tampered | Log; ONGOING

Current Mood: worried

Log; ONGOING

When; Following this
Rating; PG?
Characters; Sakamoto Tatsuma [

canicrynow], Sakata Gintoki [

ginironosora]
Summary; Gintoki returns home to find his roommate beaten and bloodied on the veranda, half-dead.
Log;

Takasugi's warning had worried him, and he bolted from the City center and back towards Building 10. He was afraid of what he'd find when he walked through the doors-- what did he do to him? If he had lost another person dear to him---

No, he wouldn't think that far. Surely Taka wouldn't have gone that far...

He could only hope it were true.

The silver-haired samurai threw the door open and stalked inside, laptop clutched at his side, glancing about quickly. "Tatsuma!! Tatsuma, where are you?!"

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Sakamoto thought he could hear Gintoki's voice in the distance. He could have been wrong, of course, because he was probably dreaming. If he was dreaming, even if he didn't answer (because it hurt to even think about making words right now), it wouldn't matter. You couldn't be rude to dreams, right? That would make things better, because that would mean he'd only dreamt about that Takasugi fellow shoving a katana through his thigh.

He must be dreaming, yeah. Because otherwise Takasugi would have made sure not to miss his artery. The bleeding was already starting to stop, but the carpet, well...

"It's only a little stained, Kintoki."

He heard his roommate, just faintly, from somewhere in the living room and rushed in, finding Sakamoto on the threshold to the veranda. "Wh-what's stained, you idiot?"

Gintoki pushed the glass door open more and knelt down beside Tatsuma, slipping an arm under his head and propping him up. He checked his injuries before even thinking of moving him, his frown deepening as he uncovered more and more slashes-- and the pool of blood around his leg and the dark stain on his pants was the only indication Gintoki had of the leg wound.

He got his arm under Tatsuma's legs and hefted him up, walking him back to the bedroom to lay him on the bed. "Did Takasugi do this to you? Of course he did, that's a stupid question... Lemme go lock up the house. I need to.. I need to go get a doctor or something.."

He went back to the living room and closed the sliding door to the veranda, clicking the locks in place, before he shut the front door and headed for the bathroom. Did they even have any first aid stuff...?

It was, of course, completely impossible for a person to be as thick and as optimistic as Sakamoto attempted to convince himself and others that he was-- he recognized the predicament he was in and, thirty minutes before, had put up a decent enough fight against Takasugi. Unfortunately, decent reflexes weren't much when set against an honest will to inflict grievous bodily injury.

Sakamoto realized he could have died in the cold, but Gintoki, seeing his face was a relief. He relaxed into the warmth and found the strength for his voice again.

"No, it's fine. They're only flesh wounds. Just pour some sake over it and it'll be as good as new."

He hoped the imagery would bring back decent memories. It worried him that Gintoki wasn't smiling, especially on account of him.

"Unless we have enough alcohol to fill a tub and drop you in it, I don't think that'll work." He returned to the bedside with a box from under the bathroom sink, a large red cross on the top. When he opened it, all he found inside was a bunch of gauze and a couple bottles of alcohol, along with a box of band aids. A decent start, but probably the lousiest first-aid kit he'd ever seen.

Why was it that out of all the friggen people that were around the apartment the last few days, none of them were here?!?! He sighed, and reached for Tatsuma, pulling his shirt open to get a better look.

"......Yeah... I'd say sake isn't enough for this, Tatsumo. I can patch you up real quick, but we need to get you to a doctor. Or get a doctor here."

Sakamoto, under different circumstances, would have considered the idea of a tub full of booze incredibly appealing. As it was, it was enough to keep his eyes open, knowing that at the very least he wasn't going to die. He had enough faith in Gintoki to trust him with that, at least. Hadn't he always had that kind of faith in the man?

He did his best to look nonchalant when Gintoki pulled his shirt open. That shoulder, Takasugi got it pretty good. His shooting arm, even, which must have been purposeful. That Takasugi, he always did like to neuter everything around him.

"But, a-haha. I don't think my health insurance works around here, you know. Just leave it be. It'll right itself. Just leave it be, Gintoki."

If it were under different circumstances, Gintoki might have been touched that the idiot didn't screw his name up for a change. "I'm not a very good nurse, yanno. You can't complain if something gets infected and sue me. I'll get a friend; we don't need to pay her. Now behave."

He fingered around the shoulder wound lightly, the lines between his brows deepening. He got up to get some towels from the closet and set them under the shoulder wound when he returned, working Sakamoto's outer garments off. Unscrewing one of the bottles of alcohol, Gintoki gave his friend one last look. "So uh... you sure about this, Tatsuma?"

Sakamoto laughed again, winced, and stopped. It was jarring the wound in his shoulder, the one Gintoki was getting ready to treat. The last thing any of them wanted, probably, was for him to rip it open and bleed everywhere again.

"I'm sure it'll be fine," he said, trying to make the face that was green and pale from blood loss look as convincing as possible. "I once caught something they didn't even have a name for yet! I'm still here!"

He eyed the bottle of alcohol with consternation. He didn't care how old he was, that stuff always stung.

"That's amazing. Where was it?" He never had been very good at distracting people, but he could sympathize. After having to put up with the 'treatment' ~~read: torture~~ when Kagura and Otae tried to treat his wounds, he knew even faint attempts helped a bit.

He tipped the bottle, carefully pouring small amounts onto the wound, and cringed himself. "Maybe I should say it again; I'm not very good at this."

It reminded him too much of the war, really-- when the only treatment most men got was hasty dressings from their fellow samurai, some sake going to a better cause. He never had been a big fan of blood, either, really.

"Haha," he forced a giggle out, the sort of laugh you use when you're avoiding cursing or crying. That stuff stings. He tried not to pull away when Gintoki poured some of it on, apologizing for not being 'very good at this'. Whatever 'this' was-- a bedside manner, maybe, in which case it was true that Gintoki was about as talented as a sea cucumber. Still.

It was nice to know somebody actually cared to keep him around, when the surroundings were so strange. It was some bad luck, ending up somewhere with a man like Takasugi all over again. Sakamoto sobered up slightly. He could blame the serious face on the pain later.

"I don't think I have to tell you I was just the warm-up, do I?"

"Feel free to pinch the shit out of me or whatever. I'd deserve it." Whether for attacking him with alcohol, or for not being around to protect him when he was attacked initially, he'd leave that up to Tatsuma to decide.

He went to fetch a bowl of water and returned, soaked a washcloth in it, and wrung out the excess. Dabbing at the wound lightly, he kept his eyes trained on his hands. "No. Thinking logically, his next target would be Katsura. I just hope we have time to warn him and get him here. I have a feeling things'll get very... comfortable around here."

Gintoki gave a wry grin, already fearing the havoc that would be caused with everyone locked up in the small apartment. He poured a bit of alcohol on another washcloth and lifted Sakamoto just enough to dab at the backside of the wound, then set him down gently, and reached for the roll of gauze bandages.

Really, Sakamoto could have punched Gintoki for the sentiment. It wasn't his fault any of this had happened, after all. If anyone's fault, it might have been Katsura's for keeping the sort of influence that would bring Takasugi Shinsuke around, but Sakamoto wasn't the type of man who would think selfish things like that.

"No, no,you definitely deserve to be struck down by lightning. If anything, you deserve that," he said, hoping to make his point known. That Gintoki was overestimating his own responsibility in the issue. When the younger man reached around to clean the other side of the katana stab-wound and set him back down, Sakamoto propped himself up on his shoulders.

"It'll just be a sleepover for nothing, then. Because Zura can handle himself, can't he? Obviously he can. Except we won't be sleeping in a cave this time."

"Lightning's a bit harsh, isn't it...?" But he smiled, just a bit. He got the hint. Wrapping the bandages around Tatsuma's shoulder, he laughed. "Ah... the cave... you remember that?"

But his pleasant reminiscence was quickly gone, and he looked away again. He poured fresh alcohol on the washcloth and began to clean the other wounds, murmuring, "He's gotten stronger. Much stronger than how we used to be. Zura and I are stronger too, but.."

A sigh. "If he were seriously, seriously fighting us... I don't know if we'd get away without a fight. A big one."

The silver-haired samurai rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, looking disgruntled. "And definitely not alone."

Sakamoto laughed again, the wound cushioned and cleaned and already feeling better, his chest feeling better out of the cold. Had Takasugi gotten stronger? Sakamoto didn't know, as they had only been acquaintances at best. Sakamoto didn't have the same history as the other three or the same kinds of philosophy.

But he didn't think Takasugi had gotten so much stronger. There were other kinds of strength, after all, and Zura and Gintoki had strength of character.

"No, I'm sure you're going to be fine in the end. I'm definitely sure."

He worked silently for a few moments after that, eventually slowing to a stop. His eyes closed and he smiled-- a nice smile, warm, and maybe a bit normal. "Mmm.. Thanks, Tatsuma."

Setting the cloth aside, he began to wrap up his friend's torso, the poor man probably 65% bandages by the time Gintoki'd be done. When he tied a knot in the ends just above the abs, he glanced to the side.

The bowl of water was starting to turn a dark pink from the blood that came off of the washcloth, and the sight of it churned the samurai's stomach.

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Log; ONGOING

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