebrow raised like she already knew something was up. She probably did; he wasn't exactly quiet when he broke the damn thing. Might as well get it over with.
"I broke the closet door by accident. Can I work to pay for it?" he asked, picking his ear while he did it. He'd never really asked for a job before, but there was a first time for everything.
"So that's what that racket was, huh?" She took a pull of her pipe that just magically seemed to be lit and already smoking. "I have a list of groceries, then I need you to fix the counter in the bathroom. You know how to use a hammer and nails right? Good, my husband's tools should be in the closet down here somewhere."
So that's how the rest of the week went; him doing weird odd jobs for her around the bar; picking up more liquor or snacks, getting groceries and toiletries, fixing little things that had broken over the years. He even served a few customers for her when she needed to sit down for a while, and kicked a few rowdy ones out. It felt good to be doing something repetitively that wasn't just thinking about the same things over and over. Working with his hands made him forget all about it. In that week, he'd dragged his makeshift bed out of the closet and slept in the middle of an empty room that was equal distance between the window and the door, and that both were in eyesight. He'd had less dreams than he'd had in years and more sleep than he'd thought possible.
Gintoki only dissociated twice in front of her, he'd broken down and cried like a baby but she didn't laugh at him. She got him a glass of water, then something stronger and sat with him until he talked. He told her about participating in the war, which took a little coaxing on her part (he was more nervous of implicating her, never forgetting the vital role he played in the resistance), and talked about his 'brothers' he called them. He never mentioned what he'd done, but he mentioned witnessing his father's execution. She patted him and pulled him close and he hadn't felt so comforted since Shouyou. His routine and life almost clicked into place after that, as well as he could with a minor drinking problem.