Heaven Knows Everyone Is Miserable Now

Chapter 11: Jailbirds

Pirako's dagger cut through the air of the school patio and hit the stranger's arm below the shoulder. Hijikata heard him gasp, saw him falling down to one knee and, as he did, the hood covering his head fell down, bringing to light the silver curls glossed back with blood and slush.

"That one was for my Pops!"

"Wait, stop!" Hijikata blocked Pirako's path, putting himself between her and Gintoki's hunched frame.

"What do ya' mean?" Pirako's eyes widened as she read the scene before her. The pieces came together in her mind to form a disturbing image. She unsheathed her wakizashi and looked behind her at her father who had followed her sluggishly, hand pressed against his wound.

"Pops, you were right! They were in it together!"

Jirocho huffed, leaned against the corner where Hijikata had locked eyes with Gintoki moments before. Sweat pooled above Jirocho's brow. He held fast to the handle of his sheathed sword, yet the mere fact he was able to stand told Hijikata the knife had not cut deep enough to pierce any organ. The old man would survive. Pirako had wrapped a generous amount of tape around Jirocho's midriff to guarantee pressure, a patchwork which hid from view the bloodstain on his haramaki.

"You… you said you weren't part of the mercenaries." Jirocho said, holding his breath.

"We're not," Hijikata replied, "I'm not. He is-"

"Get out of the way!" Pirako charged again, too roused to wait for an answer. The blade of her wakizashi met Hijikata's machete. The edges of the two blades scraped against each other, shelling out a crackling sound.

Hijikata ground his teeth, unable to move against the girl but equally unable to let her reach Gintoki, because it was Gintoki slumped behind him. It was Gintoki gripping the dagger stuck in his arm, hands steady and unflinching at the sight of his own blood. And all Hijikata wanted, all Hijikata needed, was a minute to take it all in. A minute which his companions seemed unwilling to grant him without further bloodshed.

Memories of Pirako and Jirocho's kindness made any act of violence against them impossible. Hijikata inhaled deeply. He felt his feet slip against the gravel of the patio as Pirako pushed her blade against his. In her eyes, Hijikata met only betrayal and sadness; a fair response, since even the weapon he held he owed to those eyes. Hijikata wanted to explain, to communicate beyond the language allowed him by the machete, but he lacked the words and the knowledge. He was owed an explanation from the man behind him. Perhaps more than that. The amount of information Hijikata needed to grasp was too much to compress into a split second. He had to think fast and deescalate the situation. Nothing would be accomplished by fighting except raise the attention of nearby roamers and add to the scene of carnage. Hijikata found that there was only one way forward. He had given Jirocho the truth once. He could give his daughter something just as real now. Something just as meaningful. Trust.

Hijikata readjusted his feet and gathered his strength to give a powerful shove against Pirako's blade. She stumbled back, grunting. Hijikata saw Jirocho detach from the corner, moving closer with a hand on his sword. However, both father and daughter were powerless against Hijikata's next move. Hijikata threw his machete on the ground. The fat knife clattered with a reverberating thwack. Pirako gasped.

"What are ya doin'?" she asked alarmed, "Ya' mean to trick us more?!"

"No," Hijikata said, "You're the one who insisted on praying on my behalf."

Pirako's chest heaved as she took in Hijikata's words, her expression torn between worry and confusion.

"Hard to distinguish a blessing from a curse when you're offering the gods expired food." Hijikata said, determined to provoke her.

"It works, I tell ya'!" Pirako snapped. Hijikata heard the stubborn note in her voice and clung to it, hoping that the ordinary row would ease the atmosphere.

"That's what I am trying to tell you." he replied.

Pirako dropped her arm, moved her eyes from Hijikata's figure towards the dirty, slumped shape behind him.

"You' sayin' that's him?" her voice was small, a guess, "Your… friend?"

"Yeah," Hijikata said, throat clenching. He ventured a look back but emotion swelled inside his chest. Some form of cowardice prevented him from looking above Gintoki's bent knee. Instead, Hijikata drew his attention to the severed head lying on the ground.

Do you see it too… Hijikata?

Yes, he saw it. Vividly. Hijikata's stomach churned at the blotted mouth. The dead eyes. White eyes. Like hers, he thought.

"I don't know what happened to him," Hijikata told Pirako, "But he needs help. You can leave if you want. We won't follow you."

He was surprised when Pirako didn't move from her spot. Jirocho had reached her by then and placed a hand on her shoulder for support. Hijikata noticed how Jirocho focused on the severed head and examined it closely. What signs Jirocho saw there, he kept to himself. He shifted his gaze towards Gintoki and afterwards Hijikata. A bead of sweat ran down his temple. Despite his tough facade, the wound was taking its toll. He needed rest.

"Show it to me." Jirocho said, his tone betraying no endurance.

Hijikata did not understand his meaning at first. He had expected father and daughter to leave. He held them accountable for nothing, not even the dagger digging into Gintoki's arm and which Gintoki held onto silently. But Jirocho's reasoning dawned on Hijikata with his next words, and Hijikata seized on the thing Jirocho was looking for.

"The ring," Jirocho said, "You told me your friend had your ring. That's why you had to find him. Show it to me and we can help each other."

Hijikata's finger twitched. He repressed a sneer. Of course a former yakuza would seek proof. Hijikata understood then. Surrendering his weapon had been a show of bravado, not proof. Jirocho and Pirako trusted Hijikata, not the shadow behind him - whatever remained of Gintoki, whoever.

Hijikata closed his mouth for good measure, unsure what to reply. There would be no acceptable answer other than a display of his ring. He turned around to face Gintoki's pitiful figure. Tempering his heart took more from him than he dared admit. He crouched to Gintoki's level, checked Gintoki's hands for signs of his ring and found nothing, just grime and mud.

"Where is it?" Hijikata's raspy voice was low, teetering on the edge of control.

Gintoki's eyes were closed. He had not spoken a word since he had asked Hijikata his delirious questions. The mask of rotten blood disfigured his face. It was hard to stare at him without imagining the features underneath. Hijikata recalled them to steady himself, to keep the balance between memory and reality. He had only recently healed from his injuries, so he remembered the walk down the mountain, the pain in his gut from being carried. But gratitude would have to wait. Circumstances required haste. Jirocho needed to lie down and rest, and Gintoki needed to get that dagger off his arm; not to mention the murder of crows which would soon reassemble their numbers and return with growling guests.

"I know you took it," Hijikata muttered, "I remember that much."

Gintoki's eyes opened. He glanced at the two people behind Hijikata before meeting his gaze. Hijikata stilled. Whatever Gintoki saw in Hijikata's face drew a smirk from his lips and any doubts Hijikata had about the identity of the man before him dispelled at once. The usual feelings that pervaded him whenever he was around the silver-haired idiot flared up to perfect clarity. His surroundings were swept from view. Emotions overrode the mass of dead bodies around them, the expectant figures of Jirocho and Pirako, the pale blue sky. Before Hijikata knew it, his hands were around Gintoki's neck, almost strangling him to death with a disproportionate mixture of relief and despair, and no regard for the piece of steel digging into Gintoki's flesh.

In the back of his consciousness, Hijikata heard someone call his name, a girlish voice, but her cry reached him like an echo. His senses concentrated on the rough skin under his fingers, the tendons and muscles that writhed beneath it, the hot stinking breath that blew from Gintoki's mouth, the groans that masked a sick laugh, grating, laborious.

"Where is it, you piece of shit! You dare laugh at me now!?"

Hijikata squeezed his hands around Gintoki's neck desperate for an answer. Some part of him wished to inflict on Gintoki all the pain he had felt. The loss of his wife, the loss of his place in the world, the loss of the people he had left behind, and most of all, the loss of Gintoki himself. Pirako's voice came to him not as an echo of the real world, but as a perverted memory.

You're tellin' me someone left you there in that state and you wanna go back and find them? They abandoned you! He abandoned you!

Gintoki mumbled something unintelligible, a sentence broken by constant gasps for air. His distress broke through Hijikata's rage. Hijikata loosened his grip around Gintoki's neck and Gintoki coughed, doubling over and away from his wound, fighting the hurt.

"Repeat that again." Hijikata said, leaning closer to catch Gintoki's hoarse voice.

Bloody fingers snatched the collar of Hijikata's shirt with impressive strength. Gintoki pulled Hijikata down towards him so that his lips almost touched Hijikata's ear.

"Lower." Gintoki rasped. His bloody fingers guided Hijikata's hands down his neck until Hijikata found a length of string by Gintoki's collarbone. Hijikata pulled it out from under Gintoki's dirty clothes and, dangling from the string, at its center, he saw his silver wedding band. Lost for words, Hijikata stared at the ring in disbelief. He caressed it between thumb and forefinger, absorbing the enormity of the deed and what it implied; that Gintoki knew him well enough to be sure Hijikata would search for his ring and find him.

"I knew you would come back for her."

Gintoki's whisper brought Hijikata's eyes to him. For a moment, they just stood there looking at each other. Gintoki fathomless in his undead disguise, and Hijikata overwhelmed with the realization he had not sought his ring for the memory of his late wife, but for the sake of the thief who had stolen it.

Lady Otaki ushered Sarutobi Ayame into a well lit tatami room where sunlight shone through the translucent paper of the sliding walls which opened to a private garden secluded from the rest of the Yagyuu estate by clusters of tall bamboo. Shrubs of cascading grass fell beside a trickling stream of water that coiled around two snowbell trees already dusted with fine white blossoms. The end of the world had not touched this sanctum of beauty and peace. Among its scenery, a figure stood alone with pruning shears in hand. Sarutobi watched as they cut a rogue branch of snowbell leaves, took a step back and inspected the tree to ascertain its shape. Satisfied, the figure turned around, their long black hair spilling over their shoulder. Kyuubei flicked the hair back before putting down the shears in a woven basket lying by the porch. They climbed the wooden steps to the sliding doors and entered the tatami room, letting their gaze finally rest upon Sarutobi.

"Thank you for coming." Kyuubei said in greeting.

Sarutobi suppressed an eye roll. She had suffered a week of intimate acquaintance with the Yagyuu estate's need for civility and politeness. She understood how Kyuubei's rules kept people from mutiny and able to work without needless questioning. However, no one in Sarutobi's position would have been able to uphold those rules willingly. Out of the sixty-eight people currently living at Yagyuu's estate - yes, Sarutobi had counted them - she was the sole prisoner. The only one who did not have a choice about whether she could stay or leave, about what it was she could contribute with, about a single individual act. She had been appointed a room next to Toujou's to mask the fact that she was guarded day and night. Lady Otaki woke her every day at the crack of dawn to help her with menial tasks around the estate. Sarutobi was kept from weapons, from training, from any venture outside the walls. Respite came only at meal times when she was reunited with Kagura and Shinpachi, who told her about everything they saw on their trips to the farming complex; the number of buildings they had cleared, the rotters they had killed, the bodies they had burned, the animals they'd caught and the plans they overheard Nishino and Kitaoji discuss concerning the land they had reclaimed from the undead.

Sarutobi answered Kyuubei with nothing short of pure venom.

"My pleasure."

"Please, let me start by apologizing for the rough treatment we've put you through," Kyuubei said as they sat down, flinging the tail end of their cloak behind them, "The rough treatment that I have put you through."

Kyuubei's seeing eye focused on Sarutobi with an earnest grimace. It showed guilt Sarutobi could not yet forgive.

"To apologize for carrying out their duty is not the conduct of a ruler, Master Kyuubei." Sarutobi mocked.

"So you understand that it was my duty?"

"Yes, but I don't have to like it. Would you like to be locked up in a place with nothing to do?"

"No, I wouldn't. But you didn't give me a choice. Besides, it was in my interest to keep you in the dark about your stay here. The truth is, I don't wish to have you as a captor."

Sarutobi crossed her arms, unconvinced.

"You feared me," she said, "I would have done the same thing."

"And what then?" Kyuubei wondered, "What comes after captivity? I have observed you, I've had Lady Otaki and Toujou report to me daily about you."

"You did?"

"This rough treatment of yours was a test," Kyuubei said, "Let's say I feared you as much as you feared me. Fear breeds lying. What would it do to ask you questions when we first met if you were never going to give me the facts? I had to seized them myself."

Sarutobi touched the rim of her glasses.

"Fair enough. I'm impressed."

"Thanks," color rose to Kyuubei's cheeks, their lips stretched into a subtle smile, "I know many things about you now. Things that have led me to arrange this meeting to ask you to join us. Permanently."

"What?"

"You can come and go as you please, you can join your friends in the farming campaign. Whatever you wish," Kyuubei clasped both hands in front of their chest and let them rest on the low table between them and Sarutobi, "But I wish you would stay here with me. You see, Toujou is too…" Kyuubei stopped to ponder their words, searching for the right ones, "Too tradition-oriented. He sees only the estate and the estate's legacy. But you are different."

Sarutobi was silent. Her heart hammered at her throat. She didn't move an inch, though her hands were sweaty, and she tried to cling to thoughts of Zenzou to steel her resolve.

"You see the people. You care for them. I've read it in Toujou and Lady Otaki's reports and I've seen it myself. I ordered Lady Otaki to have you help around with ordinary tasks. Washing, meal prepping, sorting clothes, teaching the children with their schooling, assisting the sick with their troubles. You helped everyone, be it a headache or a cut or simple grief. I know you go to the temple to pray too."

Tears threatened to fall down Sarutobi's cheeks. She looked away and bit her lip to keep them from flowing.

"You could do some good here. I know you are already trying to do something for those two kids. When you finish it, I would welcome you here. As a fighter, as physician, as a tutor, whatever seems right to you," Kyuubei's offer sounded genuine.

"Out there, you are just a survivor. You don't need to be that in here." Kyuubei reminded her.

Sarutobi's hands clenched into fists over her lap.

"I've done bad things. How can you keep me here?"

"Those were a price you had to pay to stay alive," Kyuubei said, waving a hand towards the garden outside, "Here there is no price. There's just work and loyalty."

"You speak of loyalty. Then tell me," Sarutobi wiped the tracks of the tears she had not managed to suppress and inhaled deeply, ready to take charge of the conversation, "What happened to your eye?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Interesting answer that," Sarutobi observed, "There's a price for staying here too. I thought we were done lying."

Kyuubei sighed.

"You're even shrewder than I thought."

"You're right. I saw the people, I helped them. But most of all, I heard them. I'm very good at paying attention, you know? Maybe those months trapped in a mountain with dreary company have made me appreciate conversation more," Sarutobi said, keeping her momentum, "I didn't realize the world could change so much but people remain so much the same. They still believe the silliest things and refuse to look at facts objectively. I've heard so many silly stories about your left eye that I've given up trying to figure out which one is true."

Sarutobi was surprised to find Kyuubei staring at her with a big grin. The smile brought out young features Kyuubei did not show often, too caught up in their show of authority.

"What did you hear?" Kyuubei asked her.

"That your late father who was a swordsman struck you accidentally in a sparring session when you were a child. Some say you hurt your eye defending a classmate from bullies in school. Very dashing, very knight-in-shining-armor of you."

"What else? Is that it?"

"No, I haven't gotten around to my favorites."

"Which are?"

"Number one, you were assaulted by marauders in a scavenging trip. This rumor has a lot to substantiate it since there are accounts of Toujou going half mad when you returned. He locked up some of your top men as punishment before you ordered them to be freed again. Kinda an overprotective nanny, isn't he?"

Kyuubei's smile vanished. Their lips were a thin line, disclosing nothing.

"Even if that story is not the source of your missing eye, I suppose it's the reason why you never leave the estate. I've been here almost a full week and I've never seen you step out of the walls."

"I could leave the walls without your knowledge. That's a flimsy guess at best."

"So you haven't left, uh?" it was Sarutobi's turn to smile. She laughed at Kyuubei's pout, "Regretting meeting me yet?"

"I don't appreciate being made fun of." Kyuubei grumbled.

"I think I'm starting to like you, Master Kyuubei. Could I call you Kyuu-chan? You look cute with that pout."

"Obviously not! How shameless!" Kyuubei cried outraged, ears blushing.

"There's no need to fuss, Kyuu-chan. Aren't we establishing the basis of our relationship here? If you want me to join this place, like you said, I need to know what I'm getting myself into. You don't keep control here simply because you have walls and a little army of retainers loyal to your ancient family. I mean, half the people here worked for you before the world fell. An exhibition guide who took refuge here told me two of the main buildings used to hold exhibitions about your family's ancestry. The armor and materials you had on display are locked up in one of the storage sheds. You were lucky no one infected stepped foot inside this place before you knew what was going on. So," Sarutobi cleared her throat, gloating in the petrified expression that unfolded across Kyuubei's face, "I couldn't help but try to learn more about my favorite rumor, the one that says you were bitten by a rotter and that you are in fact immune to the plague."

For the first time that evening, Kyuubei grabbed the hilt of their sword.

Sarutobi was silent and unmoving. Her legs cramped above the cushion she sat on. The duel of words had reached its end and if Sarutobi had stumbled upon the Yagyuu secret, so be it. It was about time she had some leverage. Already an improvised plan of escape crossed her mind in anticipation of Kyuubei's attack. She would flip the table to shield herself from the length of Kyuubei's blade, push the wooden surface against them to steal their balance, then bound for the garden, hide between the bamboo splits and search for a hidden passage outside the walls. I could leave the walls without your knowledge, Sarutobi had enough spunk to test Kyuubei's bluff. What did she have to lose? She thought of Shinpachi and Kagura briefly. Felt her chest tighten.

Presently, Kyuubei released their grip on the sword and Sarutobi exhaled. Hot breath fogged the lenses of her glasses. She wanted to cry with relief.

"I may descend from old swordsmen, but you must have some old spy blood in you."

Sarutobi looked at Kyuubei as they reached for the eye patch covering their left eye. Kyuubei unveiled the gnarly sight of their empty eye socket, marred with stitches and scars. Sarutobi's experience as a nurse allowed her to identify the semicircle of scabs that resembled the teeth marks of an upper jaw.

"So it's true?" Sarutobi said, voice low.

Kyuubei pulled the eye patch back in place and nodded.

"You choose what to believe." Kyuubei answered.

Sarutobi quietened, recalling all the stories she had heard from the people in the estate, refugees and former Yagyuu staffers alike. It was hard to believe their master was truly immune without scientific evidence. Sarutobi had never heard of something like it, not even during her time travelling with a Sweeper crew. She looked into Kyuubei's seeing eye, gauging Kyuubei's expression for deceit. There was nothing in it Sarutobi hadn't seen before. Strength, stubbornness, the virtue of a swordsman bearing the weight of their heritage. She wanted to believe Kyuubei, but belief in their immunity meant other tales might be true. Whispers that circulated among the estate inhabitants and produced in them something other than love and respect for their leader.

"If what you tell me is true," Sarutobi began, treading carefully, "Does that mean what they say about a living rotter is true? The one they call the Crow."

Kyuubei raised a brow.

"You mean that talk of a self-aware rotter?"

"Would not succumbing to the rot be considered a kind of immunity too? A rotter that is alive, a rotter who thinks? Someone who has kept their conscience in spite of being infected?"

"Nonsense!" it was Lady Otaki who spoke. The old woman had entered the room via an inner sliding door, and brought with her an empty vase. She placed it atop one of the shelves in the back of the room, at which point Sarutobi questioned her.

"What's that for?"

"A fertile aura." Otaki answered. She twisted the vase around so the side with depictions of a pair of lovers hunting a tiger faced them.

Sarutobi withdrew her upper lip in disgust and saw Kyuubei's shoulders slump.

"Thank you, Otaki-san. If that's all, you can leave us."

"Toujou said to tell you Kitaoji will arrive shortly. The van has been sighted near the bridge."

"I'll be just a moment."

"Yes, Master Kyuubei."

Otaki left the room. Kyuubei's eye returned to Sarutobi.

"I knew she was odd, but is she always like that?" Sarutobi asked.

"Unfortunately, yes."

The first hues of twilight colored the sky. Hijikata sat on the porch that overlooked Jirocho's garden with a cigarette between his lips. Cool night air tousled his hair. Hijikata whisked the disheveled strands away with a shake of his head, careful not to drop cigarette ash all over his lap. His hands tingled in the breeze, their skin red from intense scrubbing, though some traces of blood stuck under his fingernails no matter how much he had tried to rinse them off. With Pirako's help, he had cleared both Gintoki and Jirocho's wounds, stitched and dressed them. The tip of his fingers lay in creases where he had clutched the burnt needle to sew their flesh back together.

"Hijikata-san, here."

Pirako brought him a tray with a glass of cold tea. The anger and fight had drained from her the moment she had been called to service by Jirocho after Hijikata had presented him with his ring. The role of carer fit her, but Pirako was no nurse. Her skills were best suited to scavenging the world and tormenting her father.

"Thank you," Hijikata said, "And for the smokes too." he added.

"I don't think Pops will be havin' them any time soon." Pirako sighed, thinking of her father whom she had coerced into an early bed.

"Lucky me." Hijikata replied.

"Lucky you."

Both Hijikata and Pirako started. They turned around at the third voice. Gintoki came into view like a vision; to Pirako, a different person; to Hijikata, a welcome sigh. Familiar, dreamlike. The layers of grime and blood Gintoki had piled on to blend in with the dead had been washed away. The debris of corpses had been removed, the tattered clothes discarded. Moisture clung to his wavy hair, curling it anew as the mane of silver hair dried naturally in the hair. He approached at a slow pace, half lidded eyes taking in every detail of the place before settling on the pair sitting on the porch with heads huddled close.

"Mind if I take a sip?" Gintoki asked, eyeing the glass of cold tea on the tray.

Pirako retreated instinctively, drawing away from him.

Gintoki lifted his right hand in apology.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

He knelt down between Pirako and Hijikata. A makeshift sling cut from an old pillow case held his wounded left arm in place. Under his eyes, dark circles bespoke a dire need for sleep, and his pale blotched skin pleaded for sun and nourishment. Traces of the undead clung to him, remnants of his days as a man among walking corpses.

"How could you not scare her? Have you looked in the mirror lately?" Hijikata snorted.

"Ouch." Gintoki replied without bite, yet he snatched Hijikata's glass of tea and pressed it to his lips.

Hijikata watched him drink the tea from the corner of his eye, unable to summon the strength to reproach him.

"This is delicious." Gintoki said after the last sip.

Pirako looked at him surprised, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeves.

"It's just some green tea I let get cold." she said.

"There's some wisdom in letting things. Thank you."

Gintoki's cryptic reply disconcerted her. Pirako frowned for a moment. Her eyes raked Gintoki's kneeling figure, reassessing his entire persona in an effort to get the full picture processed through her trademark simplicity.

"You're weird." she said.

"You help random strangers, I'd say you're weirder.".

Pirako frowned again.

"You're Hijikata-san's friend," she declared. Then, seeing how Gintoki's eyes shifted towards her, she lost a little courage, "N-not a complete stranger."

"I am, am I?" Gintoki wondered, a teasing smile cradled his voice though his expression was somber, "What did he tell you about me? That I'm a good guy? Or a bad one?"

"He… he…" Pirako flustered, her cheeks reddened.

"Shut up, you just got here." Hijikata grumbled. He would have yanked Gintoki by a leash if Gintoki had been wearing one, "Let the girl be."

"I just wanted to convey her my thanks," Gintoki said sobering, "And my apology for what I did to the old man. I…" he trailed away. His gaze got lost in the distance. His eyes had found a lonely rotter stumbling towards the garden fence. He spoke no more.

Hijikata blew a cloud of smoke and saw through its smog Gintoki's features hardening, the vacant look return to his eyes.

"We'll talk more tomorrow."

Pirako stood up at Hijikata's statement and made for the fence. She picked up a sharpened bamboo stick from a pile which she and Jirocho kept at hand and stuck the pointy end under the lonely rotter's jaw. She thrust it upwards into its head, silencing it. When she was done, she tossed the dirty stick aside and tightened the pigtail on top of her head with both hands

"Let's see what we can do about dinner today, uh?"

The moon was fat, round and yellow. It cast a sickly light on the earth below. Gintoki's hair shimmered softly by the bedroom window. Hijikata felt like an intruder. He placed the clean futon Pirako had provided him for Gintoki on the floor next to his. The idea of sharing a room with Gintoki had come from Hijikata's own mouth after dinner. He and Pirako had agreed to follow Jirocho's wish to keep Gintoki under strict watch until Jirocho was fully recovered. Hijikata understood their concern. He had gone through the same thing during his week of convalescence. Also, sharing a room was not such a daunting task. Pirako would look after her father and Hijikata would look after his friend. It was reasonable. Except this was not the Gintoki he had known before. This was someone changed in ways Hijikata did not yet understand.

He stared at Gintoki's outline in the window and remembered the way Gintoki had barely emoted when Hijikata had to cut his shirt to get to the wound; how Gintoki had not even winced when, after pulling out Pirako's dagger from his arm and bandaging his wound, Hijikata had helped him put on a new shirt; how numb Gintoki had been throughout the whole stitching ordeal.

"So, are you my jailer for the night?"

Gintoki's calm voice ripped through the shadows of the moonlit room startling Hijikata's troubled self. Knowing Gintoki was still able to navigate conversations using mediocre wisecracks brought Hijikata some comfort. He crouched by the two futons and proceeded to spread them out.

"Are you surprised they don't trust you after the shit you pulled?"

"I'm surprised how easily they trust you."

Hijikata repressed a cackle. He really had no idea how Gintoki's brain functioned. He doubted he ever would.

"Jealous are you?"

At the ensuing silence, Hijikata looked up. He saw Gintoki's profile carved in moonlight. The warm, reddish-brown gaze he knew was miles away again, cold, unreachable.

"Did you burn and bury it like I asked?"

Hijikata straightened out the folds of his futon. Sore fingers slid across the soft material. He knew what worried Gintoki, what it was that, on and off, plagued his thoughts.

"You mean the head? Yeah, I did," Hijikata replied, "Are you gonna tell me why you were carrying it around like a psycho?"

Gintoki squared his shoulders.

"I was just making sure."

"Making sure of what?"

"Making sure he was dead."

Gintoki fell quiet and Hijikata's demons caught up with him. He saw his hands as Mitsuba's, Gintoki's shoulders as his own. Hijikata had lived through this moment many times before, in another stretch of time, roles reversed. Out of the depths, a voice which had once inhabited Hijikata's daily life told him, You didn't even bat an eyelid after burning my sister. All the times Mitsuba had tried to reach out to him paraded across Hijikata's conscience to show the pathetic life he had lived, egotistical and wary of love. He had been broken from the very beginning. No part of the new undead chapter of the world had had a part in his making. He saw the wall that could not be breached.

Then Gintoki's voice came.

"You know the worst thing that can happen to a person out there? Losing your fear. I guess I lost mine when I went out looking for you."

Hijikata stopped. He sat on his futon, hanging onto Gintoki's every word.

"I met this guy that looked like me. He wore robes like a priest. His face was just like you saw it. He tried to chop my hand off when he saw your ring. That's why I had to put it around my neck. For safekeeping. That bastard would have to chop my head off before he tried to get to it again. And he did. Over and over again. I kept seeing him everywhere."

"Who was he? Why was he after you?"

"I don't know. I thought he was some kind of creeper at first, but a creeper couldn't have survived the number of times he did and still find me."

Hijikata was silent, his detective impulses grappled with the facts.

"Creepers can survive anything. That's their whole point."

"Not like this. I haven't met one like that before. He couldn't be a rotter."

"What if you're in over your head?" Hijikata said, "Who else is there to say he followed you?"

Gintoki turned around. Moonlight showered his back. His expression was concealed in shadows, yet Hijikata's accusation had lit a flame behind his eyes.

"Maybe you followed him," Hijikata continued, feeling himself plunge into danger. Gintoki had mentioned a loss of fear and Hijikata toyed with it now, compelled by a strange power he could not ignore, "I took a good look at that head. I saw his face, his hair. You followed him because he reminded you of you, and you didn't want him to take your place."

"Go on."

"You killed him because you needed to make sure you were the one that survived. Not him."

Words got stuck in Hijikata's throat.

You were the one who needed to come back to me.

Hijikata wasn't aware of the pleading look in his eyes.

"You're not wearing the ring." Gintoki said.

"I am."

Hijikata pulled out the ring from the string around his neck, "It does feel safer like this."

Gintoki's lips parted in the shadows. He took a step forward, something akin to a smile unfolded across his lips.

"Thank you for saving my life today."

Hijikata buried it. A million times over, he buried that sight, but it was to no avail.

"About time I paid you back."

"You're a stubborn fool, Hijikata Toshirou."

"Oi, what do you mean by that, asshole?"

"Keep tallying the points, sucker."