Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or events taking place in "Rurouni Kenshin" by Nobuhiro Watsuki. Please don't sue me. I receive no money from this fanwork, only a writer's creative satisfaction. Also, reviews are always welcomed, read and cherished, but never necessary.

Title: Kaerigake, On the Way Home

Chapter 5: Insanity knows insanity, just as sanity knows sanity.

Word Count: 2,464

[Total Word Count 12,096]

Fandom: Rurouni Kenshin

Character(s): Those souls who were once Himura Kenshin, Saitou Hajime and Sagara Sanosuke. Also, Himura Kenshin and Saitou Hajime.

Warning(s): Character death and reincarnation, bloody memories, nightmares, melancholy, violence

Author: Kita Kitsune (Call me Fox!)

Post date: Sunday, September 14, 2014・平成二十六年九月十四日・日曜日

: : : : : : :

The war was ending. The Revolution was nearly over, but there was still fighting going on. Himura Battousai heard his name called, and hurried to the source of it, where his help was most needed. The Shinsengumi were still fighting. He did not want to kill more men, but neither would he forfeit the lives of his comrades to their swords. As Himura Battousai approached, he recognized one man, standing tall at 180 centimeters, his head above the rest. That gaze like a wolf's pierced him, and Himura Battousai wove his way through the battle in the direction of his great rival. Guttural screams and showers of blood opened the path for him, bodies falling in his wake to the deadly swiftness of Hiten Mitsurugi Ryuu.

This would be the third and final time he would fight Saitou Hajime.

At last, they were close enough for real combat, and Himura Battousai rushed in, delivering a Ryuusousen, hoping to press his speed advantage and get in the first hit. Saitou dodged, however, by diving lower than the flurry of hits and bringing his sword up for a stab. Himura Battousai jumped back and delivered a Doryuusen, sending earthen debris flying up at his opponent, granting him a screen. Himura Battousai wasted no time in leaping high into the air above the cloud of dirt for a Ryuutsuisen-Garami, intent on cleaving Saitou's skull in twain with a gravity-strengthened stab. As he came down, he felt his blade connect with another and sink into flesh – not the head, but Saitou's right shoulder. His target had anticipated his attack, moved slightly to avoid a fatal injury, and brought his own sword up to lessen the effect of the blow. Himura Battousai swiped his sword outward as he landed, scratching sharply across the other blade and drawing more blood with the slash, then swung it around in a Ryuukansen; only it was opposite, attacking from the front instead of behind, and aiming for Saitou's unprotected stomach.

This would be their decisive battle; only one of them would walk away. Himura Battousai did not fear death, and did not value his own life as he should, but he had his pride as a swordsman who had slain many, and would not go to his death without a fight.

Again, the sharp clang of sword meeting sword rang out, impossibly loud considering the chaos around them. Saitou smirked at him from behind the crossed blades.

"You'll have to do better than that, Battousai." He intoned in a feral whisper, yellow eyes gleaming. Himura Battousai kept his expression neutral and leapt back out of range, again. Saitou sank into his familiar left-handed Gatotsu stance, and Himura Battousai watched on, sword held at his side. He had not seen the Gatotsu in a few weeks, and was wary enough to realize Saitou might have improved his variations of the technique in that time.

Both swordsmen remained still in the midst of the ongoing battle. No one dared approach them; their overpowering, murderous ki being enough to dissuade any onlookers from interfering.

Himura Battousai tensed as Saitou Hajime's expression changed just before he uttered a battle cry and lunged forward at him, deadly sword aimed for Himura Battousai's forehead. Deciding quickly, Himura Battousai dodged to the left and down, crouching for a split second and bringing his own sword in a sharp cut into Saitou's thighs. He felt the satisfying resistance of flesh for a moment before a hand (Saitou's right!) grabbed his gi and dragged him up, catching him off-guard enough that the hilt of Saitou's sword crashed into his cheek undeterred. Himura Battousai was sent flying to the ground, a nasty-looking bruise on his right cheek as he tried to blink the shock from his eyes. Saitou Hajime was still standing, but the cuts and blood on his thighs gave no doubt that he'd been injured. Himura Battousai lifted his sword, standing up, leaned over slightly as he watched his adversary's movements closely. Saitou settled into another Gatotsu stance, and Himura Battousai's eyes narrowed. He darted forward, snaking under Saitou's outstretched arm before grounding himself and pushing his sword up with both hands in a Ryuushousen, aiming to slice upwards into Saitou's neck. A knee in his stomach made him crumple inwards, Saitou's sword easily coming down to bite into his back. Himura Battousai moved in time to avoid a killing blow, rolling over and back onto his feet, but he could still feel the deep gouge of the sword like fire against his skin, making every stretched movement of his back painful, eyes narrowing as he watched Saitou carefully.

They were both wounded, now, both having drawn blood. Saitou's eyes were as menacingly amused with him as ever; a very dangerous man, and a top-notch swordsman. A true Wolf of Mibu. It was Himura Battousai who attacked first, this time, sheathing his sword before leaping high into the air and flipping over, falling headfirst towards the ground and unsheathing his sword in an instant, aiming a death strike across Saitou's chest. But he was blocked by his enemy's sword, again – and then Saitou caught him by his gi and lifted him up above his head, the edge of his sword in Himura Battousai's neck.

"This is your end." He whispered, malevolently intimate. Himura Battousai remained stone-faced, cold and calm in the face of certain death.

"Yours, as well." Saitou looked down, only now realizing that his foe's swordpoint rested a mere centimeter from his stomach. It would take a flick of a wrist for Himura Battousai to disembowel him. He looked back up, and they stared at each other; a stalemate.

It took one brave, but foolish, Ishin Shishi grunt interrupting them with a yell. Himura Battousai barked a command to stay back, but it was too late. Saitou threw him aside, and slashed his sword through the unfortunate man, who died with a gurgle and the familiar spatter of blood. Himura Battousai stood, anger in his eyes at yet another comrade slain, but in that moment another Shinsengumi captain rushed in to Saitou's side, shouting something about Okita being overrun. Saitou cast Himura Battousai a glance over his shoulder; promising death, if they should meet again. Himura Battousai watched grimly as his rival left, and then pivoted suddenly as he sensed a hostile ki behind him, easily slaying the inexperienced swordsman with one deadly slash through his torso.

The battle was not over, but it would be, soon. They would have to settle their score another day.

This fight would later be called Toba-Fushimi, and it spelled the end of 300 years of Shogun rule.

: : :

Sancho hadn't had a bad life. He'd grown up with a lot of siblings, and being towards the younger end of the spectrum sometimes had to wrestle for his food. It was really no wonder he'd gone into butchery. One of his older brothers was a doctor, or something, and a sister was a lawyer, and good for them, but that kind of life didn't really appeal to Sancho. He felt much better working with his hands, giving the little old ladies and men that came into the store their usual weekly helpings. It was worth it, being able to interact with them, make their lives a little less miserable with some good meat. Kennan had shown up out of nowhere several years ago, and Kama'd immediately taken a protective shine to him. Tani, too, always fussed over Kennan. Was it only Sancho who knew the guy didn't need protecting? Sure, he looked weak, and always had an easy smile ready, but there was something else there… Sancho couldn't put his finger on it. He just knew there was more to Kennan than met the eye.

Fast-forward to today, and Sancho was paying a visit to his friend, a case of beer tucked under one arm. Kennan'd been down in the dumps, recently, and Sancho knew for a fact he had the weekend off, due to Kama's insistence. Sancho'd been later leaving than usual due to the usual rush hour for meat on a Friday after most people got off work, so he missed his friend when Kennan had clocked out. Kennan didn't have many friends besides those who worked in the store – other than an uncle he'd mentioned, vaguely, one time – and Sancho knew that the girls got on his nerves, sometimes, even if he was always patient with them. So, best friend to the rescue it was!

Sancho whistled as he knocked on the door, shrugged at hearing no response and used his key to open it and let himself in, announcing his presence loudly.

"Oi, Kennan! Got some beer and figured you could use some company – " There was a sound of shuffling, and, suspicious, Sancho continued into the living room. He blinked at the scathing-yet-eerily-neutral look aimed in his direction, and then glared when he recognized him. "Oi, you. Sword guy. Where's Kennan?" He wouldn't put it past the guy to have killed him and hid the body, somewhere. Sancho didn't know why, but something about him always got on his nerves.

"I'm here." A voice floating up from the floor made Sancho blink, again, and he stared as Kennan sat up. His clothes were rumpled, and he looked a little haggard. His mouth was swollen, too, and – Sancho blurted out the first thing that came to mind, to distract himself.

"H-H-Hey, am I… interrupting something?" It wasn't like Sancho to be hesitant, but suddenly the ceiling was much more interesting than the oh-so-immodest position in which the other two men happened to be. He heard shuffling, and a small thud, and Kennan's quiet voice, sounding both relieved and irritated.

"No. In fact, Saitou was just leaving." Saitou? The man in question spoke before Sancho could wonder where he'd heard that name, before.

"I don't believe I was, actually." Kennan's tone turned testy, and Sancho risked a glance down from the lighting fixture on the ceiling to see – of all things – Kennan glaring at the other man as he stood, fixing his clothes.

"Shall I show you the door?" Wow. That was really… well, assertive, for Kennan. Sancho blinked as – Saitou? Was that the man's name? – smirked in response to the barb.

"No need to be unfriendly, now." If possible, Kennan's glare turned darker, and Sancho flexed his fingers over the bottom of the case of beer still slung under his arm, eyes darting between the two men.

"Kennan, you sure I'm not interrupting – ?"

"No!" Now that almost sounded furious, which was strange enough that Sancho's mouth snapped shut, not bothering to try and hide his shock. Kennan's entire body was tensed as though preparing for a fight, his hands curled into fists at his sides. Saitou stood slowly, by contrast seeming relaxed and uncaring, almost insultingly dismissive of Kennan's anger. He cast a lazy smile towards Kennan, nodding slightly – was it a sword instructor thing, maybe?

"When you cool off, you know where to find me." He stepped past Kennan, brushing by Sancho as he headed for the door. "Excuse me." The politeness was at odds with the vibe Sancho was getting from Saitou, but he didn't bother to watch the man leave, instead watching Kennan carefully. Once the door shut, his friend looked badly startled, almost skittish, and Sancho moved to set the beer on the floor, walking over to him and grabbing Kennan's elbow gently. He jerked at the touch, but Sancho firmly sat down on his couch, dragging his friend to sit beside him, his voice flat.

"What was that. You look like hell. Am I going to need to beat that guy up?" A huffed, depreciative laugh was all he got at first, before Kennan shook his head.

"He's a kendo instructor, Sancho. I don't think it'd be evenly matched." Sancho scoffed at him.

"Oh, please. I'd go easy on him." Kennan at last looked up at him, mildly exasperated, and Sancho grinned at him. "C'mon. Seriously, what's eating you? You look like you've seen a ghost." Kennan's eyes dropped to his lap, and his hands slowly migrated towards each other, latching around his wrists. Sancho let go of his elbow.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." Kennan eventually sighed, shaking his head. "Or you'd think I'm insane." Sancho snorted at him, and shoved his shoulder.

"Hey, man, where's the trust? I'm not your best friend for nothing, you know. As long as you're not planning to break the law, I don't think I'm duty-bound to report anything you tell me. So what's up?" Kennan was silent for a long time – long enough that Sancho got restless with the silence, and reached down for two beers. He opened them both, and set one on the coffee table in front of Kennan. Predictably, it went ignored. Still – watching the table, now, to take the pressure off Kennan – Sancho sipped at his as he waited for his friend to gather his nerve, or his thoughts, or… whatever-it-was that was making him so hesitant to open up.

Finally, there was a soft sigh from beside him, and Sancho's ears perked up. Kennan's voice was low.

"Did you ever have… dreams, Sancho?" It was an odd question, and Sancho frowned.

"Of course I have. Who doesn't dream?" It felt like Kennan was leading up to something, almost.

"No, I mean… Did you ever have dreams where you… weren't you?" Sancho hesitated to respond, at this, but Kennan went on, regardless. "Where you're somewhere else, and you're surrounded by people you don't know but who are familiar, and you're doing things you would never do but you can't stop doing them because that's who you are in this dream and – "

"Are you talking about past lives, Kennan?" Sancho interrupted him suddenly, glancing over at his friend. He felt unsettled at the topic, and yet – Kennan gave him a watery smile.

"It sounds quite strange, doesn't it?" Sancho considered him, a moment. He weighed his response.

"… Do you have those kinds of dreams, Kennan?" Sancho ended up asking. Kennan nodded, eyes dropping again to his lap.

"I do." The air was thick, and Sancho just knew Kennan thought Sancho thought he was insane. Sancho smiled a little, almost rueful.

"The kind of dreams where Kama runs some school for swordsmanship, and Tani's a doctor, and Jinn's some kid who follows you around everywhere? And you're a really good fighter with a weird sword?" Sancho's voice was uncharacteristically quiet; serious, even. Despite this, Kennan started, blinking up at him with wide eyes. Sancho's rueful smile grew less brazen, more sad.

"Do you… ?"

"Yeah. I have them, too."