Hijikata found the soldier lying in the shrine, half-hidden behind the offertory box, one leg stretched out on the straw. At first he thought one of the old men of the town had drunk too much and fallen asleep here. He had white hair, white as the snow that would start falling in a few months, but as he approached, Hijikata realized that he didn't look any older than him. Hijikata didn't know much about the foreign invaders, but maybe that meant he was one of them. An Amanto.

But what really caught his attention was the smell of death, and the broken shaft of an arrow sticking out of the open wound in the soldier's leg.

The soldier didn't even glance up as Hijikata, a practice sword under one arm, approached. He was massaging his thigh, wincing at his own touch.

"What the hell?" Hijikata said. He wasn't equipped to deal with any irregularities here. He had come to this shrine specifically because no one else did. Sougo taunted him whenever he noticed Hijikata was doing, well, anything, and while Hijikata definitely could stand up to an eleven year old, sometimes it was just easier to sneak away.

But that wasn't the point. The point was that there was a wounded man in the shrine, and he was clearly a soldier. He had armor and everything, something Hijikata had only ever seen on display in the dojo. There had never been war in this village. Though it had to be close now, if a soldier this wounded was here. Even if he was a deserter, he couldn't have made it far with that leg.

"Get out some brushes and paint a picture, it'll last longer," the soldier said. "Go on, I'm a good subject. I'm not going to move. I can even help you make a haiku to put in the corner if you want. How about, 'Go and fuck yourself, you stupid backwoods farm brat, is soldier's last breath.'"

"Fine words," Hijikata sneered. "Hard to believe a modern day Ono no Takamura like you is dying like a dog." No, that wasn't the right reaction. Hijikata was panicking and trying not to show it, and being contrary on instinct. He should be forcing the soldier away, or using his sword for something other than practice.

The soldier pushed himself up with one hand, looking for all the world like he wanted to pull the arrow out of his leg and stab Hijikata with it. But he fell back with a pained grunt, his head thudding against the wall. The bell above the offertory box shook. "Damn it," he swore. "Just get out of here kid, let a dog die in peace."

Hijikata, grateful for the excuse, fled. Outside the gate, well out of the soldier's view, he sunk to the ground and put his head on his knees. What was he going to do? He couldn't just let someone die in a shrine. What if the soldier was on their side? What would he do when someone found the body?

The war must be close. Closer than it had ever been before. It would start affecting this village before long. For all he liked to tell Kondo that he knew much, much more than anyone else in this place, just because of the sheer breadth of his experience, he didn't have any idea about what a real war was like. He only knew the stories of soldiers marching through towns, trampling the fields and forcing themselves into people's homes. Mitsuba wouldn't be able to make it.

He went to the dojo, and was immediately slaughtered by Sougo. That wasn't anything unusual. Sougo was a prodigy, and Hijikata was probably the only one left at the Tennen Rishin Ryu school who challenged him on a regular basis. He had heard rumors that, before Hijikata had arrived at the dojo, Sougo had clashed swords with the Lord of Shirakawa's fencing instructor, a man thrice his age and with double his experience, and won. Hijikata didn't know if this was true, but he wouldn't be surprised if it was.

Kondo must have seen something was on his mind though. Maybe his reactions were slower today, or his replies to Sougo's taunts seemed rote. Kondo was an idiot, but he was good at noticing things like that. He pulled Hijikata out of the dojo and set him off on some inconsequential errand, his thick eyebrows scrunched together in concern.

Ally or enemy, Hijikata couldn't let anyone die alone in a shrine. He sprinted back to Kondo's home, grabbed the first food he saw, which turned out to be a plate of rice balls Mitsuba had probably left for him, and went back to the shrine. He paused outside the door, ran to Mitsuba's house, snuck in, and filled a bag full of cheap medicines and bandages. Kondo wouldn't have anything like this, but Mitsuba had enough to fill a pharmacy. If it was all for her Hijikata wouldn't have even considered taking it, but he had often caught Sougo, embarrassed by his sister's overprotectiveness, peeling of bandages before going to practice. He'd pay her back later.

When he got to the shrine, out of breath, the soldier was sitting with his eyes closed. It didn't look like he had moved at all. For a moment Hijikata was afraid he was too late, that he was already dead, but as he got closer, the soldier opened one eye and stared at him.

"What?" he snapped. "I'm not a tour guide. I don't care if you've never seen someone die before, I'm not going to walk you through the process."

"You're not going to die," Hijikata said, and it came out less reassuring than he had hoped for. Though, if anyone was going to threaten someone with life, it would end up being Hijikata.

He held up the rice balls. The soldier opened his other eye, stared at the food for a moment, then sat up. Hijikata pulled them out of his grasp. He had brought the practice sword with him, just in case. He might not be able to trump Sougo, but he was sure he'd be able to defeat a common soldier like this guy, even if he wasn't wounded. After all, Sougo was the eldest of son of a samurai who served a direct retainer of the shogun, while soldiers like him were just whatever slag the generals could scrape off the street, not formally trained in any kind of swordsmanship. The only advantage they would have over someone like Hijikata was experience, and Hijikata had plenty of that.

"Which side are you on?" Hijikata asked.

The soldier kept his eyes on the rice balls. "Which side do you want me to be on?" Hijikata frowned and moved away. The soldier sighed. "Joui."

Hijikata wanted to throw the food in his face, but he resisted. That's probably what scum like him would want. No, Hijikata had to educate him. "Don't you know what a terrible idea that is?" he said. They might not have gotten a lot of contact with the war, here in this small town, but whenever a dignitary came around they would stop and speak with Kondo about it in hushed voices. Those were the only times Hijikata ever saw Kondo looking truly worried. "Not even the Shogun wants to keep the Amanto around forever, he just knows Japan doesn't have enough weapons technology to risk a full-on war with the universe. All you Joui are doing is expediting Japan's fall because you don't want to rub shoulders with foreigners long enough to learn their secrets. And 'Revere the Emperor'? Do you know how long it's been since the Imperial Court has had any real power? The Emperor doesn't know anything about politics. The whole movement is ridiculous."

The soldier had grabbed a rice ball was Hijikata was gesticulating wildly. "Cool," he said, his mouth full. "Hey, these are pretty good."

"Don't you care?" Hijikata asked desperately, handing him the rest. "You're risking your life for something idiotic."

"Yeah," the soldier said. "I know that, at least." He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Listen. Since you gave me food, I'll give you some advice, honed from years of wisdom. Keep your ears clean, okay. Would you jump off a bridge if your friends did?"

Hijikata didn't have any friends, so when he answered, he wasn't sure if he was telling the truth. Unless Sougo counted as his friend, in which case, the bridge was probably about to collapse anyway. "No," he said.

"What if your friends are a lot smarter than you?" the soldier said, stuffing another rice ball in his mouth. He didn't even seem to notice the spice that Mitsuba had no doubt ruined them with. He ate like he hadn't seen food in weeks. Maybe he hadn't. "What if you were absolutely confident that, if smart people like them were jumping, there was probably a good reason to do it?"

Hijikata frowned. "I wouldn't just depend on them," he said. "I'd have to work it out by myself. So you joined a war because it's what your friends were doing? Aren't you saying you're just too dumb to care about why you're fighting?"

"Too many questions, kid." The soldier finished off the last of the rice balls and leaned back against the wall. "I know why I'm fighting. But I'm not about to tell some guy in the boonies all about—"

"Well, it doesn't matter," Hijikata said. "I don't care about whatever you have that passes for thought. Show me your leg."

"I just said I wasn't going to tell you. Are you not listening to what I'm saying? Are your ears so filled with wax that you can't hear me? Didn't I tell you to keep them clean? Hey, don't just—oh, gods." The soldier bit through his lip when Hijikata touched his ankle. Hijikata pulled his hand away, but the damage was already done.

The soldier had closed his eyes again and held his breath, his hands balled into fists and his knuckles white with the effort. Blood trickled down his mouth as the soldier's teeth tore into his bottom lip, trying to keep himself from screaming. He pounded at the floor, splintering the wood.

He's strong, Hijikata thought. And then, I wonder if I would have the strength not to scream.

Hijikata moved back and watched as the soldier eventually let out a groan and started breathing again, his fingers unclenching.

"I brought medicine," Hijikata whispered in the quiet. "You have to get out of here by tomorrow." He had prepared that line while rummaging through Mitsuba's medicine box. Now it didn't seem as cool. He shoved the bag into the soldier's hands and stood up. "Take care of yourself."

The soldier grabbed Hijikata's wrist. His face was still twisted with pain, and when he spoke, his voice was breathy and laborious. "Why don't you just kill me?" he asked.

Hijikata jerked back, trying to twist his arm out of the soldier's grasp, but the soldier held firm. "Are you stupid?" he continued. "I'm a wounded enemy camping out within a few minutes walk of everyone you have ever held dear." He let go of Hijikata and spread out his arms, exposing his chest. "Have you never killed anyone before, kid? I can teach you that, at least."

On reflex, Hijikata put his hand on the hilt of his practice. He let go as soon as he realized that gave the opposite impression from what he had intended, but not before he saw the look of resignation—relief—in the soldier's eyes. "You want to die or somethin'?" Hijikata snarled. He leaned over the soldier, his hair falling over his shoulder. "Well, I'm not a tool to grant your fucked up wish. It would be dishonorable to slay someone as weak as you. Come back after you've healed."

The soldier sighed. "Fine." He glanced at the rolled up bandages. "I guess I don't get why you're wasting expensive shit like this on me," he said. "But unless you just like throwing money away, you're gonna have to help me." Wincing, he rolled up his pant leg, tearing it open around the arrow.

Hijikata did his best not to throw up. Through some stroke of fortune, it wasn't gangrenous, or at least not yet, but the whole leg was raw. Or no, that wasn't right, only some of it was. The other parts were cooked, burnt black. There wasn't an inch of pure skin, just a bloody mess of meat. He could see slick bone poking out around where the soldier's knee should be.

Strapped to the leg with a torn piece of cloth was a sword sheath, complete with sword. The soldier must have been using it as a brace.

"It's that high-tech weaponry you were talking about," the soldier said, his voice too cheerful. "You get hit with an arrow, you think, 'Oh well!' and then it explodes on you. I mean, it's not so bad. I still have a leg. Hey, kid, please don't pass out on me, I'm not in any position to catch you."

Hijikata sunk to the floor. "How did you get here?" he asked, his head in his hands.

"Huh?"

Hijikata tried to keep calm. He had to keep calm. It had been his choice to deal with this alone, he wasn't going to go running to Kondo now. "How did you manage to come all this way on a leg like that?"

"I walked." The soldier paused. "Crawled."

"It must be close then," Hijikata said. "How come we can't hear it, if you're fighting so close to us?"

The soldier frowned. He did look genuinely sad, which surprised Hijikata. He didn't expect a soldier to sympathize with being too cowardly to join the fighting. "Don't worry about it," he said. "It won't hit a dump like this. You don't even have a single brothel. I checked. And," his voice dropped, like he was telling it to himself more than Hijikata, "Who knows how much longer they'll go on without me?"

Hijikata wanted to hit him. Didn't he realize how serious this was? This place couldn't survive being a war front. They'd kill the crops and burn down houses, they'd forcibly recruit every man and boy at Kondo's dojo, maybe the farmers too, they'd hurt Mitsuba. The one place left in the world Hijikata could call home, and it was going to be destroyed by people no better than bandits.

The soldier was rubbing his shoulder. "Kid. Kid, calm down. No one's going to come here." He lightly smacked Hijikata's cheek. "We're headed in the opposite direction, and I fight pretty far out. I was basically behind the enemy lines when I got shot."

"Just admit you're a deserter," Hijikata said, his voice muffled by his sleeve. He definitely hadn't been on the verge of tears. He was seventeen, not seven.

The soldier scowled. "You're not a very pleasant kid, are you?"

"Stop calling me a kid," said Hijikata, petulantly. "You can't be much older than me."

The soldier shrugged. "I don't know how old I am. But it's experience that counts." He pinched Hijikata's cheek. "You're just a wee babe. Now, you're going to have to help me get this arrow out of my leg, and then I'll be out of your hair."

Hijikata slapped his hand away and looked down at the arrow. The main body of it had been broken away already, but it had sunk in deep enough that it didn't amount to much. Hijikata didn't know how he'd get a good enough grip on it to pull it out. The arrowhead itself must be still imbedded in his skin, not coming out the other side, because the soldier was resting his leg flat on the floor.

The soldier was still talking. "I doubt you've done this before, so just listen to me. Do you have any whiskey?"

Hijikata's expression soured. "No."

"Sake?"

"No."

"Fuck," the soldier said. "What is this, censorship?"

"It's hard to get luxuries like that when your country's fighting off insurgents," Hijikata said.

"You're telling me," the soldier sighed. "At least wash your hands. Actually, just get a bucket of water and bring it here."

Hijikata sat back on his heels. "Why do I have to help you? You're the one who broke into a shrine. How about you say a prayer instead?"

"I've been wondering the same thing," the soldier said. "You don't have any cute girls here, do you? Maybe a motherly weather lady type? No? Well." He held up his hands for Hijikata to see. They were crusted with dirt and blood, and shaking. The soldier had been acting so flippant that Hijikata hadn't noticed the dull look of terror in his eyes. "I tried to do it myself, but I kept passing out." He looked down at his leg. "I'd leave it until the rest heals, or at least until I can get Zura to look at it, but I'm afraid it'll get infected."

Hijikata got the bucket of water, taking extra care to wash his hands. He even wrapped a strip of cloth around his mouth. His breath was hot. He really, really didn't want to do this, but he couldn't just let the soldier die. Not after coming this far.

"Don't worry," the soldier said, watching Hijikata stare at his leg. "I'll walk you through it." He reached down and unlaced his sword/brace from his leg and handed the sheath to Hijikata. "If I die, take this and make a plow out of it or something, I don't care. Make a ring for the weather girl I'm sure you're hiding."

"What's your name?" Hijikata asked, staring at the sword in his hands.

The soldier grinned. "Put 'Sakata Gintoki,' on my gravestone, please. That's with the characters for hill, rice patty, silver, and time. And yours?"

"Hijikata Toshiro." He set the sword down. "I won't be putting it on your gravestone. I just don't want to tell the merchant I sell this sword to that I didn't even know the name of the man I took it off of. What do I do?"

Sakata handed him the cloth he had used to bind the sword with his leg, then held out his hands, his wrists pressed together. "First, tie my hands so I don't clobber you over the head mid-operation. You might want to sit on my good leg too." Hijikata did as he was told. Maybe this guy wasn't a real soldier, but a medic who happened to be injured. Surely no lay person would think like this. If he was a medic, then there was no shame in helping him.

"Okay, here's the tricky part," Sakata said. Hijikata tried not to notice how pale he was. "You can't just pull the arrow out. The Amanto put barbs on the head so if you try, you'll just tear out my entire leg. You have to push it through. It might help if you had something to elevate my leg."

Hijikata dragged over a crate and, as gently as he could, lifted up Sakata's ankle and set it on the edge. Sakata bit into his own arm to muffle the scream, which Hijikata was thankful for, though he wondered how Sakata could possibly manage to talk him through the process of pushing out the arrow. He wouldn't be able to keep this a secret for long if the whole village could hear screaming from the abandoned shrine.

Maybe it would be better if they found out. Adults might be better equipped to deal with this kind of situation. Hijikata tried to think. What would they do? They wouldn't just leave him here, that was for sure, but they couldn't help him either. The only reason Kondo's dojo was still allowed to exist was because the Bakufu was sure that Kondo was on their side, raising young samurai to serve the Shogun. If they helped a rebel, who knows what they would do. Definitely shut them down, probably execute Kondo.

Even Hijikata had heard of the Kansei Purge.

Kondo would probably be forced to put Sakata out of his misery, like the dog he was. That was one reason Hijikata was doing this. Kondo shouldn't ever have to go through that. Hijikata might be able to do it, but Kondo was too good. He wouldn't be able to live with himself.

Either that, or they would turn him over to some Bakufu official. Hijikata could picture it now. Kondo and the official, sitting cross-legged on the tatami. The official, maybe human, maybe Amanto, would be annoyed at Kondo for calling him all the way out here to deal with a minor issue like a dying rebel soldier. They wouldn't take him into custody, not some rankless cannon fodder like Sakata surely was. He couldn't be used as a hostage, so the official would probably draw his sword right there and behead him on the tatami, not even giving him the dignity of seppuku. Or maybe the official would be annoyed at how the war was going and want to take his frustration out. He'd request a separate room and drag Sakata there. He'd dig his foot into Sakata's bad leg, demanding information that Sakata didn't know. And then he'd kill him and give Kondo his head, nominally a token of appreciation but more potently a warning of what would happen if Kondo didn't remain loyal.

Yes, the best course of action would be to get the soldier out before anyone even realized. And if Hijikata had to learn surgery to protect Kondo, he would become the goddamn best surgeon in the universe. Besides, Kondo barely counted as an adult anyway. He was only a year older than Hijikata. He couldn't rely on him forever.

Hijikata's fingers hovered over what remained off the shaft. "So just...push?"

"No!" Sakata shouted, raising his head. He propped himself up on one elbow. "Okay, think about this, Gintoki." He closed his eyes. "Do you have a knife with you?"

Hijikata glanced at the sword. "...Sort of," he said.

"Right. So you need to enlarge the entry point."

Yeah, there wasn't anyway he could do that with a sword, unless Sakata was going for amputation. Hijikata said this.

"That was your knife?" Sakata said. "God. At least you had enough sense not to use it. Okay, new plan. Just grab the part that's sticking out and wiggle it around a little."

Gently, afraid that even grasping the shaft too hard would cause Sakata to pass out and leave him alone with no idea about what to do next, Hijikata brushed his fingers over the arrow. The skin around it was burnt black. Hijikata tried not to notice that it crackled as the arrow moved.

"You have use a little more force. Pretend I'm your girl. Ooh, aah, Hijikata-chan, I can barely feel it, harder, Hiji—Oh, fuck, not that hard. You're going to dislodge the arrowhead, and then where will I be? In a grave, probably. Okay, okay, this is fine. It's moving fine?"

The man was babbling. It was annoying, but Hijikata didn't blame him. At least he was staying awake. "Yeah, it's moving."

"Right. You can stop now. No, don't let go." Sakata gulped. "That means it's not embedded in bone, so you can...you can push it out now." He laid back and closed his eyes. "Just do it quick. If there's an artery or something in the way, there's nothing I can teach you."

Hijikata didn't want to look at his face, but he did anyway. He was much too pale, probably fear in conjunction with blood loss. He was shaking.

"Hurry up," he said. "Wait, no, stop. If the arrowhead comes out with the shaft, wrap one of those bandages around my leg as soon as you can. If it doesn't, well. Thank you."

"Keep talking to me," Hijikata said, taking hold of the arrow. "You have to stay awake, okay? Sakata sounds like a farmer's name. Are you a farmer?" He started to push down on the arrow. Sakata jolted, and Hijikata was suddenly glad he had listened to his advice and sat on his leg. He was too strong, even injured like this.

"No, not a farmer," Sakata said, panting. "I don't know the first thing about farming. There just happened to be a rice field around when I chose it. Lots of rice fields in Japan, aren't there?" He choked as Hijikata applied more force. His fingers scrabbled against the floor. "Someone said, 'Gintoki, there's a rice field on a hill! That's what you should name yourself,' and like a fool, I went along with it. Most people call me Gintoki. Actually, you're the only person to call me Sakata in years and years. Maybe in forever. You know, I don't know if anyone knows my family name."

Hijikata could see the tip of the arrowhead as it poked through the thin layer of skin, an alien object tearing through the body. By now, the shaft was only centimeters long, barely enough to push on. If it didn't come out with the arrowhead, Sakata was just going to have to figure out how to live with a dirty arrow stuck horizontally through his leg.

He pressed the last centimeter down, and the arrowhead pierced through the skin. Sakata turned his head and vomited.

Hijikata pinched his fingers around the tip, trying to dig his nails into the metal. It was slippery with blood and other viscera Hijikata didn't want to identify. With his other hand he kept on pushing the shaft, down, down until his finger slipped inside the wound. It reminded Hijikata of Sougo licking the last of his meal off his fingers. Blood pulsed over his skin, like the wound was trying to swallow him.

Hijikata wanted to follow Sakata's lead and throw up. But he held his breath and kept tugging at the arrow, watching as it widened and started to tear a bigger and bigger hole in Sakata's leg, until it abruptly tapered off and the wooden shaft started to poke out the other side. He wrapped his fingers around it and tugged. It slid out fairly smoothly.

He laid the arrow on the ground next to the sword and, without looking to Sakata for any instruction, wrapped a bandage tight around his leg. Then he dunked his hands in the bucket of water and scrubbed them until the water was pink and his hands were free of blood. It was only then that he had the courage to look over and see if his patient was still alive.

Sakata was clearly passed out, but the gentle rise and fall of his chest betrayed life. Hijikata let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Carefully, making sure not to move his leg, which he decided to keep elevated, he shifted Sakata away from the pool of vomit. He wished he could move him to another part of the shrine altogether, but he was willing to admit he wasn't strong enough to lift him and dragging him would only aggravate the injury.

He dumped the bucket of bloody water outside. He left the bandages there, in case Sakata woke up and wanted to change them. He'd forgive one more night here; he doubted Sakata would even be conscious for a few hours, and all Hijikata's effort would be wasted if he decided to trek through the woods on that leg in the middle of the night.

At dinner that night, Hijikata stared at his rice and tried not to think about Sakata. He wasn't a stranger to blood, by no means, but it was different than cutting someone down with a quick slash of a sword. It was prolonging the slash for an hour, two hours, feeling the skin rip under your hands.

"How old do you have to be to fight in the war?" Hijikata asked Kondo. Sakata hadn't really answered, but Hijikata refused to believe he was more than twenty, and that was probably much too high a guess.

Kondo put down his chopsticks. He ate like a gorilla, shoveling the rice into his mouth like it was a competition. A few grains were stuck to his chin. "Toshi," he said solemnly. "Don't."

Hijikata frowned. "I don't want to. I was just—"

"Don't listen to him," said Sougo. "You definitely should go off and die already, you bastard. Don't even bother taking a sword with you."

"Sougo," Kondo chastised, then turned back towards Hijikata. "I don't know, for sure, but there are probably a lot of boys no older than you dying out there." He emphasized dying, like he really had to drive home the point that even considering entering the war was a stupid, stupid thing. He reached over and ruffled Sougo's hair. "And maybe a few about your age."

Sougo pushed Kondo's hand away. "They're idiots," he said. "Why would you willingly choose to die?"

"Well," Kondo said reluctantly, like he didn't even want to give the boys a hint of a reason to run off and join the army, "They probably have something they want to protect, just like us." He mulled this thought over for a moment, chewing. Kondo firmly believed that chewing every morsel properly was the secret to good health. He just often forgot to apply the rule to himself. "It's just too bad they're protecting the wrong thing."