Work Text:
When Kotarou visits Kabuki-chou again after the last fight, the rebuilding is mostly done.
It always impresses him, the tenacity of this little district. As he walks the streets, vendors are open and offering their supplies and services alike; if he closes one eye to ignore the patched up buildings it's almost like nothing has changed at all. The sun is shining, the world is ending, and Kabuki-chou is offering alcohol and hostclubs and troubles.
Though, the main source of said troubles might still be out of commission at the moment, Kotarou muses privately. For in front of him stands the Yorozuya building, with more holes than it has walls and no roof to accommodate the office. The sign that used to hang proudly, announcing their name and service, is now leaning against the wall of the snack bar below. It is broken in half next to the kanji of gin. The snack bar itself is open, but there is quite the lack of noise after all. No barkings of head-eating dogs, or lazy ramblings of white-haired men, or shameless demands from overpowered girls.
There is but a white-and-blue figure that clues Kotarou of what little life still clinging to this odd jobs business. It is there over at their ladder, hammer hitting nail hitting wood, painstakingly remaking the missing steps once more. Kotarou almost thought it to be his old comrade, but the person has hair the color of deep brown and not blueish white. Kotarou approaches slowly. The hammer continues its rhythmic knock, knock, knock.
"I see Sakamoto doesn't send you carpenters this time around," the hammer misses its target and hits finger instead of nail, and Shinpachi lets out a high-pitched scream as he falls, butt first, through the unfinished step right to the ground. Kotarou stares at the boy, hands inside his pockets. Not one day passes without him missing being able to tuck his hands into his kimono sleeves. "Not that the best carpenter can fix this rickety place for long, anyway."
Shinpachi clutches at his red thumb. "You're a horrible person, Katsura-san," he hisses out, between the low muttering of repeated ‘ow’s.
"It's not Katsura, it's Donald Zuramp." Kotarou says instead of smiling. Trust Shinpachi to still call him by the right name. But he is undercover now; there are no Jouishishi leader Katsura Kotarou around here today, just an up and coming political figure in Edo. Shinpachi blinks and finally looks up to see him, and his eyes narrow in suspicion.
"Katsura-san, what are you wearing?" he asks, tone flat.
“My work clothes,” Kotarou answers, nursing his mustache proudly. “One must look his best when going to govern our new Edo.”
“That’s not even a real mustache, that’s just some cheap sticker. Nevermind that—what?”
“I’m well on my way to become Edo’s new and first prime minister. I await your full support, Shinpachi-kun!”
Shinpachi just kind of stares at him for a few quiet seconds. “You. The Joui terrorist. Becoming a prime minister. And what does the Shinsengumi—or whoever’s in charge right now, I don’t even know anymore—have to say about this?”
Those few assassination attempts were probably sent by Matsudaira, honestly, despite his word of actually getting Kotarou into a position of power. There’s nothing to note of them, though; they barely qualify as nuisance. “I have their support as well, of course. Edo will enter its new dawn soon enough.”
Shinpachi, who clearly sees Kotarou’s fond recollections of said assassination attempts right through his empty head, sighs as he stands up. He dusts his pants, and grumbles, “This country is doomed.”
Kotarou ignores him, as boke often does a tsukkomi. “Speaking about clothing, you seem to have changed your wardrobe as well, Shinpachi-kun.”
“Ah, yes,” Shinpachi turns bashful. He pushes his glasses up, fixes his haori. The light blue swirls on its hems pay clear homage to a certain block-headed samurai. Kotarou can see that the bokutou is at least dojo-grade, though, and there is no engraving etched on the wood. “So many things happened, I thought a bit of an image change might be good.”
“Hm. I really like the new color of your glasses’ frame.”
“That’s what you’re looking at?!”
“That aside,” Kotarou announces, when Shinpachi starts swinging his hammer in a dangerously murderous motion, “may I come in? I’d rather not talk with construction work for background noise.”
“Someone needs to do construction work inside your head,” Shinpachi retorts. He tosses the hammer to its open toolbox anyway. He walks up the ladder to the office, Kotarou following behind. “Why are you here, again, Katsura-san?”
The wood creaks and bends along with their footfalls. "I'm here to prevent you from neglecting your tsukkomi duties, Shinpachi-kun, since there are a few less boke hanging around here, it seems."
From his position, Kotarou has no way of seeing Shinpachi’s expression. Still, he can hear that the boy’s next reply sounds quieter than all his previous ones. "The way I see it, there's still too many of you guys hanging around this town. We don't need one more paying a visit, honestly."
"Oh? But I practically live here, too."
“An unfortunate fact,” Shinpachi jumps the missing wooden plank, landing two steps above it. “Not with Elizabeth-san today?”
“No.” Kotarou jumps the missing step, aiming to land on the step above it. Shinpachi starts to turn around and Kotarou sees his eyes widen. “Elizabeth’s out doing—”
“Ah, Katsura-san, you probably shouldn’t—”
Shinpachi’s warning comes too late, and the wood that meets the sole of Kotarou’s shoe bends and cracks and gives. His sentence trails off to a scream—in a higher pitch than Shinpachi’s previous one, unfortunately—as he falls, and his face eats Kabuki-chou’s cracked, dry, nasty dirt. Someone from the bar yells something about keeping the noise down.
“—step on that one.” Kotarou hears from above him. When he looks up, Shinpachi is leaning on the balcony’s railing, making no move to come back down to help him. He’s probably attempting to look apologetic, or maybe concerned, but his expression just looks like a subtle mix of smug and pitying. Which Kotarou probably deserves, honestly.
He clears his throat. “That’s one dirty obstacle, Shinpachi-kun. I wasn’t ready—can I have another try? I’ll definitely reach the top of Mount Midoriyama this time!”
True to form, Shinpachi’s hackles rise; mission accomplished. “Does this place look like Sasuke to you? Do you want me to narrate your athletic prowess? Go die already!”
Kotarou suppresses a smile while Shinpachi continues yelling. Good to know he’s not slacking his duties. Everyone already knows their series has too few straight men to begin with.
Seeing as Shinpachi has no intention of offering him a hand, Kotarou picks himself up and restarts his journey up the stairs. This time, he traces Shinpachi’s old footsteps—pick the left side here, swerve right there, skip this step. He reaches Shinpachi’s side in no time, in more or less one piece.
Shinpachi gives him a smile—that still twitches with irritation around the corner—before he spins and opens the door. “You lost your mustache,” he says, stepping in without waiting for Kotarou’s response.
He rubs the skin above his upper lip, and true enough, it’s missing the disguise piece. He laughs, loud and bellowing and rather maniacal, at this. “Worry not, Shinpachi-kun, a master of disguise always prepares backup plans!” He digs his pocket and fishes out another fake mustache, brandishing it to the air.
Shinpachi barely bats an eye to his theatrics, as he usually does. One does not live in Edo and gets constantly fazed by its people, especially not when you live in close proximity to many of the worst case idiots. He just mutters a placating ‘yes, yes’ while Kotarou fixes the new mustache on his face. Only once he’s sure that the disguise is secure does he enter the office.
Well, Kotarou uses the expression ‘enter’ in his head, but there’s really not much entering action happening anywhere. Beyond the door is still an open space, Edo’s sky a clear blue above them. The walls are half-finished, mismatched patchwork things, and if the weather decides to go wild just so, they definitely won’t hold up. Shinpachi walks past the genkan without removing his waraji, and Kotarou balks at him.
“It’s still very dirty, Katsura-san,” Shinpachi says as a mean of explanation, “keep your shoes on as well, please, you’re going to get your socks dirty.”
Kotarou slips off his shoes, anyway. “What next, you’re going to tell me you’re giving up on trying to be a samurai?” Shinpachi twists around, his mouth already opening, before it closes again once he sees what Kotarou is doing. He frowns for a bit, bites his lip. Eventually, he shrugs.
“You know you’re one of the reasons why samurai don't seem so appealing of a dream anymore, right, Katsura-san? And suit yourself, I warned you.”
Tiny pieces of rubble prick through Kotarou’s socks, but he refuses to back up and pick his shoes again. It’s about the principle of the thing. Most of the things in his life are about the principle of the thing, and Runaway Kotarou he may be, he will never abandon his principle. And if the principle when entering someone’s home is for one to take off their shoes, then Kotarou will stick to that, sharp debris or not.
“You can sit on the sofa, Katsura-san, just remove the tarp,” Shinpachi says from where he has migrated to the kitchen. Kotarou obliges, and beneath the dusty tarp it is indeed their battered, but overall whole, sofa. He sits down while the kitchen continues to make cluttering noises. “I managed to salvage it somewhat. Ah, there’s still no actual loose leaf tea around here, though, so you’re going to have to deal with teabags.”
“Such poor reception to your guest, Shinpachi-kun.”
“I’d rather not serve you anything, really, but that would probably make my character ranking do worse.”
“So you do care about the rankings.”
“Ha ha, Takasugi-cosplay-san.”
“It’s not Takasugi cosplay, it’s Katsura.”
Shinpachi returns to the main room, rolling his eyes while he slams the cup to what remains of their table. Kotarou blinks at the white paper cup and brown liquid inside it. The swaying string of the teabag mocks him.
“I thought you said there is no real tea; you didn’t say you also don’t have actual cups.”
Shinpachi sits down beside him with a sigh. Him and Leader usually sit across from their guest, but that other sofa is now just a clump of wood and cotton and bright fabric shoved to the corner of the room. He gestures around—at absolutely nothing and just about everything at once. His gaze is downcast. “Did you know that second-hand kitchenware isn't worth much in the flea market? But they do let you trade for building material scraps well enough. Well, I guess they have a lot of that, after the whole… destruction, and all.”
Kotarou picks the cup and takes a sip, just to have something to swallow through his dry dry mouth. The tea tastes very bland and much like nothing at all, like he’s just drinking brown-colored hot water. He puts the cup to the table again. “Do you spend all your time fixing this place?”
“Obviously not.” Shinpachi huffs. “I still have the dojo and Ane-ue. But I come here when I can.”
“So the Yorozuya is still in business, you mean.”
There’s a slight slump to Shinpachi’s form. He runs a hand through his hair, fixing it in the new style. Like this, he looks older. Tired. Worn, more than when he was actively dealing with two idiots on a daily basis. Like the lack of good matcha has genuinely drained him. Kotarou follows his gaze as he stares at the Sugar Content banner, burnt and leaning to the owner’s table. The seat behind it is empty.
“The Yorozuya… Gin-san and Kagura-chan have each found their own things to do.” Shinpachi finally replies. He says it with a sigh, like he’s just saying, they’re out for JUMP and sukonbu again, of course. His eyes also shutter while he says this, like he’s announcing defeat, they’re gone for good and I’m the only one left. “I have my own things to do, too, of course,” he adds, like it’s an afterthought. Or maybe a lie. A very obvious one, in Kotarou’s opinion; and rather pitiful, too.
Kotarou hums. He picks the cup again, just to swirl the liquid in it around. “And so? You will stop working in their absence?”
Shinpachi shakes his head, stares at Kotarou with a slanted smile. “The Yorozuya can never be just one, Katsura-san.”
The quiet stretches and expands. Indeed, silence is much too deafening when you get too used to cacophony.
“But you can, you know.” Kotarou says, once he finishes emptying the cup and the stillness becomes nearly suppressing. His time is almost up, and it’s only polite for guests to finish what they were provided. “Just change the place’s name to ‘Yorozuya Shinpachi-san’. No one will bat an eye. I bet you’ll do better than that permed idiot, anyway.”
Shinpachi’s smile turns more genuine, like he’s glad the conversation is more on script, like he’s clutching on every little past routine anyone can offer him. “I’d gladly take the main character role, but I don’t think the others will let it go that easily.”
“Yes, you are too bland for it after all.”
“Oi. We’re not repeating this fight again. I can and will kick you out.”
Kotarou stands up and pats his suit. “No need, I’m afraid it is indeed my time to leave.”
“Eh? You’re leaving already?” Shinpachi asks, clearly puzzled. He trails behind Kotarou, once again unsure in the face of this uncharacteristic development. Kotarou continues putting on his shoes while Shinpachi shifts and shuffles. Kotarou hears the boy taking a breath and steeling himself, then, “Wait, Katsura-san, just. Out of curiosity… have you heard anything from Gin-san?”
Kotarou stands on the genkan, ignoring the prickles of debris now stuck inside his shoes, body half-turned to face Shinpachi. Uncharacteristic development indeed, what their wayward protagonist is doing. To leave this place, his employees, and what they stand for right here. Just about anyone can glimpse how deep the bond between Gintoki and the Yorozuya kids go. But Kotarou knows—he is Gintoki’s schoolmate, Shiroyasha’s comrade, friend of the Yorozuya’s boss. He knows, and he watched. Yorozuya’s origin: a man carrying two tired kids to the sunset; and their falling: an unbelievable development that is too out of place in this universe of friendship, effort, and victory.
He has a guess, or two, or a few—for why Gintoki would think walking backwards is the answer to go forward. None of them has endings that he’d like to see. None of them particularly inclines him to tell Shinpachi, who is staring at him with faint hope glimmering behind his eyes. “Probably off pursuing being a manga artist or something. Definitely nothing as Fire Emblem-ed as becoming Edo’s prime minister.” He tilts his chin up for an extra measure.
“...I really don’t look forward to meeting the rest of everyone, if they all got ‘Fire Emblem-ed’ too.” Shinpachi shakes his head.
“Would you rather have everyone get Final Fantasy-ed instead?”
“Please stop, you’re going to get us into trouble again!” Shinpachi shouts and rubs his forehead. “Really, though, Katsura-san, why did you come here?”
Kotarou puts his hands inside his pockets again. If ‘why’ is Shinpachi’s question, ‘how’ is his own burden. He does not know how to tell the boy this: that he sees a specter within this hollowed out home. A white-and-blue-and-brown ghost roaming this ashy barren land. He does not know how to tell him of how much he aches from the familiarity of it all. Kotarou does not know if he's welcomed to grip at Shinpachi's shoulders and tell him: I wish you didn't have to bear this cross too.
They're both alike in the one way Kotarou never wants anyone else to be. For to be the one left behind is the hardest duty to accept, for being the one who has to endure is a hell of eternity. Shinpachi looks like he's trying to wear shoes that are more the size of boats, and Kotarou remembers: a boy with flowers in his hands, crying in front of a grave; a teenager with a sword in his hand, becoming more alone against a war they’ll never win; a man with bombs in his hands, still feeling as helpless as the boy.
He wants to hug Shinpachi and maybe cry and possibly tell him that it’s going to be okay and that it gets better except it doesn’t, at least for Kotarou it never does because he’s still all alone, for all of his trying here he is, all alone.
Ah, but Gintoki would snap, Zura, really, since when do you have friends? Stop trying to poison Shinpachi with your terrorism! And Sakamoto would laugh, ahahaha, Zura, I’m still your friend even when I’m above with the stars, you know! And Takasugi would simply smirk around his kiseru, that’s rather depressing for you to say, Zura, are you going to join the dark side?
So, instead of doing all of the things that involved entering Shinpachi’s personal space, Kotarou calls out, "Shinpachi-kun." Shinpachi continues standing there, in the middle of this tattered building under the open sky. Like a watchful sentry for his troops, or maybe just a child, waiting for his family to come home from war. He tilts his head and says nothing.
"I have a request, Yorozuya-san," will you listen to my little wish, Shinpachi-kun? Kotarou pleads inside his own head, "you're still taking jobs, I believe?"
Shinpachi inhales. There is a subtle straightening to his back. He pushes his glasses up, and the glare from the sun on the lenses hides his eyes. "Always. Any request you have, Yorozuya at your service."
Kotarou smiles. He knows he is heard. "Here is my request, Yorozuya Shinpachi-kun: the next time I visit it will be after I take over the country, and this building should still be here and fixed fully." Survive, he whispers. He digs his pocket, and throws a 500 yen coin at Shinpachi. "And use that payment to buy proper matcha and earthenware for your guests, please. It is unbecoming of a samurai to serve guests so poorly."
Shinpachi catches the coin easily. He stares down at it for a while. When he looks up, it is with a smile on his face. This one is nothing like the infuriating grin of the namesake of the business—even though Kotarou knows the boy is capable of replicating that one too—this smile is all Shinpachi. Shimura Shinpachi, Kotarou knows, will endure and survive.
"This is not nearly enough payment, Katsura-san, I'm gonna have to charge you the rest of the bill—with interest—after I finish the job."
Kotarou turns away fully, waves a hand over his shoulder. As he walks out, he thinks—Shinpachi will be different. Here is a boy who fixes the office that is more holes than walls, instead of a boy who stares blankly at the school that is charred wood and ash. If it’s Shimura Shinpachi, Kotarou can be rest assured that a kinder ending is within his reach.
“Remind me to never bring it up again, then,” he says, and behind him Shinpachi laughs. It’s a promise, and Kotarou is sure he will be scammed dry. He’s looking forward to it.