Disclaimer: Gintama and its character don't belong to me. They belong to the amazing Sorachi Hideaki.

Rating: T

Pairings: None.

Author's notes: For the first part of the first part of the assumably first chapter I borrowed some lines from the manga and the anime. Everyone reading this probably already know that part, so I tried to keep it short. Everything that comes after that is my imagination screwing me over. Please bear with it. It's really not as bad as it sounds. I just really suck at explaining myself. Oh, and the title... I know... I've failed the whole mankind with that cliche.

Dead Men Don't Talk

Chapter 1

It was a cold winter day. The snow was silently falling onto the gravestones. On a whim, Otose had decided to go to the graveyard to visit her late husband's grave. She had brought some manju as an offer. She set them down in front of the tombstone and was almost ready to leave.

"Hey, granny?" a voice suddenly asked. Otose looked up and saw an old man with grey hair sitting, his back leaning against the gravestone. "Are those manju? Can I have them? I think I'm about to die from starvation."

His grey hair certainly looked like an old man's, but his voice was that of a young one. "They don't belong to me," she said, surprised by the contradiction. "They belong to my husband. You should ask him."

"Is that so?" said the man, and without asking, took the manju and ate them all.

"So, what did my husband say?"

The man raised his head and admitted, "No idea. Dead men don't talk."

"Don't blame me if he curses you," she sighed.

"Dead men don't talk," continued the man, then stood up and faced the gravestone. "Neither do they eat manju. Which is why I made a promise instead. I won't ever forget this debt. Granny here probably doesn't have that much time left. So, from now on, until she kicks the bucket, I'll watch over her in your place."

He turned and Otose could see why there was such a conflict between his hair and his voice. It was a young man at most 20 years old, probably even younger. He had unusual curly grey hair and red eyes that seemed dead to the world. However, thanks to years of experience, Otose could see the pain behind his apathy. Those were the eyes of an already broken man at the age of 20. A drowning man grasping for a single straw.

"You'll watch over me, you say?" she smiled. The man smiled back. Otose could just barely see his hesitation in that. "Alright, let's see what you can do then. However, I can't have such a dirty-looking watchdog. Come with me. The owner must see to it that her dog is in good health. I'm Otose. What's your name?"

"Sakata Gintoki."

She nodded, then turned and walked away, not looking back. She didn't need to. She could hear him following. Exhausted, starving, and probably also freezing, for he was wearing only a ragged yukata and the weather had got even colder by the time they left the graveyard, his breathing was a little heavier than normal, but not once did he complain.

Ever since the war ended, there had been a lot of war veterans around. Every single one of them had a broken soul reflected by the pain in their eyes and none of them was carrying a sword. Partly it was because of the sword ban, but that wasn't all. It seemed like, after seeing most of their friends and comrades die, they were done with their fight. Not wanting to take part of this rotten world again, they just lived their lives, trying to just stay alive for yet another day. Sure, there were also those all-out patriots who, never wanting to give up, still tried to change the country with random acts of terrorism, but there were only a few of such organisations left. Most of them had disbanded when the war ended and the ones still functioning were small and weak, leaded by some idiots who obviously didn't know when to give up, and so they didn't really make that much of a difference.

The man following Otose seemed to be one of those veterans whose soul was broken by the war. However, even though he was exhausted, without a sword, and had clearly given up on the war, he still carried himself with a certain grace. Like a master swordsman. A true samurai. Maybe there was still hope to save this young man from fatalism, thought Otose. Anyhow, right now, that whatever grace he had, looked more like a force of habit, carved into his body, so maybe there was nothing she could do anymore. At least she could still give him a warm meal and something to wear so that he wouldn't freeze to death in the winter if he decided not to keep his promise and flee. Otose wouldn't have minded or been surprised by that either. It seemed as if he had seen too much and broken too many promises in his young life to keep a new one. She didn't think he was a bad person, though, just weary and cautious.

"I have a bar in Kabukicho, that's where we're going," said Otose, finally breaking the silence. The fact that he hadn't even asked where they were heading made her a little uneasy. The man only nodded. He seemed to have some trouble with keeping up. It didn't surprise her. Being out in this weather for who knows how long with an empty stomach and ragged clothes, of course he'd have trouble keeping up with her relatively fast pace. "It's not too far away anymore," she said and slowed down a bit. For a fraction of a second, there was a slight sign of gratitude on his face.

"Why would you pick up a stranger and show him where you live? I could very well be a simple thief for all you know. It wouldn't be that hard to rob an old lady from everything," he asked, confused.

"I guess I'm just a soft-hearted old woman. I couldn't leave a man to die to the side of the road no matter if he is someone I know or not. Besides, you don't look like you would steal anything from me."

He smiled. "You're going to be used by somebody one day if you keep offering manju to strays and showing them where you live."

"You're probably right about that," chuckled Otose. "But then again, if nobody offered manju to the strays, this town would become boring. Kabukicho is the place where the trash is. People, who have no other place to go, usually end up in here. This town has no rules whatsoever. No real law reaches here. Most people, who still cherish their lives, have made their own set of rules, their basis of life, so to say, to which they keep true to. This is why Kabukicho is the perfect place for the broken."

"The broken, huh?" he sounded sad even though he was smiling. "Guess that's exactly what I am now."

Otose realised her mistake and shut up. There was no need to remind him of his situation. She wondered why he had been in the graveyard in the first place. Was someone he knew buried there? More likely he just didn't want to get in anyone's way when he died. No better place to die than the graveyard, he might have thought. No, there was no way she could've guessed what went through his head behind those dead fish eyes.

x

They had made it to the Snack Otose without exchanging another word. She gave Gintoki a towel and a new kimono and showed him to the bathroom. He wanted to decline at first but Otose said not to worry and that she would extort the money from him later, to which he muttered a few words of thanks before spending the next half an hour in the shower. When he came out again, finally clean, she saw that his hair wasn't grey after all. His head was actually covered with a huge fluffy mass of silver hair. He didn't look so broken anymore, either. To be honest, he looked more like a tired and hungry child, cranky after hiking in the wild for the whole day, than like a man exhausted after having survived fighting in the war for a couple of years.

Otose gave him a bowl of rice but saw him being consumed by exhaustion and a rising fever even as he ate, so as soon as he was done, she led him to an unused bedroom in the back of the bar.

"Sorry for the trouble," said Gintoki, lying on his futon.

"Didn't I already tell you that the owner must see to it that her dog is in good health? Don't worry about it. I'll make sure you work your ass off for me later."

"First money, now work. You really know how to use people, huh?" mumbled Gintoki.

"Go to sleep already, you unthankful bastard. Get rid of that fever so that I could actually use you later. Now, unlike some unemployed person, I have a bar to keep so you just stay put and rest tonight."

She didn't really like the idea of leaving a sick person alone, but the bar really did need keeping and she figured that Gintoki would rather be alone right now, too. She just had to hope he'd sleep through the night and that his fever wouldn't rise while she was gone.

x

The bar was unusually lively that night. She had hoped to spare a few minutes to check on Gintoki, but it turned out to be impossible. By the time she wanted to close up, there were still a few people left, most of them too drunk to hold a meaningful conversation for more than a couple of seconds. Still, all but one managed to understand enough to leave when she told them to. The one who stayed was an odd one. He had come in an hour or so ago and had ordered only one drink. After that he had placed himself to the furthest corner of the counter and dozed off. Although he looked like he was sleeping, every once in a while he opened one of his eyes and glared nervously at other people in the bar. Otose might have been old, but she wasn't stupid. Quietly, she reached under the counter and took out a baseball bat. Keeping it hidden, she then went to wake up the man, but as soon as she reached to him, there was a sound of metal slithering against wood and she found herself facing a very nervous man with a very sharp blade. Always a bad combination.

"Are you sure you really want to do this?" she asked carefully.

"Shut up! I need the money. So please, just give me the money and I won't have to hurt you."

Knowing it wouldn't do any good against a sword anyway, Otose let go of the bat and took out a cigarette instead. She lit it up and inhaled slowly.

"H-hey, hurry up! I haven't got all night! Or do you need a little encouragement?" he raised the sword higher.

She exhaled the smoke. The man looked way too nervous to be a professional robber. This was most likely his first time.

"Why are you doing this? Wouldn't it be better to lead an honest life?"

"Shut up! Don't start with that honest life crap! You don't know what I've been through! If you're not going to give me the money then I'll just k-kill you and take it myself. I-it's that simple."

"You're not much of a thief, are you? Don't you know that stuttering while making threats isn't too convincing? Trust me, you'd be better off if you just left."

His eyes suddenly turned cold and calculating. She knew that's when he became really dangerous.

"Alright, then," he said coldheartedly, readying his sword for a deadly slash. She saw it coming closer and closer. There was no way she could dodge it. Otose prepared herself for pain, closing her eyes.

But the pain never came. Instead, when she opened her eyes again, all she could see was a familiar huge mass of curly silver hair. Gintoki had captured the blade with his left hand. The sword had cut into his palm and the blood was dripping, but it didn't seem like he was bothered by that. Instead he twisted his hand and the sword's tip broke off.

"Hey, dickface," he hissed, death in his voice. Then he punched him square in the face with his right fist, sending the man flying across the room. He landed with a huge crash onto a table which broke in half. Gintoki leapt lightly over the counter, walked up to the man, and picked him up from his collar.

"Y-you're... S-Shiroyasha?" gasped the man. His nose was broken and bleeding furiously.

Gintoki raised an eyebrow. "You know who I am?"

"Y-yes, sir," he answered, "I o-once fought in the same battle as y-you, sir."

"So you also know what I can do to you, right?"

"Y-y-yes, sir," he whispered, clearly afraid for his life now.

"Whoa, this makes it so much easier. Which faction were you in?"

"T-the Kiheitai, s-sir. A p-private, sir," He was trembling badly now.

"The Kiheitai, huh? Doesn't really sound like Takasugi to take in lowlifes like you even if he is an asshole," Gintoki admitted. Then he smirked. "You know that Takasugi would've just cut you down right then and there? And I gotta admit, I wouldn't have interfered, either."

The man winced. "P-please, have mercy, Shiroyasha-sama. I have a pregnant wife waiting for me at home!"

"Mercy? Wazzat? Never heard of that. Were it up to me, I'd just kill you. It's a pain not killing you. It would be so much simpler. However, luckily for you, it wasn't me you attacked and so I don't get to decide if your head will end up in a different corner than your body. So," he turned to Otose, who was calmly smoking her cigarette. "What do you want to do with this trash?"

His words were harsh and he was emitting a deadly aura, but his eyes were begging: Please don't make me kill another person. She knew he would kill if she told him to. Otose sighed.

"Today the recyclable trash goes out. Burnable trash goes out tomorrow. You'd better remember that."

He nodded and, dragging the man behind him, went to the shoji, opened it and threw him out. His broken sword followed him only seconds after.

"Go home to your wife and get a job so you wouldn't have to do stupid shit like this again. It would be sad if your child would have to grow up without a father. We have enough miserable orphans in this world." Then he closed the shoji.

"Th-thank you, Shiroyasha-sama!" sounded through the closed shoji doors. Otose could imagine him being on his knees, his head to the ground.

Gintoki turned and looked at the broken table. "Tch. What a mess."

"Is your hand okay?" Otose asked.

"Hm?" Gintoki looked at his hand and seemed surprised upon finding it bleeding. "Oh. Yeah, it's fine. The cut is shallow."

"That's good," She took out a first-aid kit, motioned him to sit down and started to clean the wound. She was relieved to find that the wound was indeed shallow, but felt worried about his burning skin. His fever was rising again.

"I thought I told you not to move tonight," said Otose shaking her head.

"And who said I was an obedient dog? Besides, didn't I already tell you I'd watch over you? Geez, granny, did you forget already? What's up with that? Do you have Alzheimer's or something?"

Otose started bandaging his hand.

"Shiroyasha, was it?" She felt him tensing up hearing that name. "That's quite the nickname you have made for yourself."

"I never wanted that name," Gintoki said quietly. "It's just that before I even knew it, everyone already called me that. It's hard to get rid of fitting nicknames," he shrugged.

Otose nodded, accepting that explanation. She figured it wouldn't be a good idea to pry into his past too much. Even she had heard some distant rumours about the legendary White Demon. She finished bandaging his hand.

"Now get back to bed before you receive any more brain damage from the fever."

Author's notes: This is my second fanfiction. And with this I've already mostly broken my promise of writing only one-shots because I'm thinking of going further into how Otose started to trust Gintoki and stuff. I just hope I won't lose my motivation.

If I do decide to write a second chapter I'm afraid it'll take a while. Right now, since I just graduated, there's this crazy time in my life where I have to choose a future for myself. Gahh, it's a pain.

Anyway, please review. I love nice reviews and I can also take a little critic here and there and I will try to learn from my mistakes. Can't promise anything, though. Also, English is not my first language, so don't kill me for my grammar mistakes. I will fix them if you tell me, though.

By the way, did you know that 30 Seconds to Mars is perfect for writing stuff?