"Well. . . ." It was a half hour's trek before Yamazaki broke the silence, frowning as he observed Tōshirō's limping gait. "It's not spurting."

As time passed and adrenaline faded, he felt increasingly nauseated, and the mild evening breeze turned cold against his sweat. "What about gushing?" he asked. "Is it gushing?" He knew that was just as bad as spurting, but his shoulders were going stiff and he was too weak to even glance down.

"If it were gushing I think you'd have fainted by now, fukuchou."

Though he was looking a little sluggish himself. "How are you doing, Yamazaki?"

"I'm hanging in there," he said, weak but cheerful. "I think my left collarbone is busted, but the right side seems okay."

Tōshirō grunted in approval. But with Yamazaki in a delicate state, and Sougo in a Sougo state, Zura was the only one in any real condition to help him walk. And without any of the haku to serve as a buffer, the return hike was shaping up to be yet more awkward than the last.

"Do any of us even know the way back?" The muscles at the back of Tōshirō's head were starting to hurt too, tightly as his jaw had been clenching. His wound was slowly sucking away what little energy he had left, and with Kondō out of prison and under Toshizō's watch, Tōshirō was free to focus on exactly how much pain he was in. "Someone please say yes."

Which was a lot.

"I only ever followed Susumu," said Yamazaki, "but I can get us on the right path. Probably."

"Probably."

"Yeah . . . I think."

"You think."

"Please stop repeating me, I'll only question myself."

"Perhaps it would be more wise to request extraction at this point," said Zura.

"No dice. Kondō's got the walkie."

"Why?"

"I wasn't using it anyway. Your stupid friend forced my hand."

"Maybe Kondō's got them looking for us?" said Yamazaki.

"How, floodlights and flyovers? Unless you've got a tracking device in that spare bomb, Zura."

"You're assuming there is only one spare bomb, but no, I maintain no such tracking device."

"Let me rephrase, because maybe you're just being an idiot pedant. Regardless of whether or not it is in a bomb: do you have any tracking device at all."

"If I did I'm sure I wouldn't alert the Shinsengumi to the existence of such a device."

"Because I'd get you a goddamn key to the city if you could get me pumped full of narcotics even one second sooner."

"That would come in handy. . . ."

"Katsura Kotarō I swear to—"

"It's almost too bad I don't have one."

"I'm going to kill you. Someday, I will kill you."

"You're being a baby, Hijikata-san."

"How the hell are you walking, Sougo? You could barely stand earlier."

"Oh." He paused to twist back and check out his dress. "I was hoping it looked like that. He cut the kimono but missed me. See?"

And why was Tōshirō surprised when Sougo kicked the shit out of his thigh, which almost certainly required surgery and a tetanus shot before Sougo's interference and most definitely after. He just managed not to scream, because that would give the little prick far too much satisfaction and screaming might've actually also made him throw up.

"That wasn't very nice, Okita-dono."

"Yeah. That was the point."

"You shouldn't treat your superiors so callously."

"You're wasting your breath," Tōshirō said, "it's just his nature."

Sougo shrugged. "He's not qualified to be my superior anyway."

"You say that, but you could just walk away. Maybe it's your prodding that wears him down and makes him appear weak to you. You would accomplish more if you treated him fairly and worked together. Like tonight. You complain, yet instead of truly usurping him you choose to remain his subordinate."

"It's a little more complicated than that," said Tōshirō.

"It really isn't. His opinion is irrelevant, because regardless of competence, a superior should be respected. How do you think I'm still a top-level joui leader?"

"I change my mind, Zura. I love you."

"It's Katsura."

/ / / / /

Toshizō had somehow failed to realize that Isao was a massive man.

If he'd been paying attention he might've overridden the plan for the tama to gang up on Kazama. Toshizō would honestly rather have challenged a demon one-on-one if it meant he wouldn't have had to carry this giant lug way the hell back to HQ. He was considering stealing a horse off a farm when he heard a familiar racket on the path behind him.

Sagaru was first to join him, approaching with a fast walk rather than a jog and clutching one arm close to his waist. "Thank goodness, you guys are okay!"

They paused in the road as the rest of his comrades eased forward. "I'd ask for a little relief," said Toshizō, "but you don't seem up to the task."

"We're okay, really."

Tōshirō's voice, from some distance behind: "SAY THAT AGAIN, YAMAZAKI."

"Have you seen the others?" Sagaru asked, happily ignorant of his fukuchou's threat.

"Yamazaki and Yukimura were waiting for all of us to catch up, but I sent them ahead."

"So no trouble on your end?" asked Tōshirō.

"No, but carrying this man is miserable."

"What'd you expect? He's six feet of nothing but muscle."

"Quick, Hijikata-san. Your imperial measures are showing."

"You're an imperial?"

"No, f—shut up, it's not my fault."

I shouldn't even ask. Toshizō shifted Isao off his back. "Just grab an arm."

"I'm a little occupied here." The whole bunch looked worse for wear, but indeed Tōshirō seemed worst of all, hanging off Katsura's side and favoring one leg.

"I did warn you. Don't be cross with me that you couldn't make it in one piece."

"No, I'm in one piece. Certain parts have just been split a little."

"Yeah," said Toshizō, scooping Isao's arms over his shoulders again. "I don't want to know."

"Oh, now he's going to try to pin yaoi jokes on me, I see how it is."

"Fukuchou, do you have any idea what your biggest ship is here? This is nothing new."

"You know, it wouldn't even bother me except that I'm always the goddamn neko. Why me?"

Katsura grumbled. "Welcome to my world."

"Even canonically, look at episode 92. How is that fair?" What in fuck's name are they talking about.

"Things seemed different in 145, if you ask me," Sougo offered.

"Oh . . . I always forget about that one, it gets overshadowed by the arc around it."

"What about 166?" asked Sagaru.

"Yeah, usually it's the seme that does the blowing, so with his mayo facial—"

"That's quite enough, thank you."

"Then there's 193. I don't think there's any real answer for 193."

"Simple," Toshizō heard beside his head. "Riba."

And he tossed Isao's conscious ass.

They traveled the rest of the way in comfortable silence, contented with their success in spite of the shape they were in. As they filed in through the front gates, Kondō-san staggered out to meet them with glassy red eyes. From a distance it appeared to be lack of sleep, an excess of stress and worry. But he handed a crumpled note to Toshizō. "This . . . came from Matsumoto-sensei."

Sougo snatched it away before he could read it, scanning with huge, bloodshot eyes. But Toshizō was afraid he already knew what it said.

"I can't read this, this is—did we. . . . I mean Jii-san hasn't—"

"Sougo. . . ."

"I—can't." The paper fell from his hand as he dropped hard on his knees, a disgusting bony thud that he didn't seem to register. "I can't, I can't do this again. I can't do this again. Tōshirō—I can't do this. This is—"

"Sougo—"

"I didn't want to be here for this, this is like—it's her, I have to watch her die all over again, I can't—"

"Sougo."

"And I still have to live, I just can't—"

Tōshirō halted him with a gentle hand on the shoulder, squeezing. Softly he said, "Shut up, Sougo."

His mouth wavered, eyes cloudy, but he said nothing more and buried his face in his hands. Tōshirō squeezed harder and stared out beyond the gates, but in his profile Toshizō swore he could see a sheen of pink across his eyes. His words themselves meant nothing, but implied an understanding that was . . . he couldn't even say what. Putting a word to it might disgrace it. Did Toshizō even feel so strongly about Souji?

Whether or not he did—did Souji know it?

He blinked a heated prickliness back from his own eyes and noticed Kondō-san openly shedding tears. "Imagine it, Toshi," he whispered, snaking an arm around his shoulders. "If Souji stood here with us, and it was Mitsu-san who was gone."

Toshizō stared unblinking at the ground and shook his head. It might look just like this. It sure as hell would feel just like this. He sniffled in spite of himself.

Damn it, Souji.

Almost too quietly to hear, Tōshirō said, "So do I."

/ / / / /

Sakamoto had encountered some problems with the ship—something about slugs and locked reactor points and how to reallocate power—so they were grounded until he was flight ready. This was apparently why he'd tried to reach them in the middle of the operation, to see if he could recall any of them. Something about mantises having teleporters and 1.5x combat ability.

"So you were boarded—what, before you came through?"

"No data available."

"How did your guys manage?" Tōshirō asked, somehow already sure he shouldn't have.

"One of the mantises fought through a hatch, but he thought he was human so he was more interested in joining the crew than killing us. He's in the back working on the O2 system. Only downside is the halved repair speed. . . ."

"Amateur," Zura muttered. "Always prioritize the door subsystem."

"Ahaha. You get higher evasion on auto when you upgrade piloting."

"What exactly does a merchant vessel need to evade?" asked Tōshirō. "Exactly."

"Ahahahaha. . . ."

In truth, Tōshirō was glad for the delay. He was too exhausted to think about jumping into cramped quarters with an emotional Sougo, and Susumu had applied some kind of foul-smelling poultice to Tōshirō's wound that was thus probably doing its job, and he was kind of getting acclimated to the pain anyway so compared to being admitted to a hospital and dealing with that landslide of drugs and paperwork for several days, falling unconscious sounded fantastic.

He must not have been asleep more than a few hours; it was still dark when he woke again. His leg was stiff, and though he'd been advised not to move, he was pretty sure he was the expert here so he got up for a little exercise, consequences and hallucinations be damned.

When he saw him limping through the house, Zura approached and once again offered his shoulder as support. "We were just about to fetch you. Appears that the airhead has nearly completed all preparations." He patted his haori, shorthand for Sakamoto on the other end of the walkie.

"Well look at you, calling the kettle black."

"I had no responsibilities regarding the ship."

"And yet you still proved my point."

He was helped down the hall to where the rest of his gang were sitting around a pile of Uno cards. "Tch. Working hard, I see."

"Hey, Toushi! Just let us finish this game?"

"He wishes to interrupt my win streak at least once," said Zura.

"Oh my god."

"It's not like we'll have this opportunity again," Kondō whined. "Things'll have to go back to normal after this, you know."

"You'll never be normal, Kondō-san."

"There's still a bit of time," said Zura. "Last I heard they were waiting for Fleischy to make it back to his station."

"Whatever." Hijikata flopped onto a large pile of futons stacked against the wall.

"Nice job working hard, fukuchou."

"Shut your mouth. Ingrate." He draped an arm across his eyes and spent a few minutes listening to the sounds of shuffling, cards being snapped onto the floor, the occasional refrain of draw four. He was dozing off again when the walkie crackled back in. He wasn't of a mind to hear what was said. It all sounded like murmurs from another room, in another language. Then sounds of his men standing to stretch. He couldn't figure out who won, but it didn't really matter. It was . . . nice.

"Oi Katsura. You really don't want anything from us at all?"

"Pardon?"

"Payment," he said as he sat up, head spinning. "You haven't said anything about payment. I know you said it was for blackmail, but I don't really believe it."

Zura tilted his head as he collected his deck of cards. "A small token of appreciation will do."

Kondō glanced at Tōshirō, who nodded his permission. "We'll need some time to recover from this ordeal," Kondō announced in that scratchy, half-confident voice. "May not even be equipped to raid certain headquarters for awhile."

"That is more than acceptable," said Zura. "Shall we?"

"Uh—just like that?"

"What's the matter? We really must see you home. Interplanetary regulations, all that."

Tōshirō snorted. "Since when have you been afraid of Amanto-based regulations?"

"We don't know when the portal might close. Besides," Zura said matter-of-factly, "some laws transcend politics. You don't talk to your doppelgänger, or to yourself when y—"

"We've sort of made some friends here," Tōshirō said as Isami and Toshizō appeared in the doorway. "Just give us a minute."

"What are you guys doing here?" Kondō asked.

"Well, there's a flying ship on my lawn," said Isami. "Figured it was about time for farewells."

"I wish I could've said goodbye to Harada-san, and Nagakura-san," said Yamazaki, a frown puckering his face. "And Souji-san. They all just . . . disappeared."

"You know, Sougo. . . ." Isami crouched before him. "The person who brought that note. . . ."

Sougo's eyes widened.

"She told me this crazy story her brother shared with her. Something about a boy from another universe, I believe?"

"Is that true, Sougo? He really told her?"

He didn't move, just slipped deeper into thought. "I couldn't do it, at the time, I didn't want . . . but I think. . . ."

"Would you like to speak with Mitsu-san now?" Isami asked.

His shoulders slumped.

"Are you sure that's a good idea, Sougo?" He seemed so small, fearfully uncertain. He wouldn't answer. "Come on. She just lost her brother. Don't burden her right now, maybe leave her be."

"Actually," said Isami, "it was her request."

"What?"

"She said that after . . . well, she wanted away from that house. So she came here to be with us. And she wanted to see if she could meet this person that comforted her baby brother when she couldn't be there."

Sougo just frowned.

"Let him do it," Toshizō said, shrugging. "Just let him."

"It's really okay?" asked Tōshirō.

"Mitsu-san is a strong woman. She understands." Isami patted Sougo on the head and guided him away, an arm hooked around his neck.

Alone. He hasn't looked so lonely in a long, long time.

"He can't take too much time," Zura said quietly. "We can't count on the portal to wait for us."

Tōshirō tapped a real cigarette out of the pack that Yamazaki had returned to him. "I didn't realize you could be so cold."

"You'll excuse me if I find it difficult to pity him. He's killed plenty of my men, and come very close to killing me. But I've always recognized him as a person. As such . . . well." His expression hardened as he leaned back, arms crossed, hands hidden in his sleeves. "Everyone loses someone."

"What about you?" Toshizō said, nudging Tōshirō with an elbow. "You could meet her too."

No no no no no. "It's not my place."

"Aren't you curious?"

"He needs the closure. I don't."

"Are you sure it's not the other way around?"

Tōshirō shrugged and dragged himself into roughly a standing position again. "Come on. I wanna smog up the place one more time, and you're coming with me."

/ / / / /

He couldn't help but compare her to Mitsuba.

She was older, by a lot maybe, but very pretty. Not as pretty as Mitsuba. Just as tired-looking, but a more natural kind of tired, the kind from living a full life. A lovely kind of tired. This woman was a stranger, her face familiar only because it resembled Souji's—but somehow, he felt loved. In her own way, by the grace and strangeness of the cosmos, she loved him.

My sister.

Thin arms came around his chest, tears against his neck. In his ear, a whisper: "Sou-chan."

"Please come with me." It sprang from his lips as nearly a shout, because if he didn't shout, it would be a sob. Already his tears mingled with hers on his cheeks—it wasn't fair, he knew it wasn't fair to ask, she had only just lost Souji and here he was choosing to feel miserable for his own bygone loss, something he had meant to move on from, to grow up from. . . .

But it felt good. To be understood. To know that as different as they were, even without blood, they shared a family.

Nails fluffed the back of his hair. "I can't, Sou-chan. I have a family."

"I know, I'm sorry, I just—"

"It must've been much harder on you. I've lost a sibling, but . . . but not one who raised me." She stood back and placed a hand on his cheek, the comfort of it eerily familiar. "Were the men very mean to you when you were small?"

He sniffled. "Probably not as mean as I remember it." It was strange, telling her this. Like she should already know, like telling an amnesia patient about her own past.

"Perhaps you're right. If that's how you remember it . . . it doesn't negate how you felt at the time. But be careful," she said, pinching his nose, "not to let the feelings of the past color the present. Sou-chan—" Her head dipped and she breathed deep, gingerly wiping at her eyes. "Souji struggled with that. Nothing Toshi did for him could end the resentment Sou-chan carried with him. I think it accelerated his condition, to be honest. Not that he would have ever recovered, he was far too stubborn. But the cloud of negativity that plagued him . . . you're so young, Sou-chan. You're young and healthy and strong. You can still change who you are."

"Ane-ue. . . ."

"Do you hear me? Souji was just too blind to see Toshi's love. Maybe even Toshi didn't realize it, they were always such stupid, stupid boys, both of them."

Love . . . ?

"Don't make the same mistake," she said sharply. "If you've gained anything from this, make sure it's that. Appreciate what you have, who you have, while you have them. Appreciate them after they're gone, too. Do you understand? It doesn't stop just because they're gone." He just saw her bottom lip quiver before she pressed the top of her head to his chest. "It never stops. As long as you keep fighting to hang onto their memories, it never stops."

"I know," he said, his palms grazing the slick expanse below his eyes. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed. "I know."

/ / / / /

"I can't say I'm displeased to see you go."

The Hijikatas sat side by side on the roof overlooking the complex. Tōshirō exhaled a glorious plume of smoke and lay back; after so long without the good stuff, he was practically seeing stars. "We have that effect on people." Could've been anemia too, but, whatever. He was having trouble even remembering how he got up here.

"But I wouldn't mind you visiting again."

"Is that okay? Sounds like it's possible."

"It might be nice of you to check on us."

"So I should wait, what, half a day and come back?"

Toshizō shrugged. "Things are going to get rough here." He sighed, then crossed his arms, fidgeting in his jacket. He looked dignified enough, but it still needed some tailoring. And yet his discomfort would not have been assuaged with a better cut, because the problem didn't lie with ill-fitting clothes.

"Need some help?"

Toshizō looked down to his kyokuchou, who smiled through tears as he chattered with his counterpart in the dimly-lit courtyard. "I don't know. Is that okay? In the grand scheme of things. If you're not supposed to talk to your doppelgänger, it can't be alright to interfere with his death."

"We done fucked that one up already," he said, nodding again at the Kondōs.

"And I have no earthly way of expressing my gratitude for it. Honestly, I . . . I've never been more grateful in my life. Imagining this world without him. . . ."

"Nah. You guys would've done the same for us."

"I am a little ashamed to admit it, but . . . I'm not so sure."

"Well." Tōshirō shrugged. In this kind of world, he couldn't really blame him for that. "We all have our convictions."

"Oddly astute."

"Shut up."

With both of them safe and Kondō Isao departing, Isami would have to go into hiding. The imperialists would still come after him, and now that Kondō had escaped they were likely to be more bitter. The Shinsengumi could protect itself against them, but if ever they were separated, they might go after Isami's family in an attempt draw him out. Protecting them really would have to become his full-time job.

"At least they won't expect him to have any sons," said Tōshirō.

"Why do you say that?"

"Oh, uh . . . I mean. He doesn't, right?"

"No—why?"

"No reason," he said, flicking ashes into the breeze. "Forget it. Unless you have any other burning questions."

"Who's Gintoki?"

"What?"

"Katsura mentioned him before."

"Fuck, he's nobody. We're at least based on real people, but from top to bottom he's just a legend. Don't worry yourself about his lazy ass."

"I know you well enough to know that's a bald-faced lie."

"Prove it, asshole."

"Everything else you say is insane."

"I don't know which one but you just violated some kind of logical fallacy. You believe it all anyway, what's that make you?"

"I never claimed sanity."

"Touché."

Toshizō's eyes were fixed in the distance; his fingers were absently working the buttons on his waistcoat. "But you probably shouldn't return."

"Probably. But there's not really a rulebook on this stuff. Even the Amanto can't enforce laws on this kind of thing. The universe . . . there's no changing what it is, what it's capable of. What you're capable of. If we want to do something, and we have the ability, we're gonna do it. It's like getting pissed off that a rose has thorns, expecting us not to stick our noses where they don't belong. It's just who we are."

Toshizō let out a huff of a laugh. "You might make a good poet."

"That's rich, coming from you."

"Excuse me?"

Tōshirō felt his eyes go wide. "I mean."

"Did Souji—"

"Nothing."

"Goddamn it. He's lucky I didn't get to him first."

Tōshirō was quiet. "You're going to miss him."

He drew in a long, slow breath through his nose.

"Or maybe you already did."

Toshizō said nothing.

They stared out at the vast, empty night sky purpling into dawn. This is samurai country. The land here looked much as his own before the Amanto—pristine, potential like a white canvas. Yet just a dab of turpentine revealed layers of turmoil beneath the simplicity. A quiet kind of turmoil, free of jet engines and space pirates and host clubs and neon lights. But perhaps a more dangerous kind, a subversive kind, where a man's identity and allegiances were easier to conceal, where sword skill was his only shot at living, and even the smallest of wounds could spell his death.

"Give me one of those," Toshizō said, tipping his chin toward the cigarette. "You saved a few back, right?"

He nearly asked Are you sure? but figured the guy probably knew what he was doing by now.

Toshizō set it to his lips before nodding again, inviting Tōshirō to light it for him. He had to coach him to inhale with the flame, which triggered a coughing fit that Toshizō stubbornly choked back.

Now or never.

He squeezed the last smoldering leaves out his own cigarette, the motion mirroring the butterflies in his stomach. "If you want to destroy yourself, let me do it."

Toshizō's face was a touch pale as a grey cloud escaped his lips—he was apparently just as good a smoker as he was a drinker—but he looked up with a sad smile. "I thought you'd never ask."

/ / / / /

When Sougo found them they were lying on their backs, each in possession of the other's katana, a thin layer of dust coating the blood on their skin. Smoke wafted from their mouths.

"This is bad," Toshizō mumbled, head rolling side to side. "I feel lightheaded."

"That's the nicotine. You're just not used to it."

"I feel like I could."

"I told you, vices aren't all that bad. It's alright to have a crutch or two."

"Teach me how to make mayonnaise."

"How 'bout I bring you the real stuff next time."

"Hijikata-san," said Sougo. "It's time to go."

"Nn?" He sat up slowly, mumbling as he wobbled to his knees. Sougo grabbed his elbow as he tried to stand. "Feels like I slept wrong."

"That's the blood loss," said Sougo. "You're just not used to it."

"Prick." He kicked lightly at Toshizō's knee. "You got me pretty good."

"You went easy on me."

"You have bigger problems than some chump version of you from Alienland. It wouldn't be right for me to waste you for something stupid like this."

"I haven't killed you, have I?"

Hijikata scoffed, but the sound was weak. "I wouldn't die even if you killed me."

Something about this was immensely funny to Toshizō, who clutched at his injured waist with a thin laugh. "Same here."

"I'm not worried about you, Haku-san."

"Get out of here."

"Hey. Don't fuck it up, okay?"

"I hear you. Go home, live long, and prosper."

"Fuck you." He closed his eyes, shook his head. "I fucking knew it, you can see the fourth wall."

Toshizō curtly turned away. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Look me in the eyes and say that."

"Hijikata-san. . . ."

"Yeah, yeah." Toshizō stood and they brushed dirt from the blood on their blades, wiping them down with their own sleeves, before exchanging them again. "Good sword you got there."

"Yours too."

"For crying out loud," said Sougo.

"Shut up, I'm coming."

Hijikata and Toshizō bowed to one another, weakened and stiff, and said together, "Arigatou gozaimashita." Toshizō turned, and as he passed Sougo plopped a hand on his shoulder, gave a little squeeze as he pushed off to limp back indoors. Sougo could only dip his head in acknowledgement.

When he looked up again Hijikata's head had dropped and he was scratching at the back of his hair, slid his palm down to rest behind his neck.

"Fukuchou?"

It was difficult to look at him silhouetted against the red sunrise, burdened and half-broken and so unwilling to face his own uncertain future. He'd never say that. But this feeling was one thing Sougo was certain they shared. If it weren't for Hijikata's odd despair at that very moment, Sougo would've hidden away and lived out the rest of his days in this simple place, one lone bastard slicing fools of his own accord without a care in the world until the day of his own untimely death. It would be a fair life.

But Hijikata turned, and with the sadness that only a smile can convey, he said, "Let's go home."

And for some reason, once again, Sougo chose to follow.