Author's Note: I was recently notified through FFnet that a kind reader had favorited this piece. That got me thinking about it and I went back to have a look, check for typos and possible needed revisions (of which there are many). That was when I realized that the last posting for this story was in December of 2015, when I finished it. Unfortunately; and for reasons I can't remember, I only posted half of it. I'm going to pick up the torch on this one again, clean it up, and see if I can't get it up for those who would like to see how it ends. Wish me luck, folks.

Uncomfortably Numb

And just like that, she was gone.

Gods what I won't do to that bitch when I get my hands on her! is what Hijikata would be thinking, he was sure. That and all other manner of vile things, which she did deserve Souji had to admit.

Something else he had to admit was that she was very good.

Her choice of location, injuring herself in such a way, having the poisons already in place, and knowing which one to use when...

Had she known that he would need medicine after a day out in the cold? Had she set up the smaller pot just for him or just in case?

There were so many questions he wanted to ask her.

But she was gone and they were stuck here, frozen in place.

And he was dying.

He knew it. He could feel it. He tried again to force his body to obey him.

It wouldn't.

She'd known what she was doing when she picked her poisons. And she was right, blow-fish toxin was a paralytic.

In small doses it paralyzed the muscles. Pretty much all of them except the ones used for automatic functions.

Things like the heart, lungs, the brain, as well as the internal organs and the five senses.

This was why he couldn't move; why he couldn't get up and go to Hijikata now, when his friend most needed him.

But why he could sneeze, blink—almost—when his eyes burned, or cough. It was why he could still cry.

And he was crying.

Because he was coughing.

Not the deep hacking cough he was used to; his paralyzed chest and abdominal muscles were limiting his ability to draw enough air for that. It was a small cough of almost no significance.

And that was the problem.

His coughing fits weren't caused by the usual congestion associated with some kind of bad cold. He had blood and fluid in his lungs that needed to be expelled, but his body was no longer able to do that. If this continued for too long, he might drown.

Although he seriously doubted it would continue for that long.

He was pretty sure that he would suffocate before that happened.

The automatic functions were not effected when small doses were used. But small doses had not been used here. Especially not on him.

A relaxant in the cup with his medicine, venom and toxin in the two rice cakes he ate, and more toxin with his cup of tea.

No, not a small dose at all, not for someone of his size and in such poor health.

It had been a very large dose and in larger doses the internal organs, such as the lungs, would stop working, and he would stop breathing.

And that was the point. This had all been aimed at him; he should have seen that when she said she used honey on her rice cakes. He had never believed in coincidences before, but today he hadn't thought twice.

Because he was cold, he was tired, he hadn't wanted Hijikata-san to know how awful he felt, and because she used honey on her rice cakes.

It was his fault that they were both here, that they both might die.

Although, Hijikata-san had taken less of the poison, and he was a big, healthy man. He had faith that Hijikata-san was strong enough to overcome it. But it was still his fault.

His fault that he—at least—was dying.

And so he was crying.

Not out of a fear of death as he wasn't particularly afraid of dying, specifically. Souji had been preparing himself for that eventuality for over a year now.

Nor out of a fear of pain. You didn't get to where he was without being able to handle pain.

But to have it happen like this, in front of his best friend, and neither of them able to comfort the other.

No gallows humor at the end, no one nearby to warm you as the cold sets in, no last words, no one's hand to grip in that final moment of defiance and refusal to leave it all behind.

To be in the same room, only to watch the other die alone, could there be a more horrible experience?

Ten years of training together to get to where they were. Five of those years spent fighting side by side, covering each other's backs.

Two years of walking to and from town together for every new medicine that came along, only to have to clean up the blood from his latest coughing fit when it didn't work.

Two years of walking to and from town together for the sickly sweet candies that were the only things, the only flavors, strong enough to clear the constant coppery taste of that blood from his mouth.

Hijikata-san—, no.

Not san.

Not now.

Not ever again.

His friend, Hijikata Toushiro—

Toushi.

After such an incredible investment, all that time and effort trying to hold back the inevitable, to give Souji as much of a future as possible; only to have it all stolen away. That was bad enough.

But for Toushi to be forced to watch it, like this, unable to help his friend through it, unable to provide even the smallest comfort...

That was the hardest part, for them both. He wanted that comfort, needed it even, but not as much as Toushi needed to be able to give it to him.

And Toushi was not a man to accept failure laying down; or in this case, sitting up. He would rage.

Yes my friend, he thought. You are the strong one. You will survive this.

And, he hoped, find her before his rage wore itself out on the Shinsemgumi themselves.

Gods what we won't do to that bitch when we get our hands on her!

You will find her, and when you do, my soul will sing through your blade, he thought.

And he prayed the gods would see fit to send that thought on to his friend.

Because sending his thoughts was all he could do, all he had left to give now. Even the tears he'd let flow to tell his friend that he still had some small semblance of control, that he was still all here, even those were beginning to desert him.

His breathing had gone from rough and ragged to shallow and now was faltering altogether.

He was no longer coughing.

He was no longer crying.

But across the room sat his friend, and with his vision failing he could just make out,

Toushi was.

o0o0o

Gods what I won't do when I get my hands on you, bitch! he thought, as he watched her slide the door closed.

This was followed by a slue of mental curses that would have burned the ears from a demon if they'd been audible.

But cursing her to all the seven hells seven times over was getting him nowhere.

Finally, when he could avoid it no longer, he shifted his eyes to Souji.

Oh gods! He's crying.

Souji didn't cry, not since he was about ten years old. Oh he loved to play the pitiful little scamp, but he was no such thing.

Thanks to me.

This kid might have a heart of gold, but he also had ice water in his veins. He was not a child.

But he is still a kid.

And he's crying.

Dammit, I need to move!

He couldn't move.

He tried to tell himself that the kid couldn't blink properly and his eyes were just watering. He tried.

It didn't work.

This was more than just watering. The tears were running down his cheeks, in at the corners of his mouth and...there it was.

The blood.

Oh gods, not like this!

He hadn't noticed right away because they were so much smaller and quieter than normal, but it was obvious now.

Souji was coughing.

And what tiny amount of blood and fluid was managing to come up, to clear itself from his lungs, was waiting on his lips. Waiting to mix with those tears and continue on their way down to drip lazily off his chin and onto his light blue yukata.

That light blue, quilted winter yukata that all the commanders and captains had saved and pitched in to buy for him. Knowing he had that to keep him warm was the only reason Hijikata had allowed Souji to continue walking to town with him, especially on these cold, wet days.

He had never regretted a gift as much as he regretted this one right now. Knowing that if he'd never bought it, the boy would be home and safe, not sitting here with blood staining that yukata that he loved so much.

The boy.

Yes, no matter how you sliced it, no matter how much of his soul he had relinquished in order to become the swordsman that he was, Okita Soujirou, Captain of the First Squad, was a twenty year old boy.

He should never have been here.

We should never have been here.

He tried to speak to Souji with his eyes, let him know that it would be alright.

The coughing was easing, and with it, the ragged breathing. Hijikata allowed himself to believe his own lies for just a moment, prayed that Souji would as well.

Everything will be alright.

But it wouldn't and they both knew it.

Souji's breathing had gone shallow, his tears no longer ran.

So fast! It's happening too fast!

And Hijikata knew why

Souji had ingested more than double the poison that Hijikata had. Twice the rice cakes and twice the tea.

That alone would have put him in grave danger even had he been the same size as Hijikata, but Souji's body mass was so much smaller than his, and Souji was sick.

The bottom line was plain.

Souji was dying.

The boy who had sacrificed most of his soul in order to follow in his friend's footsteps, was dying.

Right in front of him.

This cannot happen!

This must not happen!

But there was nothing he could do. Nothing but watch.

Then dammit, he would watch. No matter how much it hurt, or how much he wanted to turn away, he would watch. Because it was the only thing he had left to give, now.

This child who had been the only student who could put up with his attitude.

This boy who had willing followed a demon into battle when he should have been playing kick ball.

This friend who sat across from him, alone, scared and in need of comforting more now than ever before in his life, and who was probably more worried about his demonic mentor than himself.

Because even now, the kid had a heart of gold.

Souji was The Demon's Child, his child.

And as the Demon who had created him, it was Hijikata's duty to watch.

And watch he did; as the tears dried to streaks down Souji's cheeks, as the shallow breathing slowed, as the last little bit of blood was brought up from lungs struggling for air and forced out past pale lips by the final exhalation.

The death rattle.

He watched to the very end.

And when Hijikata could see from the blueish tint of the lips and eyelids, and the slump of the body; when he could see through his own tears enough to know it was over, He howled.

His throat was still paralyzed but his lungs were not.

With no thought at all and only emotion as his guide, he pulled in as large a breath as he could manage and let it out.

Pure rage and pain forced past frozen vocal cords and out into the night in the form of a long, low, mournful howl that sent shivers down the spines of those who heard it.

A reminder to them all why the Shinsenguni were known as the Wolves of Mibu.