Three Days of Blood
TITLE: Three Days of Blood
CHAPTER: 4/4
AUTHOR: Ankh Ascendant ( setosgirl0 / neferseti0 )
DATE: 10-12-09
FANDOM: Rurouni Kenshin
DISCLAIMER: I don’t own Rurouni Kenshin, or make any money from it.
PAIRINGS: Saitou/Aoshi
TYPE: Action
RATING: PG
WARNINGS: none
OCs: none
BETA: none
WORDS: 2598
SUMMARY: Aoshi gets his prize.
NOTES: This was written (kinda) for the prompt ( http://yaoigirl.com/?p=373 ) “justice”.
* * *
Three Days of Blood
The Fourth Day – Jinsei
A vast land of skeletons stretched out into the darkness, hills of bone that rose up toward nothingness.
Aoshi blinked once, wondering if he were dreaming, and looked slowly down. Beneath his foot, a skull turned, then came dislodged and rattled away down the hill, disappearing into that same empty darkness. His hand tightened on the sheath that held his kodachi.
“Welcome to Hell, Aoshi.”
He glanced over without moving; his hand gripped the sheath a little tighter at Saitou’s voice, but that was all.
There was no sign of the leashed policeman Aoshi had known. He had never seen the Shinsengumi in person, but he recognized the yellow-striped kimono he wore as the uniform of them. Saitou looked perhaps younger, and very much alive and healthy, but no less harsh, even given that he was smiling. It was not a pleasant smile; he had come to believe Saitou did not know how to have a pleasant smile.
“It’s a fitting place for people like us, isn’t it?” Saitou mused. He lit a cigarette from the butt of his previous one and flicked the remains into the valley of bones as he started to smoke the second. The glowing ember fell for a while and disappeared into the darkness.
“Aa,” he agreed quietly. A dead land. Decorated with the souls of their victims, he was sure, ready to mete out whatever justice they deserved.
He glanced at himself, curious. He was in his black shinobi garb, purple tenigui tied at his back, with his dual kodachi, and mercifully uinjured. His left hand, whole, passed his sheath to the other and touched his stomach, where there was no gaping wound, and no pain of reopened scars. He was ready, then… Ready to fight them for the rest of eternity.
Saitou was smoking again beside him, pondering the lifeless landscape. “You said I made the wrong decision,” he said finally, his voice mellow and even contented, drawing his attention. “I think you’re wrong.”
He gave him a sidelong glance, letting his hand fall to his side again. “You died for it.”
“I did,” he agreed mildly. “And dishonored my name and left all sorts of embarrassment for the police force and Tokio, I’m sure.”
“That doesn’t bother you.”
“No. Well, I might regret leaving her.” He took a drag on the cigarette. “But she’ll be fine. She has relatives that need heirs anyway, they’ll take her and the boys in. And here I am.”
“Aa,” Aoshi agreed. Here they were. And Saitou didn’t seem to mind.
“This should be entertaining.” He tossed that cigarette away after the first, and laid his hand on his sword. “I could probably amuse myself for an eternity hunting Shishio alone, and he’s not even the greatest evil here. There’s more than enough prey for the both of us.”
What, both of them? Saitou wasn’t intending on getting his revenge, then…? Aoshi turned to watch him. “You hold no grudge?”
“At you, for killing me?” He smiled slightly… it was more nostalgic than bloodthirsty. “Of course not. It was fun.”
“You are a strange man, Saitou,” he said quietly.
“No… I’m a wolf.” His smile turned into a grin. “But you are a strange man, finding peace so close to the edge of violence. Maybe it’s a good balance. That strength you found there at the end… Strange, but impressive.”
He didn’t answer, watching Saitou watch the fields of bones. He’d never had forgiveness from the mouth of someone he’d killed before… He didn’t know how much it meant, coming from this man. His place of peace may have been near violence, but Saitou’s was far over the edge, drenched in blood, a delicate balance on the tip of a sword.
Saitou looked at him. “If you don’t bear a grudge of your own, you can hunt with me… or if you do, you can be my hunter and my prey… whichever you prefer.”
He considered the offer silently, watching Saitou. Perhaps he should have borne a grudge, for this man had unwarrantedly disrupted and then ended his life in a quick spasm of pain and violence, and taken his body as well as his life against his will. Somehow, though, he didn’t. Perhaps it was seeing him satisfied and so much in his element now, or perhaps it was the fact that in the end he had not hurt the others despite all his threats, or perhaps the fact that it had never been anything but a game to him… or perhaps he had never held it against him at all. As Saitou said, it had been a good fight, and had never had any real malice in it. He did not hate him. Even when he killed him it was not for revenge, though he would have been entitled for what he had done, but because those were the rules of the game… Kill or be killed.
And, he reflected, they had been a good killing team before. They worked well together, and would as long as Saitou acknowledged that his body was not part of any stakes again. Though, he doubted Saitou was good at respecting boundaries.
“Aa,” he finally agreed.
“Good,” Saitou said with a smile. “Don’t lose your edge. I expect to see you back here again.” With a movement not unlike his Gatotsu, he placed his hand on Aoshi’s head and pushed him backward into the abyss.
_ – =*= – _
“Aoshi-sama?”
“It’s no use, Misao-chan, he can’t hear you… You should go get some rest. You know that he’s… that if he does wake up again, it won’t be soon…”
“No, he moved, I saw it! I think he’s coming around. Aoshi-sama, can you hear me?”
Noise… Noise, intruding on his peaceful darkness… but it was a welcome noise, and a voice to which he could not refuse to respond. “Aa…”
“Did you hear that?”
“It was probably just a sound…”
He opened his eyes slowly, trying to reacquaint himself gently with light and being alive, both things he had not expected to experience again.
“Aoshi-sama!” Light was suddenly replaced with dark hair, and there was a burst of exquisite pain absolutely everywhere. Whatever breath he had was driven out by the weight of the girl suddenly on top of him; he let out a grunt of pain, fighting off unconsciousness that threatened again.
“Misao, get off!” She was pulled off and he could breathe once more. He let out a cough that made his entire body hurt again, and took a deep breath that he could feel pulling at the barely closed second-generation scars over his abdomen, and the suicide wound that had yet to succeed. “If you open any of those wounds again he’ll die.”
So, then, he had survived after all. He must have a guardian spirit looking over him. Or, possibly, six…
“I’m sorry!” She sat back, looking at him with wide blue eyes, but she looked ecstatic. He breathed slowly and let his eyes drift closed once more, simply experiencing being conscious. He wasn’t sure yet if that was a pleasant feeling or not… It hurt a lot more than being comatose did. Sleeping a while longer, or perhaps drifting off into the darkness, held a certain appeal right now…
But, he supposed he should have a rest before he joined Saitou, and he had not come this far to give up and take the easy path. He took a slightly deeper breath and held firmly onto consciousness.
Pulling his eyes open again, he blinked a couple times and forced them to focus on Misao – her eyes were wet and she was almost crying, he saw, and clutching at her lap to keep from flinging herself onto him again. He might have given her a smile, if he had the energy; he had resigned himself to never seeing her again when he closed his eyes the last time. If he smiled, however, she would throw herself on him again, and then he might die of her overenthusiasm. Best to keep it to himself, and pretend it was a choice, not the alarming weakness that made changing his expression seem like an impossible task. He would need much, much more rest and medical attention before he was all right again…
Omasu was already at the door, and his eyes shifted that way when he heard her yell. “Okina! Everybody – come quick! The Okashira’s awake!”
The sound of footsteps was like thunder to his sensitive ears… when had they all lost their training? They’d be dead running like that in enemy territory.
The other four flooded into the room, babbling and exuding joy. He closed his eyes and let their voices wash over him without expending the energy to pick out individual words, relaxing when he finally saw them all. Misao, Omasu… Okan, Shiro, Kuro, Okina… At least everyone was all right… Saitou really had bypassed them all.
Then Okina clapped him on the shoulder, and instantly sent fiery spikes of pain from his missing fingers to his ear. He let out another noise of pain and wondered if the man was going senile, or maybe if that was passive-aggressive revenge for the wounds he’d had to endure at his hands. Either was possible. But it had not been the pierced shoulder, the broken arm, and had not seriously jarred any injuries that could be helped, so it seemed suspiciously premeditated.
“Okina!” Misao attacked him, apparently unaware of her hypocrisy. “Don’t do that, you could kill him!”
“Nonsense, he’s strong, he won’t die from a pat on the shoulder!” Ah; Okina was reassuring them, helping them to not worry with his flippant attitude. Shrewd old man. He was grateful.
The more mature members of the former Oniwabanshu gathered around him. “Okashira?” Okan sounded concerned; her hand sat lightly on the back of his arm, a comforting gesture which at least didn’t cause immediate agony. “Are you awake?”
“Aa…” Though he was on one level regretting it right now, with the constant assaults on his badly abused body. On another, he was sincerely glad. He opened his eyes again, to see that everyone was gathered around, looking down at him. He felt oddly like a body being viewed… and it didn’t bother him. It was good to see their faces again.
“How do you feel?”
“…Not dead.”
No one seemed terribly surprised at his answer; Omasu even laughed in relief, turning away from him to hide some emotion.
He wished briefly that he could smile at them. He was alive because of them… because he couldn’t leave them, and because they had saved his body. He should have died, and he could not credit his will to live this time… or, if he had a will to live, it was a will to live for them. Nothing else in him was that strong.
“Good…” Okan smiled a little. “Don’t try to move… you’re badly hurt.”
He was smart enough to know that on his own – he remembered what he had been through, and everything from his neck to his knees seemed to be competing for what could be in the most pain. His chest and stomach, both arms, and his legs all screamed for his attention, but it was fading to a dull roar now that he wasn’t being touched. He was beginning to be able to pick out the individual injuries, for the most part.
“There’s some bad news, Aoshi-sama,” Shiro said, and Aoshi glanced at him. At least his eyes moved relatively easily and without pain. “Your hand-”
“Aa,” he interrupted quietly. “I know. It won’t hold a sword again.” The others looked at each other, and he painfully lifted his left hand off the floor to look at it. It was wrapped in bandages that did not disguise that everything between his thumb and third finger was gone… once again, the sight threatened to make him sick, and did not want to register in his mind. He forced himself to accept it, though, moving the muscles and watching it respond. He could move the last two fingers, but anything more than a twitch and the rest of his hand screamed in pain. It was in fact the remains of his hand, pitiful as it was. It was not an insurmountable obstacle, though. He would adjust his style, become a one-handed fighter, and carry on.
“And your legs…”
“I will walk,” he murmured, and closed his eyes again, letting his hand settle to the floor. He would let those wounds turn into scars alongside the scars left by bullets, and definitely walk and fight as ever. He couldn’t allow Saitou to win, after all, and taking his ability to protect them would be the same as having killed him.
“That’s Aoshi-sama!” Misao cheered; he braced himself as well as he could, but thankfully she didn’t hug him again. “He’ll show that bastard wolf-cop! Man, I wish we could have gotten a hold of him… Aoshi-sama, you’re so mean, you should have saved him for us!”
He wondered if they knew everything, that he had not only been nearly killed but used for Saitou’s perverse desires as well, and how much that had to do with her indignation. Someone must know, he knew; someone must have cleaned and tended to him even there, and that was humbling to realize. It was not necessarily a secret; his honor was such that he wouldn’t hide it if asked, but it wasn’t something everyone needed to know – especially her. Luckily, he didn’t think any of them would bring it up. Any of them who knew might have kept it completely to themselves, but even if they could not, they would not have told Misao. That was another thing to be grateful to them for. She worshiped him as a hero, and didn’t need to know that he could be beaten like any man.
And she wanted to have had a hand in destroying him even without knowing that; he was sure all of the rest of them felt the same. He could see it on some of their faces, that they agreed with Misao’s sentiments. No, he would never have allowed a rabid dog, wolf or otherwise, alone with his family. If they had gotten a hold of Saitou, he would probably still be alive at this moment, begging for them to kill him; it was better that he had been put down as he had. Mercifully. A dog didn’t deserve torture for doing what was in its nature… “Saitou will be fine…” he murmured.
“What?”
“He’s going back to sleep.” A gentle hand touched his shoulder. That was his broken arm; even her light touch was pain. Dull, though, now. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”
True that he was drifting again, on slow waves of pain and leaden weariness that came from too little blood in his body and too much effort put into talking, but not true that he couldn’t hear himself. Saitou would be fine… He could entertain himself for a few years… until he could join him, and let himself go and truly exist for the fight…
There were years until that, though, however many years of borrowed time he had now to devote to them. He drifted toward sleep, carried by the murmuring voices of his Oniwaban family. A few more years of living with, for, them, as long as they needed him…
And then, in the end, when he could set his responsibilities aside, Saitou would be waiting for him.
~end~