He has prepared his mind for a moment like this. An event in the middle of the endless war where he could not come back to the older days. Being honest with himself, he crossed that point a long time ago, when he decided to enter the movement to expel the Amanto from the country.
In a difficult struggle between men and creatures from other worlds, Sakamoto dances without rest. Other soldiers describe his way of fighting like the leaping of a frog – a frog with a very loud voice and the inability to stay still in a single place for more than an instant.
Between the dirt and polluted air, the struggle settles and there's silence: the perfect opportunity to leave and take as much as you can with you. To recover what's precious before the wind of death comes and claims more souls. The men who end up with the best condition take other men who are not so lucky with their strong arms. Given Sakamoto's instructions, not only allies are taken. Soldiers who were under opposite control are protected under an invisible wing as well, thanks to the kindness of a certain general.
Sakamoto himself takes a soldier who struggles with his legs, begging for some rest. If they make it to the camp, everyone will be able to drink and celebrate another day of breathing. The general smiles at the sole thought. Are his other comrades protected by random luck today?
Will he see Gintoki's face again tonight?
"Did you think you would be able to escape from my army so easily?" A cold, foreign voice interrupts his thoughts. When Sakamoto turns around to check on the soldier he is holding, the entire face of said man is tainted red, a never ending river across the neck, chest and making a pool on the uneven ground.
The man's skull is perforated by a brilliant sword, light emanating with powerful energy. Not a sword born on Earth, but outside of it.
His comrades yell at him, beg him to react. His muscles remain still in front of the unnamed presence menacing his back. His body doesn't yet respond, but give him enough strength to send out a single instruction:
"Escape! I can take care of myself!" He exclaims as an unexpected impulse fills his veins and makes his limbs move, enough to run and escape from another cutting intention from the enemy's weapon. It separates the ground he was positioned on seconds earlier.
One young man returns to get him, but the Amanto is faster and goes quickly to claim his life. By instinct, Tatsuma's legs run to protect the boy, because he won't allow another friend to die in front of his eyes. He surrounds him with his arm, pulling him to the side and places, without thinking, a sword gripped by the opposite hand between the enemy and them.
The sword is more powerful than he expected. It just doesn't stop. It pierces through flesh, nerves, veins and important tendons. The explosion of blood leaving his arm makes it unable to feel, warmth leaving the place almost in horror from the shock. The sword he used to grip, broken now in half, falls due to his lack of strength.
But the young man is still alive. And the enemy's will to kill has faded. His cold voice will remain in Sakamoto's mind for the following months, even years.
"This battle is over. I have taken your life as a swordsman, so there is no use for you anymore. There is no joy in winning this battle." Batou says before disappearing.
Sakamoto can barely hear these words, because they are too far away. He almost does not feel the young man next to him, scared, for his body is in alert and trembling. He falls to the ground, embraced by his comrade, and the world turns black.
When he regains consciousness, he is on a stretcher. Two men carry him to the nursery, while all his comrades from that group are running alongside, worried. His breathing is hard, as his body is still not recovered from the shock.
Not much after, Takasugi and Gintoki find the group of men. For some strange reason, it is Takasugi and not Gintoki the one who runs first towards them. There is a feeling of alarm in the way he moves, an urgency injected in his green eyes; transformed into pain the moment they connect to horizontal, tired ones. He knows the meaning of that stare, the prohibitions for the future of a samurai named Sakamoto Tatsuma.
"It looks they beat you pretty bad," Shinsuke comments with a forced smile.
"True. Heh, it seems I am not a good samurai after all," The man looked downwards, focusing on the blood still bright on his skin.
Takasugi knows him pretty well, he can already tell the kind of story behind such a horrible wound. He is aware of Sakamoto's lack of instinct for self-preservation when something he thinks is precious is in danger. Such a reason is why his fist clutches in unspoken anger and why he laments this outcome the most. The man was just doing what a real samurai is supposed to do, according to their master: to wander and to protect what is important. Sakamoto was not a part of their school, but embraced the fighting spirit on his own manner and because of it, Takasugi respects him.
"You are right. A good samurai would never get himself hurt like this. Only a rookie would not know where to leave a fight. You deserve it."
But actually Sakamoto doesn't deserve this. He is just too good for the war. He is the one supporting it, the one smiling and laughing for the rest of them, the one who knows how to forget in the middle of the storm. If this is the way the deities are making them know he is too good for this, then it is such a shitty way to show them.
The samurai known as Sakamoto Tatsuma is dead.
"Sakamoto Tatsuma is not dead," a voice behind him interrupts, full of energy. Tatsuma's heart beats harder. "His war is not over. There are still ways he can fight. It is okay."
"Leave the petty fights to us, and just do what you can." Takasugi and Shiroyasha speak in unison.
"Who did this to you? We'll search for him." Both warriors leave the scene in search of the culprit.
And it is settled. Sakamoto has to focus on his rebirth and recovery. The others would keep fighting in his place, protecting what he leaves behind on the battlefield.
He stares at the ceiling of the infirmary room, trying to connect the dots of what happened and of what is next for him. They tell him the wound would take at least a couple of weeks to be in a decent condition and that he must rest, the opposite of what he loves doing.
He has never been as good as his three best friends in the campaign but, even if he is not a good samurai, he is an optimist. When his recovery ends, maybe the war will finish. Maybe he can start an enterprise and become a good merchant.
Maybe he can start a life with Gintoki by his side and have a business together. Instead of having to beg for time and stay side by side some nights, they could have the liberty of cuddling every moment the Moon is above them in the sky. They could congratulate each other after a good day, play with curly hair and drink until they start whispering rare stuff on their ears, adorned with the scent of alcohol and the sweetness of nothing but warm feelings.
It is lonely in this place and Gintoki is busier with each passing day. His recovery doesn't last just two weeks, instead this period turning into a whole month thanks to a stupid reaction to a chemical component applied to his transforming scar. It is difficult to focus on the same dots, looking at him from the ceiling, asking: "What is this for?"
So when Gintoki, Takasugi and Zura are allowed to bring some sake to the room he stays at, Sakamoto smiles, but not as hard; he laughs, but not as loud. He only knows how to love. He knows how to wait patiently for his friends to arrive. He has learned how to pray every day so they get home at night. He treasures the little moment that Gintoki can smile at him, touch his hand, and the look on his eyes when he is not Shiroyasha anymore and only a man who promised to protect him with all he has.
Why is it, then, that he feels so sad? Why does he feel like he is being strangled against the advancing clock, as if everything is about to be transformed?
"Hey, Sakamoto. Sakamoto!" Zura's voice wakes him up from his contemplative state.
"What is it, Zura? Are you guys not enjoying the booze anymore? You brought it, didn't you?"
"It is not Zura, it is Katsura! And that's what I should ask you. What's wrong with you lately?"
"It is nothing, it is nothing! I was thinking this is alright, but it would be nice to have more company! Don't you think the others that are wounded would love some too?" His hand moves, denying facts and setting up masks. The party must go on. He knows Katsura is not convinced, he is too intelligent and perceptive. But a hand is placed on Katsura's shoulder and he lets the subject go, because maybe he is pressing too hard. Nonetheless, the worry is still there.
One shared bottle is empty now, and Takasugi and Zura announce their leave. Gintoki stays.
"I am going to stay with Tatsuma and make sure the sake doesn't do anything weird, you can go on." Gintoki mentions, almost as a subtle order, and their friends retire. They know what he really wants to talk about.
There is silence, sometimes interrupted by nervous laughter. Gintoki places his hand on Tatsuma's.
"I know it is difficult, but you need to be strong and bear it, Tatsuma," the young man wearing white clothes says quietly, "you will be able to fight again and support us. But if you let your spirit go like this, your recovery will take longer."
Sakamoto sends him a warm smile. The only honest one he has shared during all the evening.
"Hahaha, don't worry, Kintoki! I know that. It is just that it is boring to stay here and not do a lot. You guys must be doing your best out there! I have heard comments about you becoming famous and feared, no matter if in the bed you are nothing more dangerous than a small dog."
"Who is a small dog?! Also, my name is Gintoki, get is right once and for all," Gintoki covers his forehead dramatically with his opposite hand, sighing.
"By the way, I found him."
"Found him? Found who?"
"The man who did this to you. We promised right? I promised I would protect you, even if that means ending the battle you left unfinished back then."
Sakamoto is mute upon the inability to know what to answer.
"But I couldn't get the guy. It turns out he is better than I expected; escaped when I thought I had him for sure." Gintoki bites his lower lips, looking at the ground. Tatsuma makes him look directly at him, placing a hand above Gintoki's chin. Then he kisses his cheek.
"After all this time? I had already forgotten about him! You shouldn't have bothered, seriously."
Gintoki's protection warms him and he thinks that, even if his arm cannot hold a sword anymore, he wants to give his best to guard Gintoki and the others in whatever way he is allowed to.
"Tatsuma," the only man sitting now turns serious, "Zura, Takasugi and I are going on a special mission tomorrow. But we will come back sooner than you think, so you must do your best to recover."
Gintoki stands up and smiles with confidence.
"Don't just take it easy because we are leaving the camp and think you can be lazy, oi, or Gin-san will have to make more work than he is willing to anymore."
Gintoki leaves, with a confused man behind his back. He never tells him when he has something to do, why would he do it now?
