Witness Tree ~ Chapter 1

 

It felt like days had passed, but Aoshi knew that surely it couldn't have been more than a few hours. Or maybe that was too optimistic. All this blood wasn't his, but as Hannya's dried in a comet tail arc across his chest, it was starting to become easier to determine how much was.

Somehow, he was still on his feet. Escaping Takeda's compound hadn't been the hard part. He had been riding a warm red fog of adrenaline and he had felt no pain as he had slipped out a window and into the safety of Tokyo's back alleys, only the heaviness of blood filling his boots. But now… now his body's last failsafes were depleted, adrenaline run out of his veins in a hot rush of crimson and the fuzzy edges of shock faded from the edges of his vision.

He had thought he was escaping, but he knew now that he had only come out here to die. A wounded beast looking for a hole to crawl into. His legs were about to crumble out from under him, but he had a hard time making himself care at the moment. But for now he was still moving; as long he kept moving he didn't have any strength left over to scream. If he started screaming, he knew, he wouldn't be able to stop.

Dusk bled down richer red than he had ever seen before - or was that only a curtain falling over his eyes? - and somewhere off to the east he caught, out of the corner of his eye, a flash of something bright. A field. The black outline of a house against the graying sky. His lips parted around a word. Not the one he had expected.

"Please…"

Aoshi's knees buckled, sending him spilling ungracefully to the hard-packed ground. He yelped sharply as a jolt of pain shot up his left leg. Funny, he hadn't thought it could hurt anymore than it already had. He lay shuddering for a moment, trying to wrap his mind around it. It was hard, hard to put together a coherent thought, especially with that voice whispering in the back of his mind. Just the same thing, over and over.

I cannot die this way.

Growling softly in frustration, Aoshi tried to force himself to his feet. Darkness splashed his face, wet and sticky like tar, and though he lost only a few moments to it, the next thing he was aware of was a touch on his back, so gentle he could have wept if he wasn't dehydrated already.

A voice buzzed in his ear; words that were soft, confused. They came as a great comfort to him, even if he couldn't make them out through the thundering of blood at his temples. Couldn't make out what he said in response, either.

It wasn't until he felt a hand close around his shoulder, turning him onto his back and drawing a voiceless cry from his throat that the world rushed back to him, struck him between the eyes like a fist.

He heard his name spoken, very clearly, and for a moment deep gray eyes flashed before him in perfect clarity. That gaze plucked at something inside him, drew it taut like a bow, and though Aoshi's lips parted to speak, the reply never made it to his lips.

With a senseless murmur, he went limp in Sagara's arms. For a moment, the man just stared down at him; Aoshi wore the same calm expression he always had - the one Sagara dreamed about sometimes - though his skin was pale as milk, his lips pressed tight. Like a mask of his old lover, something hollowed of everything that had been Shinomori Aoshi.

And it was then that Sagara realized his lungs were aching, that he had forgotten to breathe. Gasping, he stumbled to his feet, catching Aoshi under the shoulders and dragging him along. "Don't want my help…" he muttered as he pulled one of Aoshi's arms over his shoulders.

The younger man's eyes had fallen nearly closed, nothing but whites visible beneath fluttering lids. Sagara doubted he could hear him, but he was talking anyway, his voice thin and wavering as he wrapped an arm around Aoshi's waist and began to lead him up the slope to his small farmhouse.

"Don't be so stubborn. You don't have a choice." He stumbled a little, drawing a sharp cry from the man at his side. Sagara bit his lip, something in that voice raising stinging tears in his eyes. "Sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

Aoshi didn't reply, and maybe that was good. Maybe by now he was far away, somewhere pain couldn't touch him. "Walk," he murmured. "Please." And though he still didn't respond, Aoshi seemed to understand, at least long enough for Sagara to tug him up the steps onto the porch of the farmhouse. He toed the door open, dragging Aoshi inside, and managed to kick a futon onto the floor without jarring him too much.

As he lowered him to the mattress, Aoshi's eyes fluttered open, fixing Sagara with a penetrating stare. Almost as suddenly, his gaze slipped out of focus again, and he held a trembling hand over one of the steaming wounds in his left leg. "Shit…"

Swallowing hard, Sagara sank slowly to his knees at Aoshi's side, brushed a few locks of black bloodstained hair out of his eyes. "Aoshi… Listen to me, Aoshi," he murmured, moving his attention lower to the man's injured legs. He was bad. He looked really bad. "You're going to be all right," he assured him. "I'll make sure you are." He stood abruptly, and moved deeper into the house to gather the things he would need to tend to his wounds.

Aoshi's voice followed him as he grabbed the basin of water and all the clean cloths he had from the other room. "Sa…?" He paused, gathering his strength. "Sagara? It's… you, isn't it?"

Sagara's hands stumbled briefly over the tools he was collecting. "Yes…" he said quietly, forcing his fingers to stop trembling. "It's me." He started back to Aoshi's side. "And you don't have to worry." He sank again to his knees, took up a short knife and began to carefully cut away Aoshi's stained clothing. "I'm going to take care of you."

"Damnit, I…" Aoshi gritted his teeth, but still a sharp hiss of breath slipped from between them as Sagara's hand drifted close to one of the bullet wounds. "I knew it would be you. I knew… You're a ghost. Just like they are."

Sagara managed to keep himself from flinching, but he couldn't look at Aoshi's face. "Not quite." He shredded the last of the fabric in his way, and tossed the torn remains of Aoshi's coat and gi aside. "The closest doctor is half a day from here, but… if I can stop the bleeding you'll have a chance." He took up a strong needle, threaded it with his teeth and bent over Aoshi's wounds once more.

Aoshi's eyes widened as they fell on the needle and then abruptly slipped shut once more. Sagara bit his lip. This wouldn't be pretty, but his hands weren't even trembling as he began.

* * *

A half hour later, Aoshi was shivering, drenched in sweat, retching dryly. But Sagara had cut the last thread and he could finally afford to shiver a little as he wound clean bandages around Aoshi's legs. "Shh…" he whispered absently, touching Aoshi's cheek with fingers that must have been cold. "I'm almost done."

The younger man's eyes fluttered a little. He was losing consciousness. If he let him sleep now, Sagara realized, he might not wake up. There was nothing he could do about it, though. Nothing, except hope…

"Sagara…"

He started a little at the sound of his name. "Don't try to talk. You must have hurt your throat with all that screaming."

Aoshi nodded weakly. "Hurts." He turned his face into Sagara's palm. "Sagara, you're really…"

"Old?" Sagara whispered, trying to force some humor into his voice. "Yes, I know." He tied off the bandages, and reached down to tug a sheet over Aoshi's body.

"That's not..." His voice dropped, suddenly serious, and his eyes were cloudy and dark. "You're really here. I never thought... Not like this."

A faint smile touched Sagara lips in spite of everything. "Yes. I'm still here." Right where Aoshi had left him, all those years ago. "And… look at you. All grown up now." He smoothed the blanket over Aoshi's chest, and leaned back to survey his work. "There, it's done. How do you feel?"

"Dead," came the hissed reply. Aoshi's voice was cold as a breath of air from an ancient tomb. "Sagara… it shouldn't have been you. You shouldn't have to…" He swallowed hard, lucidity flickering out of his eyes like a candle before a stiff breeze. "I'm so tired."

"Then sleep," Sagara whispered, sinking back a bit on his knees. He pressed his palms against the floorboards as though to assure himself they were still there. "You'll feel better after you get some sleep… I guess we'll have some catching up to do when you're awake."

"Sagara, I…" For a moment, Aoshi seemed to be grasping for something. His lips even continued to move for a moment after his voice had stopped working. It didn't occur to Sagara until a moment too late that if these were to be Aoshi's last words, perhaps he could at least do him the courtesy of hearing them… But by then the man had fallen still, his breath, like quiet sobs, becoming even as he slipped into unconsciousness.

Sagara watched him a moment, transfixed by the movement of Aoshi's chest beneath the thin blanket. Transfixed because… this was real. This was not a ghost, not a phantom spun of this time of the day, of the year, and all the memories it had.

It wasn't until he tasted the first of his tears on his lips that Sagara started awake. Ashamed, he swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. Tears were for the dead. Hope was for the living. "Oh, Aoshi…" he whispered as he stood. He wasn't finished; he was still needed here. "You have to wake up. Just one more time."

 

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