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Chapter Text

Jin cracks open bleary eyes to find himself face down on a familiar beach, the sand slick and dark beneath him with freshly spilled blood. This hasn't been an altogether unusual dream for him to have, even so many years out from the massacre at Komoda beach, but the rancid stench of dead and dying men is a hellish new touch. Vivid. So overpowering as to be real. 

And his body, it throbs acutely with actual pain. He didn't feel this way when he went to bed last night. The claws of it tear through him as he struggles to his knees, the source mainly emanating from two separate points of impact at his back. He quickly glances around with a grimace, unable to believe what he's seeing. What he's feeling. He remembers the war very clearly. He remembers this beach, and this pain.

Pierced by at least two arrows, he'd been, during the Mongol's initial landing: driven near to the point of death, vision and body both failing him as he attempted to crawl his way to his Uncle's side. That'd been the last thing he could remember seeing before waking up again in Yuna's hiding nook—Lord Shimura on his knees, proud and unyielding even in the face of a deadly beast like Khotun Khan. 

Now, he doesn't see anyone of note at all. No Lord Shimura, no Khan. No Yuna, either. All around him the victims of battle are howling, groping at their wounds, thrashing in their death throes or already gone silent. Jin is and always has been just one man among many, but at this moment he appears to be the only person with the ability to get up on both legs and walk away. 

As he levers himself to his feet with the help of his beloved katana, passed on to his daughter years ago now (or in the future?), he allows himself to be consumed by a brief moment of true hysteria. This cannot be real—he cannot be here again. The life and dealings of Lord Jin Sakai have been long behind him, a memory there and gone, and this must be nothing but a particularly convincing nightmare. Everything last night had been normal. He should have woken up in the morning, his wife warm by his side. 

Yet, when he staggers to the edge of the beach to scrub the dried blood from his skin, the face that reflects back at him by the illuminated water is not one he's seen on himself in at least thirty-five years. This man, kneeling at the broken shoreline with arrows embedded in his back, the dark water lapping at his dirtied knees, is young and innocent and still samurai-poised, his beard black and neatly trimmed. He has not yet seen the scars of war that will ravage his homeland, nor has he lost the people he has loved to everything from savage betrayal to mundane old age.

Taka. Sensei. Masako. Uncle.

Ryuzo. 

Jin's free hand clenches into a tight fist against his thigh, swallowing the scream that scrapes threateningly against the walls of his throat as he forcibly rips the arrows from his flesh with fumbling fingers, the cry fighting to be let free. He won't allow it its escape. He won't allow himself another second of indulging this creeping madness, either, the insidious tendrils of doubt and fear skirting the edges of his mind. He may not know how he came to be here, or why—but he has never, not in his sixty plus years of life, ever lost his resolve. He'll muster it now, as he always has, and find a way through this.

And just like that, Jin Sakai is born anew. He stands up on quaking legs like a fledgling phoenix rising from the ashes, and follows the guiding wind.

"You'll go blind that way, you know. Then how will you read to Misao?"

Jin smiled, looking up from the text he'd been squinting over. The lamplight was poor and his vision somehow grew poorer by the year, but this book was one of his favorites, and one he very much intended to read to their daughter later in the evening. "She's a clever girl, just like her mother," he reminded his wife. "Should she ever need to, I'm certain she would have no trouble reading our nightly stories to me, instead."

Yuna laughed, as good-natured as she'd always been. Her dark hair hung loose around her face like a shroud, the lantern hanging above them giving her the radiant appearance of a halo around the crown of her head. The irony was not lost on Jin, because his fiery wife and partner was anything but an angel, for all that she was ultimately kind. 

"Going senile already, dearest husband?" Jin suppressed a wry quirk of lips. She only ever called him that when she was making fun of him. "Surely a girl of only five has no business reading her own bedtime stories, yet. That's what she has her father for. Or has he forgotten his own daughter's age? Quick, Jin, do you even remember how old you are?"

Laughing, Jin pulled his mischievous wife onto his lap and replied, "old enough to know that you will never change." He kissed her chastely, running thick fingers through her silky hair, and smiled. "Just as I hope this never does. The three of us here, now—" Yuna with her dancing eyes, sitting prettily in his lap, their daughter playing with her dolls in the next room, already eager for their nightly ritual—"I could live in this moment forever and a day."

He wakes again with a start when someone takes to kicking at his legs, ripping him from the depths of his dreams the way one might rip a babe from the comfort of its mother's breast. It certainly feels that way as he comes back to himself, any grasp of contentment he might've gained from the dreamy memory he'd been experiencing slipping through his fingers like sand as he becomes fully aware. He isn't back at home with his wife and child. He is still here, in Tsushima, but alone all over again. He's lying in a bed of straw, having passed out near the samurai stables in Komoda village after a long and grueling walk in the search to secure a horse, and apparently someone now wants to have a word with him about this sleeping arrangement. 

Jin shouldn't be surprised when he looks up with an apology on his tongue and instead gapes silently as he meets the richly dark eyes of his lovely (former?) wife, young all over again, but here he is. Shocked stupid, and she doesn't look pleased about it. Yuna doesn't look like much of anything really, still so cautious with her inner workings in these early years that if he didn't know her as well as he does, he couldn't even hope to read the hard assessment of her gaze and the burgeoning hope that lies beyond it.

"You," she barks at him. "You're a samurai, aren't you? You're dressed like one, even if that armor is filthy. Ran from the battle, did you? Is that why you're still alive?"

"I didn't run." He should certainly sound more affronted if only for appearance's sake, being addressed that way, but Yuna's no-nonsense tone disarms Jin like nothing else. "I don't know how I survived, if I'm to be honest with you. My wounds will probably be infected." He winces as he sits up, wary of his own prediction. He'd taken the time to apply a salve and dress his injuries before traveling here, but it'd been a perfunctory job, and he's not hopeful.

Yuna grunts and eyes him disbelievingly, as though searching for a lie. It's clear she's unsure of his worth, but still she says, "well, let me check you over. There's a house near here that the Mongols have already ransacked. Should be safe enough for the time being. At least until we can move you."

Jin knows what she'll say, but he asks anyway. "Move me to where?"

"Where my brother might be. He was captured by the Mongols." Glancing over him appraisingly, Yuna shrugs. "If you're a decent enough warrior to survive the slaughter and make it here on your own, maybe you can help me after all." 

Jin nods, though something inside him shrivels fitfully at the mention of Taka. "Maybe I can. My name is Jin, and I'll do my best to help you. On the condition that should I need it, you'll offer me your assistance in freeing my uncle from Mongol captivity as well." 

"I'm Yuna." A pause. "Wait. Jin, as in Jin Sakai?" Curious now, she helps him to his feet, slinging his arm across her shoulders to better balance his weight. "You don't mean—"

"Yes. My uncle is Lord Shimura, Jito of the island. But don't be too concerned about any of that yet. The plan I'm thinking of that might work to free him will take some time to come together." 

Yuna hums, quietly noncommittal the rest of their walk. That's all right, though. She may not know the truth of what they're up against or what they're fighting for, but Jin does. He won't make the same mistakes again. Not with so much that they'd lost before at risk all over again.

Once he's recovered enough for travel—luckily infection free—gathering the troops is a much simpler matter than before. He knows too much, and Yuna, sharper than any blade, notices, but she says nothing as he convinces her to forgo looking in Keshi Village entirely and focus their efforts on Azamo Bay. His excuse is that any blacksmith enslaved would be taken to an area where he could be easily put to work, but in reality it's just that Jin has no desire to revisit the Mongol camp where he betrayed his Uncle's trust for the first time. He no longer feels the poison of self-disgust throb through his veins as he takes the lives of his enemies from the shadows, but it's first happening is still a memory he'd prefer to avoid. 

Not speaking to the former Straw Hat they'd freed there is an added bonus. Jin wants no part of Ryuzo or his band of traitorous men this time around. Let them become the Khan's pawns. Let Ryuzo fall to his own follies. 

It's not until a badly shaken Taka is successfully recovered from Azamo Bay and on his way to Komatsu Forge with Yuna in tow that Jin is tempted into potentially changing his mind. The three of them (four, if one includes the ever-jovial Kenji) had decided to go their separate ways for the time being, and Jin has been prowling around Ariake prefecture ever since, taking out Mongol camps and reluctantly assisting Lady Masako with her quest for vengeance. 

He should tell her about Hana. He knows he should. But he can't. Every time he tries, the words stick in his throat as though glued. It's not the first time such a thing has happened, either. At any attempt to mention things he shouldn't know but does, his throat clogs up and his lips pinch shut. He wonders about this, though like everything else—his presence here, his retained memories and skills, the fate of his future, his life—it remains a mystery.

Until he comes across Lake Izuhara, that is. 

It's supposed to be a peaceful ride along the shore in between missives, but Jin notices an odd trail of smoke rising from between the trees of the islet glen in the middle of the lake. When he goes to investigate, he's shocked to find a man dressed in bright red, his entire head obscured by a four-sided mask. When prompted with a hello, the man only grunts, pointing to a giant wooden chest of what seems to be purchasable goods that sits open to the left of him. 

"You…want me to buy something?" 

Another grunt, seemingly affirmative. Puzzled, Jin looks over his wares. Masks and hats, dyes for armor. The mysterious man even carries silk, and quite a bit of it. That's a rare resource during these times. How did he acquire it? What is this man even doing here, anyway? Jin has never seen him before in his life. Certainly not the first time he'd fought this war.

Interesting. If he could only just ask—

"I'm sorry to say you won't be getting any answers out of him, young man." 

Surprised to be snuck up on so easily, Jin turns on his heel only to be greeted by a little old man wearing plain traveler's clothes and carrying a bale of rice on his back. Jin's first instinct is to jump to offer aid, but something in the sparkle of the old man's eyes stills him. They're quite pleasant to look at, as far as eyes go, more green than the most verdant forest, but they seem—more, somehow, than any other person's eyes he's ever met. He can't explain it.

Though, perhaps this man can. He grins cheekily, like he can hear the very thoughts tumbling around Jin's head.

"I'm afraid I might not have many answers for you either, son. But I won't say that you can't ask any questions."

Curious. "Who are you?"

The man grins even wider, amused by this predictable question. Just as predictably, he answers, "Oh, just a traveler, never you mind. I've come a long way and was sussin' out a place to rest. Beautiful place you got here, that it is."

"Yes," Jin agrees, easily enough despite the evasive answer. "You have picked a beautiful spot in Tsushima to rest. Might I ask—do you know this man, then?" He points to the merchant, who has stood vigilantly silent throughout this entire exchange. "You seem familiar with him. Said he couldn't give me any answers?"

Almost as though the old man understands that Jin has quite a lot of unanswerable questions. He has no qualms appearing to have a suspicious amount of knowledge for such an innocuous figure.

"Sure. With a name like Baku the Voiceless, you couldn't really think any differently, could ya? He doesn't mean any harm. Just a bit different, you could say."

"Like you," Jin offers.

"Aye, my boy. Just like me. Matter of fact though, I do actually have a message for you. What a happy coincidence that we ran into each other."

Taken aback by this strange turn of conversation, Jin can only nod. Happy coincidence indeed. "What's the message?"

"Whether a blessing or a curse, you, O Hero of Tsushima, have been given the gift of choice." The old man's voice has abruptly taken on an odd quality, almost inhuman. Otherworldly. It's near painful to listen to, but Jin persists, desperate for answers. "What choices you make are yours. What consequences that follow are also yours. But be warned now—you will not be given another chance. You only get this one opportunity to rectify any regrets." Then, as swiftly as it came, the unpleasant tone of the man's voice dissipates, a wizened smile fixed firmly in place. "That's all. Choose wisely."

As Jin digests all that, he's struck with what is probably the most important question of all. The heart of the matter, as it were. The thing that's been bothering him the most.

"Why me? Why am I being given this…gift?" Blessing or curse? Chance and choice? "Why not any of the others? Masako? Yuna? Norio? I did not become the Hero of Tsushima on my own. I am far from the only one that has suffered. We all lost things. People. I don't deserve this. Not me alone." 

"Would it be you alone?" The old man regards him shrewdly, as though peering straight into Jin's very soul. What he sees there, Jin can't begin to guess. But as the man's eyes twinkle at him, it feels a little something like approval. Like Jin has passed some sort of test he didn't even realize he's been taking. "Seems to me like you're the one best suited to make sure everyone suffers a little less than they did before. Counts for something, eh? But what do I know? Like I said, I'm just a messenger."

With a nod of his head and a jaunty wink, the old man turns to go. But before he can walk away, maybe never to be seen again, Jin stops him to say, shakily, "my life…before I came back. I was happy." It had taken a long and often difficult path to get there, but Jin has never regretted how things turned out. He misses his daughter. He misses what he had with Yuna, even if he'd never originally expected their relationship to go that way. "Will I…is all of that lost to me now?" 

When the old man turns back to look at him, his smile has turned placative. Jin's chest tightens painfully at the sight. "I'd say that depends very much on you, young man. Like I said, the choices are yours." 

It's as much of an answer as Jin will probably get, unsatisfying though it is. He lets him go. After the old man leisurely takes his leave, Jin sits by the rocky edge of the islet and ruminates on choice, watching the golden leaves of Ariake's forest dance with the wind as they fall. 

A day later, he takes back Komatsu Forge. A few days after that, he's once again in possession of his kaginawa, crafted by the man who would have been his brother-in-law had he lived long enough to witness the wedding. Jin still experiences a sick lurch every time he looks at Taka, but he speaks with him often over his time spent in Komatsu. Trains him a bit with a blade and a bow; shows him how to throw wicked little knives with a quick flick of the wrist.

Yuna watches on, unimpressed. Ever since Jin took Taka under his wing, she's been shooting him frosty glares day and night that remind Jin of missed anniversaries and forgotten birthdays. Even under her formidable glowering, though, he can't help but smile. There are memories everywhere he goes, everywhere he looks, bittersweet. But also, choices to be made. A chance to take, lest it slip through his fingers.

Problem is, there are almost too many ways to take it. An absurd amount of choices. So many possible consequences.

He lists his objectives in his mind late one sleepless evening at the Forge, a centering technique he was trained into long ago by minds more wise than his own. Firstly: save Taka. No room for error, there. How to go about it could prove to be a tricker strategy, though. Wanting to be like the Ghost was what had gotten him killed in the first place, but Jin would rather Taka adopt a few battle skills for emergencies (as much as Yuna resents him for it) than discourage him completely. It's practical. It could save his life in a pinch. And Jin will do whatever it takes to prevent him from being killed a second time around, now that they've gotten him back.

That said, the second objective…

Ryuzo. 

Jin closes his eyes as he shifts upon his bedroll, huffing out a breath between clenched teeth. He doesn't want to see Ryuzo again, but he can't deny that his old friend had nearly as much of a hand in Taka's death that Jin himself did, for all that neither of them had actually swung the sword. And there's a part of Jin, tucked away in the deepest, darkest pit of his soul, that has always regretted what happened. That he couldn't save him, either. Save Ryuzo. From himself, from Jin. From the Khan. Whichever.  

Jin had lived with himself for decades after the fact, never forgetting that the blood of his oldest friend forever stained his hands but never dwelling on it either. He'd lived on, and told himself it was what had to be done, and frequently denied even in his own mind that when they were younger, Jin had wished they could be something more. Yearned for it, even. He'd dug a grave for those feelings and put them to rest, deep as he could bury them, and when he and Yuna eventually fell together it seemed like those feelings were finally at peace. 

But now. Right now. Ryuzo is out there, alive. Anew. Drinking in an onsen, probably. Telling terrible stories. Bullshitting with his men. Starving. Looking after the injured, the ill. Trying to hold together his chosen family through force of will all alone.

Damn it. Jin grinds the heels of his palms into his eye sockets, fruitlessly attempting to hold back the tears. He's never cried over Ryuzo before, even after he'd taken his life, but of course, once it starts in earnest it becomes impossible to stop. He cries for his younger self, blossoming with the sweet taste of first love. He cries for his older self, who loved Yuna with all parts of his heart but the one he couldn't bear to give. He cries for the Jin in the here and now, who, despite the undying love in his very core for the family that doesn't yet exist, still aches to reach out for Ryuzo and see him reach back. 

By the time the sun peeks out from the horizon, Jin's eyes are dry and his mind is made up. He's gotten his gear gathered and his horse on the road towards the Kishi grasslands before anyone in Komatsu has even decided what to cook for breakfast. Yuna will be waking up before long if she hasn't already, soon to find the note he left behind for her saying that he's gone, but not where or when he'll be back.

Ridiculously, it feels a little like cheating.

Yuna found him on the viewing platform in the Adachi estates, arms wrapped around himself as he admired the view. The waning moon cut a pale scythe through the darkness of the sky, its gentle light half obscured by wispy clouds passing by. It was a nice night, if a little brisk. But even an approaching winter couldn't account for the chill that had seeped into Jin's very bones, freezing him from the inside out.

"You've been especially quiet tonight," Yuna said, dropping down next to him lazily. She swung her legs over the edge of the platform, heedless of the great height upon which they perched. Always fearless, this fierce woman he'd married. He tried to offer her a smile, but the look of concern she shot him said that it'd landed as more of a grimace. "I know. I'm sorry. That grumpy old woman meant a lot to you."

Tears stung at his eyes as he nodded. Yes, she had. Masako had been something like a mother figure to him, and to her he'd been something like a son. Her death had hit him hard, though she'd lived a long life. Too long, she'd said on her deathbed. It was time for her to rest. 

Yuna nudged him, handing over a cask of sake when Jin turned to look at her. He took it gratefully, swallowing a straight mouthful from the bottle as soon as he had it uncapped. It burned going down, fitting for the evening's mood. "Swiped it from her stores," she admitted, always a shameless thief. He couldn't remember the last time he'd done anything but love her for it. "Figured she'd want us to have it. This was a hard day." 

Her funeral pyre, held in the Adachi estates with the flush of autumn all around them. Hard, yes, but a beautiful place to pass on. Her ashes would be buried alongside her grandchildren at sunrise tomorrow. 

"Misao will miss her, too. She's so much like you, did you know? Quiet in her grief." 

Jin grinned, tiny and wry. "So you've often told me." They must have had a conversation every other week about how much like Jin their daughter behaved. But Jin could see Yuna in Misao too—her smile, her spirit. The sparkle of mischief in her clever eyes. 

Unbidden and unwelcome, an entirely different mischievous gaze flashed through his mind, the full mouth beneath goading him with a smirk. Betting Jin that he wouldn't dare dress up as a maiden and parade through the village, or teasing him for the time that they'd tried sailing for Iki Island and Jin had accidentally capsized their shoddy boat. 

Ryuzo.

A thousand different memories, a thousand different aches left behind in their wake. Jin had carried them silently for a long time. What would Yuna say, if he told her now? Would she hold him as he laid out his regrets? Would she murmur nonsense words and stroke his back in comfort as he told her about his love for a man that even now, long after his death, would not die along with him? 

Jin looked at his wife. She looked back, nothing but sympathy in the warm brown of her irises. He thought maybe he could tell her, and she wouldn't even hate him for it. He thought he might. When he grabbed her hand, he opened his mouth, but all that came out was, "let's go inside. We'll catch cold out here."

It takes the better part of the morning to find Ryuzo, but it's more due to anxiousness than anything else. Jin goes out of his way whenever possible, taking the time to clear out any Mongol settlements he happens upon. He collects supplies as he goes—food and medicine, mostly, but also casks of sake pilfered from abandoned homes, all to share with Ryuzo and his men. It will come across as suspicious, most likely, but at least with a full belly and a flowing cup, Ryuzo may be easier to handle. Jin even hunts for a while, taking down a few game birds with well-timed arrows, stuffing them into his pack to pluck later, perhaps for a nice stew. 

Once he's as prepared as he feels he'll ever be, Jin sets down a path walked long ago, leading his horse through fluttering fields of pampas grass as he approaches the area he'd run into Ryuzo last time. On some level he's hoping he won't find him here again and will be forced to turn back, but as he comes upon a smouldering Mongol caravan in the middle of the road, smoke rising in wispy curls towards the open sky, he knows he's sealed his own fate. He'll follow the trail of bodies, and that's where he'll find him. 

Jin dismounts. Walks along the leading path of the Mongol dead to his own theoretical demise, feeling heavier with each step he takes. When he comes across a wide straw hat lying abandoned in the dirt, Jin's throat constricts violently. He isn't ready. This is a mistake. He can't—

Before he can make a move to leave, or even to pick up Ryuzo's hat, a Mongol is on him, blade swinging a vicious arc across his abdomen. Jin jumps back just in time to avoid being eviscerated, only years and years of experience kicking in to save his life. He's been too distracted. The gash on his stomach burns with every heaving breath Jin takes. He draws his own sword, reflexes dulled by panic, but the battle is cut short before it can even really begin when a third blade enters the fray, embedding itself deep in the angry Mongol's chest, straight through the heart. 

The body falls to the forest floor with a thump. Jin's stomach drops along with it. He looks up. There, over the corpse, handsome and wolfish with his armor covered in flecks of blood, stands Ryuzo.

Jin can only stare, the memory of this man's death looping over and over again in his mind. Eyes locked, grip tight. Ryuzo's hand warm on his arm. "Jin, please." The blade splitting open flesh as Jin said his goodbyes. Blood slicking his fingers. Watching the life leave Ryuzo's eyes, any lingering flicker of mischief snuffed out. 

"Oi," Ryuzo says in the present, warm and alive and suddenly standing too close, leaning in as though to get a thorough look at Jin's face. "You going to be sick or something? Look like you've seen a ghost. Maybe it feels that way, hmm? I thought you were dead, too. Komoda beach was a shit-show."

When Jin says nothing, Ryuzo frowns. "Jin?" He waves a broad hand in front of Jin's face, which Jin only half-heartedly swats away. "So you are in there. Hai. Thought maybe you'd gone brain dead. Not that you've got much of a brain to lose." 

The heckling doesn't work either. Jin doesn't chuckle along with his friend. He doesn't do anything at all. He feels oddly numb, detached, even the wound on his stomach a distant concept. He barely feels it. 

Jin stares, watching dispassionately as Ryuzo's face goes from playful to concerned, and then all the way to fearful. He's noticed the rip in Jin's armor, the pristine white material of his borrowed Adachi gear growing red with blood. "Shit! You're—why didn't you say anything? Idiot. Maybe you are brain dead. Come, sit down. You need to treat this." 

"Ryuzo." The name burns like bile coming up. It's all Jin can say. Ryuzo, Ryuzo. You're alive, Ryuzo. You're here. "Ryuzo."

Ryuzo huffs, already working on stripping off Jin's armor and annoyed at being interrupted. "What? What is it? Are you just going to stand there like a fool or are you going to help me? You're being so strange. Did you hit your head, too? Jin?" 

Their eyes lock, Ryuzo's grip on his shoulder too tight. Jin opens his mouth, but before he can even think of a single thing to say, a Mongol warhorn blares from between the cover of the trees, and the two of them are thrust into a sudden battle, back to back. 

He'd forgotten about this part, in his discombobulation during their reunion. Mongols closing in on all sides, vicious with the intent to kill. He's not prepared. He's stiff. But he fights at Ryuzo's side anyway, regaining momentum quickly and cutting down man after man like swatting flies. The remaining Mongols before them begin to falter, some outright backing away from the samurai with bared teeth and clothes dyed dark with blood. Ryuzo eyes him askance as they fight, expression curious. Maybe wary. Jin doesn't look at him long enough to decide. He turns away, skewering a man through the gut before moving on to the next, slicing him open from waist to shoulder with an upward slash. 

Their numbers dwindle. A few flee. Jin tosses sticky bombs at the backs of some who retreat, watching them flail and dance in a futile effort to dislodge the devastating little devices before they blow. The explosions take them out, their last words cries of agony. Others go down to kunai, tossed with deadly efficiency. It's a brutal move, but it also means less enemies to worry about later.

When the last man finally falls, Ryuzo turns to Jin, an inscrutable emotion blazing through his eyes like wildfire. He's deathly silent for one long moment before he says, unsteadily, "I've never seen you fight like that before." 

Jin shakes the blood from his blade and sheathes it. "Many things have changed since we last saw each other. It's been years, hasn't it? Surely you're not the same man you once were." 

"Well. No, but…Just now. You, with the bombs and the kunai. What about your samurai code, Lord Sakai?" 

Exhausted from the chaos of this entire situation, Jin just shrugs. Winces as it pulls at his wound. He should probably do something about that. "It's not as important as the lives of our people," he adds, because it feels important to say. "I'll do whatever it takes to rout the Mongols from Tsushima, and I've had to adjust."

Ryuzo nods slowly. The severe look on his handsome face eases slightly, but he still seems discomfited. "I can see that. Well. Are you fit to ride? We need to get that wound cleaned and mended. The Straw Hat encampment isn't far from here." 

Jin sees the way Ryuzo's eyes flash like a lure, as though daring him to say something about how mercenary work is debasing. Jin doesn't take the bait. Just nods, calling over Kaze to painfully climb onto the saddle. When he doubles over and nearly slides off, he hears Ryuzo sigh from Kaze's flank.

"Move up."

Jin blinks, confused and disoriented. He looks down at Ryuzo in a daze, noting with surprise that he'd retrieved his hat at some point and Jin hadn't noticed. "What?"

"Move. Up. There's no way you're riding on that horse alone. You'll fall off before we even get going. I'll sit behind you."

Baulking, Jin stammers, "N-no! How would that even work? We won't both fit comfortably—" 

Ryuzo doesn't listen. He's hoisting himself up before Jin can even finish protesting, sidling up snug behind him and forcing Jin to scoot forward. Kaze grunts with the extra weight, but settles after a few comforting pats against his neck. Jin wishes he could relax, too. He's tense as Ryuzo's arms slip around him, gently taking the reins and prompting them into motion. They won't be doing any galloping like this, which means this particular ride will be a long one. Damn it all.

Right now, the gift from the Kami certainly feels like a curse.

Chapter Text

As they ride, Ryuzo stews. Jin has fallen asleep under the weight of exhaustion and the stress of his injuries, a warm presence against Ryuzo's chest. 

It's a testament to how worse-for-wear he must be that he even dozed off like this at all, limp and helpless in Ryuzo's arms like a swooning maiden. Ryuzo can't help but smirk a bit at the image, recalling the time he'd convinced Jin to dress up with him in women's clothing and make spectacles of themselves around Omi Village. It's probably a good thing Jin's father had already gone and died by then, or something like that would've killed him anyway. Wouldn't have been as funny that way, despite Kazumasa Sakai generally being an ass.

Ryuzo would know. He's shared an afterlife with the bastard, after all. 

And that's mostly what he's stewing over as they journey on, Jin dozing fitfully between his sturdy arms, unaware. Ryuzo has been dead until very recently. He's certain of that now, after running into Jin near the grasslands of Kishi and closely watching the way he moved. A demon of a man, poetry in violence like only a true kensei can be. There could be no mistaking the man snoozing against him now for the man he should have been—must have been—the first time this war happened.

Things are still a bit hazy, but days ago Ryuzo had woken up after the battle at Komoda with odd visions in his head that didn't make any sense at the time—Jin in a snarling mask before him, shoulders shaking with a bestial rage, blade pointed right at Ryuzo as he roared; the two of them on their knees in Castle Shimura, Ryuzo bloody and broken and gasping, "Jin, please," as Jin cut into him without mercy, tanto splitting open his belly, the pain just as cold and shocking as the look in Jin's eyes; the cool, misty darkness of life beyond death, Kazumasa brusquely asking after his son at the gates of Yomi—but it's all starting to come together now, falling in line like pieces of a particularly terrible puzzle. He'd initially thought it all to be an unsettling series of dreams, but he knows now that those things actually happened. It was all real. 

Jin, asking Ryuzo for help to save his uncle after the invasion. Ryuzo, double-crossing Jin for (what he thought would be) a better deal. Resentment. Escalation. All the Straw Hats, dead. Jin's blacksmith friend, beheaded. Ryuzo, desperate and lonely and full of regrets until his bloody end at Jin's hands. At least he hadn't died alone. At least he'd gone out fighting.

The rest of it….

Well, he can't say he's proud. He's also not sure if there's much point in telling Jin he's sorry, even if he does mean it.

Ryuzo's eyes flicker away from the road to Jin's face, pinched even in sleep. Probably pained, what with the giant, gaping gash across his belly. And being around Ryuzo probably isn't helping, either. He obviously remembers Before. The expression on his face when they reunited in the forest today said it all, even if he hadn't known it would. The way he fought would've given him away, anyway, though. Jin likely thinks he's the only one that knows. If he starts to suspect Ryuzo does, he'll probably try and kill him again.

It isn't exactly motivation to come clean. And why should he? He doesn't plan on betraying Jin again—it turned out like shit last time, and Jin is an even better warrior this time around. The Khan doesn't stand a chance. He'll probably be killed right there at Castle Kaneda, unless he's moved on to Toyotama already. This war could be over before things get any worse. Ryuzo hopes so.

He certainly won't be standing in the way.

As they head up the slope to the Straw Hat encampment, Jin stirs against him with a groan, eyes fluttering halfway open. He seems less tense around Ryuzo than before, though that could just be because he's still groggy. Maybe he isn't even fully aware of what's going on? Bleary Jin is sort of cute.

Mischievously, Ryuzo cranes his neck to murmur lowly into Jin's ear, "Morning, Sleeping Beauty. Did you have a good rest?"

Jin thrashes roughly against the cradle of his arms in surprise, nearly sending the both of them tumbling out of the saddle. Ryuzo has to clench his thighs tightly and brace forward to avoid it, but he's cackling all the while. So worth it, if only just for the delicate flush of pink that crawls up the back of Jin's neck, even as he glances back to glare. There's a splash of color across his cheeks, too, visible even from this angle. That alone is worth its weight in gold, seeing the unflappable Lord Sakai so scandalized. 

"That wasn't funny."

Still snickering, Ryuzo says, "I disagree." They make it to the top of the slope before Jin can offer up a retort, the both of them quieting as the sentry approaches with a barked demand to know who dares wander into Straw Hat territory. He always does get a bit antsy when Ryuzo goes on missions alone, careful not to give anybody unsavory the opportunity to sneak up on their encampment while their leader is away. "Easy, Shinzo. It's just me."

As they dismount and gather the men for introductions, Jin is sure to put extra space between himself and Ryuzo. Ryuzo finds it funny, if a little unnecessary. He's still embarrassed, maybe. Or possibly he's stewing like Ryuzo just was, caught up in their shared past. His eyes are distant as he says hello to the group, looking over the faces of Ryuzo's chosen family as though seeing straight through them. 

Ah, right. Jin had killed most of them the last time around. Must be awkward.

"Did you find any food?" That's directed at Ryuzo, the gaunt and hopeful faces of his men tugging hard at his heartstrings. Especially since he's been so focused on getting Jin here to get patched up that he'd completely forgotten to search the other places he'd meant to get around to today. Shit.

Before he can say any of this, though, Jin surprises him. Still as poised as ever even while drawn and pale from injuries, he tells the Straw Hats, "I've brought food. Some medicine, as well. There should be enough for everyone."

The significance of that isn't lost on Ryuzo. Jin is trying to head off any incentive for betrayal right from the get-go, buying their immediate loyalty with food and supplies. It's not a bad strategy, if totally unnecessary in this case. It also twists something sharp and hot like a knife in Ryuzo's gut, to know that this is purely because Jin doesn't trust him anymore. Not that he has any reason to, after last time, but. It still hurts. It shouldn't, but it does.

"Thank you," he says quietly to Jin anyway, once most of the supplies have been distributed and the two of them are tucked away from the rest of the group, Ryuzo tending to a reluctant Jin's wounds. The gash isn't as deep as he initially thought, and the relief is making him loose-lipped. "They needed this. Badly."

Surprise for the gratitude flashes across Jin's face, almost too quickly to catch, but he nods all the same. "Of course. I thought as much. This war must have made mercenary work rather slim, and I can't imagine you all made it out of Komoda unscathed. You were there, weren't you?"

"We were. Our leader didn't make it." Kosei's death still hangs over the encampment like a dark shroud, bringing down morale significantly. It's all Ryuzo can do to hold the family together in his stead. He isn't the best swordsman, or even the most clever, but they'd all turned to him anyway, Kosei's assumed replacement. He still isn't sure how that happened. "The rest of us ran when the battle turned. What about you? How did you survive?" 

He remembers the story, he thinks—a peasant woman, pulling Jin half-dead from the battlefield. Nursing him back to health in the hopes he would help her save her brother. This time, however, what Jin tells him is, "I'm not sure. Waking up on the beach was…" He shakes his head, hands twisting in his lap even as Ryuzo begins to doctor his flesh. He looks haunted, like a part of him is still there, left behind in the sand. "I was badly injured, alone, and yet I somehow managed to make it to Komoda Town. Passed out near the stables in a bed of straw." 

Jin trails off, leaving the story unfinished, but Ryuzo doesn't press. He can guess the rest. Someone (probably the woman, Yuna) found him and helped him to recover. He's not concerned with that part. What does interest him, however, is how Jin made it from the beach to the village, wounded and apparently on foot? "You're telling me you walked, by yourself, from the beach to Komoda village, half-dead and bleeding all over yourself? Seriously?"

"I tended my wounds before the walk," Jin says, ducking his head bashfully and adjusting position as Ryuzo preps for wrapping, "but essentially, yes." 

Ryuzo whistles. "Damn. That's irritatingly impressive." 

"Irritating? Why?"

"Why?" Ryuzo shakes his head, incredulous. "You're just. So impossible. Don't you see that? How impossible you should be? It boggles the mind how someone like you even exists." 

With the cut cleaned and treated with healing salve, Ryuzo begins the process of bandaging, careful not to induce bleeding again as he works. It's only just stopped, and Jin has lost enough already. He's a little gray. 

"It's annoying," Ryuzo goes on heatedly, just to focus on something besides wounds and blood and death. "Already a lord, but you have to be a legend, too. How many people could have done what you did? How many people are as talented as you are?" And kind, Ryuzo can't forget that. Forgiving. So forgiving it makes him ache. Even after Ryuzo betrayed him, Jin had been willing to forgive him. Had desperately wanted to. Ryuzo huffs out a shallow breath, disgusted with himself all over again. "One person, Jin. That's who. You."

When he secures the wrappings and glances up, Jin is watching him with curiously hooded eyes, expression clouded and unreadable. "Have you always found me so irritating?"

"That's—" Ryuzo sighs, easing back a little. Their close proximity, while previously necessary, is getting to his head a little. The air feels too charged. Uncomfortable. "Yes and no. What do you want me to say, Jin? We've been annoying each other our whole lives, practically. Hasn't it been the same for you? It's not a bad thing, really." He pauses, considering his words, and then adds, "I think it's just part of being close to someone." 

Jin inhales too sharply; looks away. Interesting. "You think we're still close?" He sounds skeptical, fairly enough. Maybe even a little mean. "Even after three years? The duel? You stopped speaking to me afterwards."

"Because you came at me like I was your mortal enemy!" Ryuzo reminds him, feeling a little strange to be having this conversation again. Like they're following a script. "Nearly broke my arm, you know. That's a bit more than wounded pride, but I can't say that that wasn't a factor, too."

You and your damned pride, the downward tick of Jin's mouth seems to say. Ryuzo doesn't have it in him to disagree. That pride of his has gotten him into a lot of trouble over the years. Several lifetimes at this point, possibly. Funny. 

"It was my first duel, and I got carried away. I'm sorry, Ryuzo. I'd have told you that years ago, if only you'd allowed me to." And here Jin looks back at him, resentment suddenly blooming in his eyes like flower petals during Spring. Ouch. He's been wondering when that particular emotion would rear its ugly head. "But you ran away. And yet you still say we're close?"

Ryuzo sighs, running a hand across his hair in agitation. He'd removed his hat to work on Jin's wound and wishes he still had its frayed brim to hide under. He feels so small. He deserves to, but that doesn't reduce the sting of it.

"Maybe I'm saying I still want to be. That's all." 

Eyes widening, Jin falls quiet, and nothing more is said between them for a long while. 

That evening, Jin surprises him again by breaking out several bottles of stolen sake. The men are so cheerful that they're singing before long, bellies full and cups flowing for just about the first time since this shit-show began. Ryuzo is far more sedate, sipping slowly at his own gourd with an air of what he hopes comes across as lazy thoughtfulness. Really, he might be moping just a little. Jin has hardly even dared to glance at him since their heart-to-heart earlier, seemingly more interested with regarding the fire in moody contemplation than actually speaking to anyone.

It's driving Ryuzo a little nuts. 

"Oi," he barks, loudly enough to catch the attention of Jin and several others. Oops. "Jin. Come over here." 

Jin frowns at him, though he stands from his spot near the fire and meanders over to the rock ledge where Ryuzo is sitting, every step that of a ghost. He's so quiet as to be unsettling. Raising a thick brow, Jin says, "you beckoned?"

"Hai. Sit." As he does, Ryuzo raises his gourd in a toast, clinking it against Jin's without giving him the time to jerk away. "To the both of us making it out alive." 

He doesn't bother specifying what exactly he means, though he does send up a wordless thanks to the Gods he previously didn't put much stock into that he's sitting here now, very much alive and breathing when he should be dead. He'd wonder why that is, but it's not like him to look a gift horse in the mouth. Besides, he'd bet his life all over again that the man sitting next to him has at least a little something to do with it. "Kanpai."

Jin eyes him quietly for a long moment, then reciprocates. "Kanpai." They both drink, though what Ryuzo does is more akin to guzzling. He needs it, trying to navigate this razor-balanced dynamic between the two of them. It's tense. Ryuzo can't recall it ever being quite like this before. Then again, they're in a unique situation.

"You have something to ask me."

He can tell he's caught Jin off guard by the way Jin's shoulders shift away minutely. Defensively. "Do I?"

"Mm. Yes."

"What makes you so sure?" There's no suspicion in his tone, just wary curiosity. He still must not realize Ryuzo remembers Before. Ryuzo would keep it that way if he had the option, though he doubts so. Jin is too clever.

"Well," Ryuzo starts, drawing out the middle of the word just to be obnoxious, "you just happened to find me today, in a part of Tsushima the ronin are currently known to frequent. That tells me pretty clearly that you were looking for us. Not to mention all your generous offerings." He shakes his half-empty gourd to punctuate his point, hoping all his sarcasm is coming across as nicely as he thinks. "Now obviously you'd have no way of knowing it was me you were looking for as leader of the Straw Hats, but I can't help but notice that you're still here, even giving us plenty of payment upfront. And since you've so kindly pointed out that you and I are no longer close, I can only guess that it's because you want our help with something." 

Jin looks pained. "Ryuzo—"

"Hush, it's fine. I'm only giving you a hard time. Just ask." 

A sigh. Jin brings the sake gourd to his mouth again, gulping down a generous swig and leaving behind a delicate shimmer of moisture against his bottom lip as he does so. Ryuzo tries not to stare. Something about the soft sheen makes his insides squirm. "All right," Jin concedes. "You win. I wanted to ask you and your men to aid me in taking back Castle Kaneda, and freeing my uncle. He's been captured by the Mongol Khan. Held prisoner in the keep." 

The way he says it sounds so bleak. Like he already foresees another betrayal, the two of them fighting against one another in the lantern pool, blades locked as they snarl. As if Ryuzo would ever try that again. 

But, he reminds himself, Jin doesn't realize that. He's operating under the impression that Ryuzo's help is conditional, and will only actually happen this time if he follows a strict set of steps that he probably already has mapped out in that brilliant mind of his. Ryuzo can't help but ponder how far Jin will go to keep him on his side. How much he's willing to offer. 

"You do realize the Straw Hats will need a steady source of supplies to be of any use to you, right?" He feels slimy even saying as much, considering how much he owes Jin, but he's curious as to what Jin might say. "If it's just for the one job, what you've given is plenty, don't get me wrong. But if you're going to try and tell me your uncle will make us all samurai if we help you win the war, you'll have to come up with something better. Mercenaries don't work for promises." 

Jin doesn't outright react, but an odd expression does cross his face, too swift for Ryuzo to truly register as anything more than a twitch. Not hard to figure, though, that it has a little something to do with the reference to their previous life Ryuzo just made, rather shamelessly at that. Oh well. He's got a bit of a mouth on him when he's tipsy, one that says more than it ought to. Not that it's much better when he's sober. It was only a matter of time until he slipped up, really.

Crickets chirp merrily as quiet descends between them, Jin eyeing him askance as they both resume their drinking. Clearly, he's not ready to call Ryuzo out on his deliberate choice of words, or maybe he isn't yet sure it wasn't simply a coincidence. Either way, he makes no move to confront him as they finish up their drinks, and when he does speak again, it's only to ask Ryuzo where would be best to bed down for the night. 

"There's a free spot near me." There are definitely various other free spots as well, but for some reason he doesn't have any desire to examine too closely, Ryuzo would rather Jin be next to him. He doesn't mention them.

Jin, meanwhile, doesn't look particularly enthused by the idea, but he doesn't protest either. They get up together and stumble to bed. 

"You drink too much," Daisuke said, annoyed at finding him in his room at the fort, surrounded by several empty skins of airag. He'd been drinking steadily throughout the day and was so shit-faced at this point that he was surprised he could see three feet in front of himself.

Blinking owlishly up at his friend through the fog of alcohol, Ryuzo shrugged. "Nothing better to do." His words slurred together like sludge. It'd been a long time since he'd been this drunk, more nauseating than nice. He might actually vomit soon. "What? Wha's with that face?"

Pity. Daisuke was looking down on him with pity, clear as day even through Ryuzo's wobbly vision. Fucker. 

"You're not cut out for this." 

Ryuzo laughed, as empty as all the skins around him. "Really? Whatever gave you that idea." 

Daisuke raised a brow, gesturing all around them with a wide sweep of his arm.That was an answer all by itself. But he went a step further, adding insult to injury by saying, "You. The way you're getting worse. The way you can't even hear us mention the Ghost anymore by name without flipping your shit."

"Don't," Ryuzo spat, tellingly incensed. He didn't even want to think the name. "Leave him out of this."

"See? None of us can tell where your head is at anymore. You said you wanted to take the bounty on his head and you tried, but every day since you've drank yourself further into an early grave! And it's not just working for the Khan that's bothering you, is it. It's him. That samurai. We've all wondered." Ryuzo didn't want to hear anymore, but he could hardly move. He felt frozen to the spot, pinned by the judgement of Daisuke's gaze. 

"Shut up," he tried; a weak protest. Daisuke barreled on as if he hadn't spoken.

"Ever since that day he showed up at our camp you've been different, Ryuzo. Do you remember? You talked about him constantly. I must've heard a dozen childhood stories before Kaneda happened." Before Ryuzo had decided to turn on him. Before he'd fucked everything up beyond any salvaging, and far too many steps beyond redemption. "Even now that you're not saying anything at all, you're still obsessing over him. You know what I think? I think you're in lov—"

"Shut up!" Ryuzo was on his feet so quickly he surprised even himself, shoving Daisuke towards the door by the shoulder, hard. He retched, but held himself together long enough to snarl, "shut the fuck up and get out. I don't care what you think. I don't care about anything. Just leave me alone."

"Fine," Daisuke snapped back. "I'll leave you alone to wallow in your own miserable filth. Just be ready. The message went out, and he'll be here by this time tomorrow."

With that, Daisuke left the room in a flurry, slamming the shoji door behind him. Ryuzo stood numbly, right in the middle of the mess he'd made, and wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole.

And, for the cherry on top, he threw up just a moment later, all over the front of his only clean clothes. Perfect.

In the morning, Ryuzo wakes up with a warm body tucked against his. A familiar head of dark hair rests against his chest, while a similarly familiar arm of sturdy weight is thrown over his waist. Jin, snuggled close in sleep. It'd be cute if it wasn't so alarming. Ryuzo isn't looking forward to the heckling he's going to get from his men if they've seen this. Nor is he all that excited for Jin's reaction when he—

"R…Ryuzo?!"

—wakes up. Crap. 

Jin rolls away from him so forcefully that he nearly tumbles off a nearby cliff ledge, only Ryuzo's excellent reflexes saving him from a nasty fall. He nabs Jin away from certain injury by a hair, the clothes Jin wore to sleep ripping under the strength of his grip as Ryuzo drags him back towards the bedrolls, cursing all the while. "Hoi, settle down now. I don't like the sound of bones breaking first thing in the morning." 

Panting from a narrow escape with what could've easily been an early grave if he'd landed wrong, Jin only nods, tucking his head against Ryuzo's shoulder as he regains his composure. It's such an intimate move that it catches Ryuzo off guard, especially since Jin had very recently nearly brained himself just to get away from him. He tentatively wraps an arm around Jin's shoulders, fingers stroking down his arm in what he hopes is a calming gesture.

"Sorry," Jin manages to get out, many breathless moments later. "I…didn't mean to…um."

Unsure what exactly Jin is apologizing for but not caring either way, Ryuzo just pats him on the arm. "Don't worry about it. Things happen. You're fine." 

"If you say so." He says it with a laugh, only slightly hysterical. Ryuzo will take it as a win. "Listen, Ryuzo…about last night."

Oh, boy. "Yes?"

"...Azamo Bay. They've recently been freed from Mongol occupation, and if the fighting fit Straw Hats agree to guard the town from further attack and help with repairs, I'm sure they'd all be properly compensated. Provided I broker the deal with the headman." 

Ah. So he still isn't confronting Ryuzo about what he knows. He has to suspect by now, but if Jin wants to play it this way, Ryuzo is game. 

Further, he's offering up more than just promises. A whole arena for the Straw Hats to occupy. A place for them to be warm and fed, and a stronghold for the injured to recover. Azamo Bay, with the right guards, is an easily defensible town. It's not a bad idea, if one Ryuzo wishes he'd thought of himself. The first or second time. 

The one caveat here is Jin himself being the one to broker the deal. Meaning: without him, there will be no deal. Meaning: he still doesn't trust Ryuzo. Even if he suspects Ryuzo knows about Before—which he must, really, he's too clever not to—Jin still isn't willing to put any faith in the fact that Ryuzo wouldn't dare betray him again, mostly because he's not that stupid but also because he genuinely doesn't want to. Clearly it's going to take a lot more than what Ryuzo is offering right now to regain that trust, meaning: he may actually have to get around to apologizing and/or groveling on his knees for forgiveness one of these days.

Well. Fine. They'll get there eventually.

"All right," Ryuzo says, offering up a grin with his agreement. Jin doesn't quite smile back, but his eyes do warm by several small degrees. Great. Baby steps. He can do this. "Sounds like we've got ourselves a deal." 

Chapter Text

Headman Sota of Azamo Bay doesn't seem all that comfortable with Jin's proposal to employ the Straw Hats for protection, but since they could desperately use the help, and Jin had just saved their town, he agrees without much fuss. Only a promise, or perhaps a warning, that should the ronin prove to be unruly, the blame and responsibility will fall on Jin. 

He isn't surprised, though he isn't exactly pleased, either. He can trust these men to behave about as well as one can trust an agitated viper not to bite, but ultimately there's nothing to be done for it. The deal is sealed, and Ryuzo and his men don't wait long to make themselves at home. The villagers are initially hesitant around them, but visibly warm to their presence once the scarce few uninjured ronin begin helping with reconstruction. 

Jin lingers in the village as well, though he's running out of excuses even to himself as to why. There are other things he should be doing, places and people in Tsushima that need his attention. Everyone must know this. The townsfolk are pleased with his presence, but Jin can tell they’re confused.

Even Ryuzo begins casting him long, searching looks every time he returns from his travels to nearby villages and outposts, doggedly trying to clear the Mongol occupation from the surrounding area. It's important work, but not dire enough to keep him here. He'll have to move on soon, and they both know it. Jin just can't bring himself to walk away yet. 

He pretends he doesn't understand why. 

“You're going back to that woman, aren't you?” Ryuzo prompts over dinner one night, settled lazily on his side in front of the irori and sipping from a cup of warm sake. “Soon.” 

That woman, he keeps saying. Ryuzo knows Yuna’s name, Jin is sure of that. He has explained to him that she found him after Komoda; that she helped him. He even went through the motions of telling the story of rescuing Taka, and how they took back Komatsu Forge. The story of the Ghost, and how his legend began. 

He can't help but feel like he's wasting his breath in doing so, however. No matter what he says, Ryuzo doesn't seem surprised. 

He's always been skilled at taking things in stride and adjusting his perspective quickly, but this is a new level of acceptance, even from him. He hasn't asked a single question, or voiced one comment or concern. He’s simply listened and nodded, and Jin can't help but suspect more and more that he must've already known these things. That he isn't quite as alone in this peculiar situation as he once thought. 

How one goes about mentioning something like that, though, he isn't exactly sure. He knows that he'll have to, soon. It would be easier if Ryuzo would just come out and say something, but that isn't the game they're playing. He likely won't, not until Jin asks. 

“Yes,” Jin finally answers, after a longer silence than he intends. He's too lost in his thoughts these days and it's making him slower than he's comfortable with. “We’ll need to begin the final preparations for taking back Castle Kaneda. And I have a few loose ends to wrap up with Ishikawa-sensei as well.” He really has been lingering here too long. “Why? Do you need my assistance with anything else before I take my leave?”

“Mm, no. You've done more than enough.”

He turns quietly contemplative after that, swilling the liquid in his cup rather than drinking it and staring into the fire that crackles merrily in the hearth. The air around them is already warm, but the longer Ryuzo stays quiet like this, the more Jin sweats. Even after how long they've known each other, sometimes Jin still can't figure out what he's thinking. All he knows is that there's something heavy on his face now, and it's making Jin nervous. 

It's difficult to sleep that night with the afterimage of that thoughtful look haunting him every time he closes his eyes, even with the heat from the fire enveloping him in a comforting blanket of warmth.

The next morning, though, Jin gets at least one answer to the many questions he has swirling around in his mind on constant loop; he's finally packing up his things and donning his armor to leave when Ryuzo grasps him firmly by the arm and says, “I’d like to come with you. If you're alright with that.” 

Surprised, Jin fumbles in tying the complicated knot of strings designed to hold his shoulder plate in place. The whole thing tumbles to the bare floor of their hut with a loud thwack, but Jin can't be bothered to check it over for damage when his eyes won't leave Ryuzo’s serious face. 

Come with him? Out on the road?

“You're happy here,” Jin says, a question and a statement all at once. “Why would you choose to leave it behind? Your men? You said it yourself that they need you. You're their leader.” 

A sore subject once, but no longer does the fact that Ryuzo left him behind all those years ago to join the ronin sting in any such manner. Jin made the decision to fight with vicious prejudice during their first and only duel, and in hindsight, it isn't all that surprising that Ryuzo left Omi Village as soon as he could, bitter and stinging from more than the beating his best friend put him through in front of all the noblemen and women present at Lord Nagao’s tournament. 

It's only curiosity now that colors his voice, befuddled over why prideful Ryuzo would give up being near the family he helped to build. The place he so obviously feels he belongs, that he carved out for himself with the aid of blood, sweat, and steel. Jin doesn't understand. 

Adapting an appearance of casual carelessness Jin doesn't trust for a moment, Ryuzo only shrugs.

“Wanderlust, you could say. Being stuck in one place for too long doesn't suit me.” Whether that's the whole truth or just a fraction of it, Jin can't begin to guess. But he does concede the point when Ryuzo adds, “besides, they're not going anywhere. Too many of them are still healing or sick. It will be a good while before they need any sort of guidance. I'll be of more use elsewhere.” 

“You? Wanting to be useful? Did you hit your head last night while I wasn't looking?”

Ryuzo huffs, punching him none-too-gently in the arm not currently protected by armor. “Very funny, you ass.” He is chuckling however, meaning he isn't truly offended. Good. Their relationship is so delicate currently that Jin can never be sure when his words will be taken as seriously as a blade, or when Ryuzo will only brush him off like leaves in the wind. Their current dynamic is truly maddening. 

“So?” Ryuzo prods, his tone morphing into something dripping with sarcastic formality. It makes Jin grin despite himself. “Will you allow this one the great honor of traveling with you, my lord? On your very important journey to… What are we doing, exactly, besides dealing with a grumpy old archer?” 

Jin sighs, even as he resigns himself to Ryuzo and his theatrics for the foreseeable future. He shouldn't be entertaining this; not really. But he also can't bring himself to say no, especially not with Ryuzo's dark, liquid eyes catching his own, sparking brightly with the mischief he both adores and detests in equal turns. Any thought of dissuading him evaporates like smoke just like that, and after another moment where the two of them just look at each other in oddly charged silence, he nods. 

“Fine then.” Bending to pick up the piece of armor he dropped in his earlier surprise, Jin begins to mentally map their route to Hiyoshi Springs. They'll both need to get ready, gather supplies, and then he supposes they'll hit the road. Ryuzo and him both. Gods, this is quite the idea. Whether good or bad, Jin can't yet say. “Get dressed and I'll fill you in on the way. At the very least, the expression on Sensei's face when he sees you riding in with me will no doubt be amusing. He never has forgotten you and your foul mouth, you know.“ 

A gruff chuckle, and then Ryuzo begins to gather his own things, commenting, “I'm flattered to be so memorable. What will your uncle think to see me, I wonder?”

Ugh, Jin shudders just to imagine it. None of the elders in their lives have ever put much stock into Ryuzo and his rapscallion ways, especially Lord Shimura. He suspects Masako will have a similar reaction as well when and if she sees him. 

Outwardly, Jin only grins dryly and says, “I suppose we'll be finding out soon, won't we?”

Offering a roguish grin of his own, Ryuzo replies, “I guess we will.” 

"You mean to tell me that awful old man wanted to adopt a peasant girl as his heir? A bandit peasant girl, no less?” 

“Yes,” Jin says, gently tugging the reins to better guide Sora up the steep slopes of the path to Ishikawa-sensei’s dojo. They’ve made good time even with the delay of Ryuzo's accompaniment, and the grassy hills around them are only just beginning to turn golden with the afternoon sun. “But perhaps it's wiser not to mention such things so near to his presence. He's very touchy about it.”

Ryuzo snorts carelessly, though Jin notes with some amusement that he does lower his voice as they near the top. Ishikawa must intimidate him after all. “I can understand that. Still, what a prodigy she must be for old Ishikawa to ignore all of you samurai's delicate sensibilities and try to adopt a murderous peasant girl." 

“That girl has more talent in one hand than you possess in your entire body,” says Ishikawa archly from where he stands by the doors of his dojo, arms crossed and glaring down his nose at Ryuzo as though he's just seen a particularly ugly insect scuttle by. Oops. He clearly overheard. Jin supposes sound does tend to carry in the hills. 

“Ears of a bat, that one,” Ryuzo mutters darkly, ducking his head to better conceal the splotchy flush of color Jin manages to catch on his face before the wide brim of his straw hat blocks his view. Whether he's angry or embarrassed or both, Jin can't say, but he does recover remarkably quickly from whatever is bothering him, tilting his head back up only a few seconds later and adding in a louder version of the acerbic tone of ‘respect’ he often uses with Jin, “why, Ishikawa-sensei! What a pleasure to see you looking so well in your advanced age! Hardly a gray hair on that balding head of yours.” 

Jin smothers a wince while Ishikawa only sniffs, apparently unfazed by Ryuzo's petty jab. “Watch it, boy. I can still shoot circles around you even at my 'advanced age.'” 

“No doubt,” Ryuzo agrees easily as the two of them dismount their horses and approach. “So, Lord Sakai tells me you're having some lady troubles, hmm? Anything we can help with? I, myself, am shockingly not such a hit with the ladies, but I do happen to know Jin here is.” He nudges Jin with a friendly elbow, looking so pleased with his appalling sense of humor it almost actually is amusing. “Isn’t that right, my lord?”

Jin can only sigh, shaking his head in exasperation as Ishikawa glances between them with a glacial hue in his narrowed eyes. This is going to be a long visit.

"Why do you speak that way to everyone?” Jin asked Ryuzo one evening after a particularly grueling afternoon of trying out for positions as Ishikawa-sensei’s students. He found them both lacking and dismissed them almost immediately, but he did give them the honor of one perfunctory lesson before sending them off to do menial chores around the dojo for the rest of their stay. 

They were free for the evening at the time, resting in the room they were to bed down in for the night and sharing a late night snack of onigiri between them. Uncle always said eating too late only made one sluggish in the morning, but Jin had worked up too much of an appetite that day to heed that particular advice. 

Ryuzo also seemed starved, eating his share of food faster than was probably advisable. He didn't respond to Jin’s question until after he was finished, licking the leftover salt off the pads of his fingers as he asked coyly, “and what way would that be?”

“So boorishly! Honestly, Ryuzo, it's a blessing not one of the noblemen or women have had you flogged for that mouth of yours.”

Even at their young age of only eleven, the flogging of peasants certainly wasn't unheard of. Jin found the practice appalling, and he hardly wanted his best friend to suffer such a fate, even if sometimes he in all likelihood did deserve a hearty smack upside the head for his insolence.

Apparently unconcerned, however, Ryuzo only laughed at his fretting. “They won't.” 

Frowning, Jin asked, “why not?” 

“Because of you.” Ryuzo said it as though it should've been obvious, but Jin could not have been more confused. 

“What do I have to do with it?”

“They know it would upset you too much. Who could do such an awful thing as flog the friend of such a sweet, sensitive boy like the young Lord Sakai? Bah,” Ryuzo spat, rolling his eyes even as he flopped down onto his bedroll and patted his full belly in a satisfied manner. “They're all too soft on you, Jin. That's why.” 

Incredulous, Jin clarified, “so you're saying you think you get away with speaking so disrespectfully to everyone because they won't risk upsetting me by punishing you? Ryuzo, that's ridiculous! What if you're wrong? One of these days you'll be strung up by your ears, and I won't be able to do a thing to stop it.” 

“Nope," Ryuzo assured him after a rather loud belch. Always so rude, Jin thought. “Won't ever happen. Everyone has a soft touch when it comes to you, Jin, I'm telling you.” 

“You don't,” Jin argued, leaning forward and looming over Ryuzo t o better glare at him. “You're harder on me than even my father is sometimes.” 

Ryuzo met his glare with a mean grin, though at the same time he reached up to ruffle Jin’s loose hair in surprisingly gentle affection. “Someone has to be. Imagine what a big-headed monster you'd turn out to be if everyone only coddled you. I'm doing you a favor, really. You’ll thank me one day.” 

“I'll kill you one day, that's what I'll do.” But Jin could only keep up the pretense of annoyance for as long as it took Ryuzo to start begging Jin for the safety of his life in the most theatrically false way possible, and the two of them spent the rest of that night doing much more giggling than sleeping.