Thanks for Good for Nothing

A Gintama oneshot

By

EvilFuzzy9

The Kabukicho district of greater Edo was a den of misfits, a teeming hive of ruffians, rapscallions, and ne'er-do-wells. It was a reeking cesspool of mortal vice and living scum. Trying to live out a peaceful life in that town was just asking to be crushed by adversity. The sensible person wouldn't even try. They would steer well clear of Kabukicho, and all the worst sorts of maladjusted miscreants who called that place home.

Unfortunately for Tae and Shinpachi Shimura, their father had never been a sensible man. Even when it was clear that times were a-changing, and all but the least perceptive or most stubborn of folks were either pulling up roots or being driven out of the town that had once been their home, Ken Shimura had refused to leave.

Rather than open a new dojo out in the country, where land was cheap and enforcement of the new Sword Ban would likely be less strict, where stubborn hold-outs of those clinging to the old ways would indubitably give them at least a modest handful of students to teach, the man had taken out loan after loan to keep the Kodokan dojo he loved so dearly open. Even when their only students were his own two children, Ken had refused to heed the signs.

He was a stubborn, idealistic man – even to the very end. Even on his death bed, rather than making peace with his children, or imparting some final wisdom onto them, he had spent his strength writing down some preposterous "secret technique". Some would say that he'd cared more about dreams and ideals than about his own flesh and blood, his own living offspring.

In the end, Ken Shimura had been a selfish fool. He was a stubborn man who had refused to change, and this pertinacity cost his children much. When he died, Ken left his son and daughter with nothing but a decaying dojo and a mountain of debt.

Shinpachi still resented the man for this. The nobility of idealistic obstinacy had its limits. No matter what else he might do or say, Shinpachi Shimura could never truly forgive his father.

Not for abandoning them. Not for clinging to a relic of the past, neglecting the own future of his family in the process. Tae was the good girl, the faithful daughter who would always adore and revere her father. She was the bright, strong, beautiful and determined child. She was the one who kept everything together, the one who contributed most to the dojo and its continuance. Even when times had been bleakest, she had never lost faith in the beliefs of their father.

Shinpachi was always doubting. He always felt insignificant.

Bitterly, he often wondered at the wisdom of the dojo being the son's responsibility when the daughter so thoroughly outclassed him.

"I envy you, Ane-ue."

That was what he said, one day. Though he spoke the words to the wind alone, Shinpachi could almost imagine her response.

It shamed him, just being able to deduct what his sister would probably say to such a comment.

She was hardly privileged, hardly blessed. Everything she had, she'd earned through effort and force of will. She had hardened herself in the face of adversity, grown strong enough to protect her weak little brother.

Yes.

Weak.

Shinpachi sighed. Gazing up at the murky, smog-filled skies of Edo, he wondered briefly what it must have looked like before the Amanto came. Their father had spoken often of the beautiful blue skies, as they had once been. But then he shook off that thought.

He knew, without needing to be told, that it was foolish to envy his sister. The world was not kind to women, nor was life ever easy for her. And he knew that at least some of Otae's worse difficulties could be traced back to his failures as a man, and a successor to the Tendo Mushin style. Because he lacked resolve, because he lacked the drive to succeed, she had to work that much harder to keep the dojo open.

"If I can envy you, it's only because I've failed to make myself into a respectable man. Right?" he said to no one, speaking to the sister in his mind. "Because I can't get a good job, or make myself stand out."

He sighed.

Almost, Shinpachi wished he could say these problems were beyond his power, that he simply didn't have what it took. He wished he could truly say that he had no talent, that he was completely hopeless and no amount of trying could change that. Because then, at least, he could be forgiven somewhat for pitying himself as he did. It wouldn't be quite as disgraceful, then, for him to wallow in this melancholy.

But sadly, he knew this wasn't the case. His sister may not have had the kindest way of putting it, but when she told Shinpachi that he had no one to blame but himself for his failures, she was right. He did have at least some modicum of talent, some smallest seed of potential to grow into a halfway respectable man.

The only reason he wasn't stronger, wasn't braver, wasn't more successful, more well-liked, more noticeable, was his own negligence.

"It's because I'm always wasting my time with petty things," he whispered. "Because I'm always relying on others whenever things get too hard. Because I just haven't tried hard enough."

Shinpachi looked around at the yard, where the unwashed bodies of the dojo's so-called students could be seen sleeping here or there. He scowled a little, and looked back up at the sky.

The moon was just the slightest sliver of a crescent, tonight.

Shinpachi sighed.

He thought of all the time he wasted (loth though he was to use the term) on his Otsu-chan fanclub, on goofing around with Gin-san and Kagura-chan. He thought of all the countless hours he whiled away doing menial chores at the Odd Jobs office for virtually zero payment, and of how little time he spent training, in comparison. Not to say that he necessarily neglected his exercises, but Shinpachi knew full well that he could become a more impressive, more noteworthy person if only he put that much more effort into his training.

He didn't particularly care about being strong, of course, but Shinpachi felt certain that if only he was able to stand on equal footing with his friends... if only he could at least be able to pull his own weight when it mattered... if only he let go of childish things and sacrificed himself fully to the way of the sword... then surely he would not be so pitiful a person, so unremarkable, so often the butt of everyone's jokes.

He didn't care about the family sword style, honestly. Not like his sister did. Even now, a part of him still resented their father, still felt chained down by his old man's foolish ideals. Yet he also still felt the desire, the longing, to protect and embrace the very same beliefs that had caused Ken Shimura to leave his children in such a bad way. He wanted to become a true samurai, wanted to make his father proud.

Even if a boy hates his father, he still wants approval.

Shinpachi envied his sister. He envied her for being able to steel herself against adversity, for being able to keep up a strong facade even when times were darkest. He knew that her cheerfulness was not the absence of suffering, her faith not the lack of doubt. He knew that it was often a great effort of will just for her to get up in the morning and still keep on smiling.

He wasn't a fool. He didn't think things were easy for her. No, if anything, Shinpachi knew that Otae had the harsher deal, the shorter end of the stick. Regardless of how much she gave of herself to keep the dojo going, no matter how earnestly she believed in their father's ideals, she would never inherit the dojo, would never be considered the true successor of the Tendo Mushin style.

It seemed a bitter irony to Shinpachi, that the one who wanted most for the dojo to succeed was the one who would never able to inherit it. Their father's stubborn adherence to old fashioned values had not changed, even on his deathbed. He had insisted Shinpachi would be the one to inherit the dojo, simply because he was the male child. Even though Shinpachi had never demonstrated any talent during their father's lifetime, still Ken Shimura had been adamant that Shinpachi would eventually surpass his sister, become the one more worthy to carry on the Shimura name, and the Tendo Mushin style.

All because he was male.

Deep down, Shinpachi knew that his sister envied him, even more than he envied her. He was the one their father had placed all his hopes on, whom their father had believed would make him proud. And yet he continually failed to live up to those hopes, constantly fell short of the mark, pointlessly squandering what little potential he did have on the pettiest of things.

Was it any wonder, then, that she could be so short with him? So bitter?

Otae envied Shinpachi. And she resented him, also. She resented his passive attitude, his weakness and indecisiveness. She resented that this was the person who would inherit the dojo, however hollow an heirloom that may be.

And yet she still gave everything she had to make the dojo succeed, to see Shinpachi shaped into a man who could make their father proud. Even despite the bitterness and resentment, still she cared for him in her own unique way. If she lashed out at him, Shinpachi knew it was only because she wanted him to grow strong and resolute. If she was harsh, unforgiving, and aggressive, it was only because she wanted to see her little brother become a true man.

Even in spite of this, however, he failed so often, so thoroughly. A better man, in the face of adversity, would find hidden reserves of confidence and strength. Shinpachi found only further doubt and self-pity.

He was weak. Indecisive. Passive.

In every way that mattered, his sister would have been the better candidate. Their father had been a fool even to the very end. Shinpachi was sure of this.

His sister hated him. To Shinpachi, this seemed so obvious that it scarcely needed to be said. Their mother died from complications during childbirth, and Shinpachi was sure Otae held him responsible for this. Because he had to be born, their mother had died. Because he had been born, she was ultimately passed over when their father chose his heir.

Because he was such a failure, she had to suffer and give so much of herself.

Perhaps it was cliche for him to think as much, but there were times when Shinpachi could not help but wonder what things would be like if he had never been born. Although he tried to avoid such avenues of thought.

It was much too depressing to consider, with precedent in mind. Most probably, things would be unrealistically, impossibly better – for everyone.

Just to rub salt in the wound that was his utter worthlessness as a human being.

Tae Shimura looked at her brother with sadness in her eyes, watching him as he sat there and stared up at the sky. In her hand she held a scroll of dry, yellowing parchment.

"Shin-chan..." she whispered, too low for her brother to hear. Her expression was one of sadness and pity, regret.

"What do you suppose he's thinking about?" muttered Gintoki, lying in a repose some feet away from her. He was picking wax from his ears, seemingly disinterested.

"He's very sensitive, you know," said Tae quietly, softly. "Shin-chan, I mean."

"Not like you're exactly delicate with him yourself," Gin grunted irritably in response. "Besides, it's not like that was really..."

Tae sighed, interrupting Gin.

"It's no good for a man to let himself lose confidence so easily," she murmured. "He needs to toughen up."

Gin gave the young women an unusually perceptive look.

"But it's hard, right?" he said. "Just standing by and letting your precious little brother get tossed around by the waves." The man shook his head. "The Sink or Swim methodology is hardest on the teacher."

"It's for his own good," Tae said softly. "I will make Shin-chan into a strong and honorable man to do our family proud. That was the promise I made my father, and I'll do whatever it takes to uphold it."

Gin laughed quietly, wryly.

"Yeah, yeah..." he said, waving a hand dismissively. "If you always dote on him, he'll get soft and spoiled. Right? And Patsuan ain't exactly made of iron to begin with."

"Right. If just this much is enough to send Shin-chan into a depression, then he is still a very long way from where he needs to be."

"Although he probably won't be grateful," mused Gin. "For what we're doing."

"A man who faces no adversity will never grow strong," Tae replied. "For every teaspoon of honey, another gallon of vinegar. It's harsh, I suppose, but he can't afford to be weak. In will or body."

"Make him fight tooth and nail for every tiniest bit of respect, right?" said Gin. "If he gets praise or recognition, then he'll lose the drive to improve." He chuckled. "Heh, you're a cold-hearted bitch to make even a tiger mother proud. You know that?"

"He's still not ready," said Tae simply, tucking the yellowing scroll away in her sleeve.

"What, is that disappointment I hear?"

Tae smiled.

"Why wouldn't I want to see my little brother inherit the dojo?" she asked rhetorically. "Until he is a man worthy of his father's legacy, it is our duty to make him strong."

"Meh," said Gin. "I'm just in it for the sweets."

Tae absentmindedly tossed the wavy-haired man a bit of chocolate macademia.

"And Kagura-chan?"

Gin laughed.

"She even doesn't need a reason to pick on Shinpachi," he replied. "She does it for free."

"Oh? That's even better."

A/N: Reading chapter 486 really put in the mood for some Shimura introspection. Poor, poor Shinpachi, always getting outshone by everyone. And poor Otae, too, in a way. Both of them have plenty of good reasons to envy or resent the other, and it's not too much a stretch to imagine that they must actually have a pretty complicated relationship. You just have to dig a little past the surface, and BAM! Plenty of fuel for drama or warm fuzzies.

...and, I dunno where that last scene came from. It's a really weird thing, probably resulting from sleep deprivation or something. BUT apparently Gin and Tae have some kind of conspiracy to toughen Shinpachi up by making his life harder. Or something.

Otae would probably make for the scariest tiger mom ever, though.

Chapter added: 4-3-14

TTFN and R&R!

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