Chapter Text
Dororo looks at Hyakkimaru’s back a lot lately.
It never bothered him before, not like it does now. Hyakkimaru went, and Dororo followed. That’s just the way it was. Dororo never thought to question it.
But then Dororo started getting scared. When he looked at Hyakkimaru’s back, he couldn’t see his face. And more and more, Dororo grew uncertain of what he would see when his companion turned around.
Then Itachi came, and all of Dororo’s worries, his fears, none of that mattered when it came to the thought of never seeing Hyakkimaru again. In a lot of ways, Hyakkimaru was like a child, stumbling his way through a world that didn’t want him. He’d been fine before they met, but Dororo didn’t know how Hyakkimaru was going to find him.
Did he think Dororo had run off? Abandoned him? His experience with those things wasn’t good, and Dororo shuddered at the idea of his big brother looking at him like he had his papa when he’d called him a demon.
And, well, maybe Dororo had run off, but he’d always planned on doubling back. Stupid Itachi had made that impossible, and Hyakkimaru had no way of knowing. The thought that Hyakkimaru might not come looking for him was worse than anything Dororo had experienced in the months since they’d met.
Would Hyakkimaru even miss him? Thoughts like that plagued Dororo when he was tied to a tree around a fire almost every night. It was hard to sleep, and Dororo waited, hoping Hyakkimaru would appear out of the dark and take him back; without killing anyone, hopefully.
It never happened. But then things went from bad to worse, and Hyakkimaru did come for him, hobbling on his wooden leg, just as Dororo had left him.
But he was… different. Dororo noticed almost immediately. It would’ve been hard not to, with Hyakkimaru stepping closer than he ever had before, taking Dororo’s face in his prosthetic hands, and pressing their foreheads together.
He was warm, Dororo noted, warmer than anything he’d felt in a long time. But nothing, nothing, was better than Hyakkimaru looking at him and saying, “I came for you,” like that had always been a given.
For a while after that, things were good. Better, even. Hyakkimaru smiled more. He asked questions and listened to Dororo’s answers with an intensity he usually reserved for battle. He stopped and listened to nature in a way he hadn’t before, getting distracted by small creeks, cawing crows, the crunch of leaves beneath their feet.
Watching Hyakkimaru like that was probably the best thing ever, Dororo thought. Every little thing that made him smile made Dororo smile, too, and he was all too happy to tell Hyakkimaru about the things he couldn’t see, couldn’t feel.
Maybe that was where everything went wrong. Maybe all the stories, all the sensations, made that gaping hole in Hyakkimaru’s chest worse, made his hunger for a body all the more unbearable. If Hyakkimaru’s capacity for gentleness grew, then so did his savagery. If anything, all his gentleness was now reserved solely for Dororo, and he grew evermore weary and hateful of those around them.
When Hyakkimaru makes that last attempt for Daigo’s land, Dororo again feels fear. Fear of what this will do to Hyakkimaru, to his family, to his mama who loves him and his little brother who had desperately wanted to know him. Dororo doesn’t blame Tahomaru for what he’s been doing, not exactly. He can only imagine what Daigo’s been telling him, and Hyakkimaru hasn’t exactly making any relationship between them easy.
Dororo could easily hate Hyakkimaru’s family, but what good would that do? Hyakkimaru seems to hate them enough for the whole world, and that hate makes Dororo worry.
If they go into Daigo’s land, Dororo isn’t sure they’ll come out who they were before.
He has to try, one last time, to make Hyakkimaru see reason. Dororo knows his brother wants a body more than anything. He wants to see with his own eyes, feel with his own hands, and Dororo can’t blame him for that. He understands that. Dororo thinks he’s the only person in the entire world who understands Hyakkimaru, and maybe that’s why he’s let this go on for so long.
But Dororo also isn’t going to let someone else get themselves killed over pride. Not again.
Despite his attempts, Hyakkimaru keeps walking forward, keeps his back to Dororo. Nothing he says reaches him, and Dororo stares up at Hyakkimaru’s squared shoulders, throat tight and stomach in knots.
“I’m scared,” he blurts out. With anyone else, that admission would’ve been impossible.
Dororo doesn’t expect it to change anything. Which is why his shock is palpable when Hyakkimaru stops walking. That familiar back seems to waver, and then Hyakkimaru is turning to face him.
His face is unreadable. “Scared?” he repeats faintly. “Why?”
“Why?” Dororo bites out. “There’s a war here. Everyone hates us here. There’s only two of us, and Daigo has an entire army.”
“I’ll protect you.”
“I know you will,” Dororo replies, watching as Hyakkimaru’s brow furrows. “But who’s gonna protect you? Tahomaru will be there, and his servants, and – and – “ Dororo’s voice cracks as he sits there, defeated in the dirt. He turns his face away from Hyakkimaru as his eyes begin to blur. “I can’t watch you die. I can’t watch you die, and I’m scared, Aniki.”
Hyakkimaru is quiet as Dororo sniffles, scrubbing an arm over his wet eyes feverishly. “Dororo,” he says, “is it wrong of me to want a body?”
Dororo shakes his head. “No. It’s yours, you have every right to want it. But… is this the right way to get it?”
“Right way,” Hyakkimaru says slowly, like he’s trying to figure out the words. “What is the right way?”
Dororo’s shoulders slump as he shrugs them, defeated. “I don’t know. I – I don’t.”
Hyakkimaru makes a small sound, one he’s never made before. It’s not his curious grunt, or his irritated one. It’s something altogether different that gives Dororo pause. He thinks he understands what it meant when he looks up to find Hyakkimaru standing over him, hair falling over his face that’s too sad to fathom.
He offers Dororo his hand, and Dororo takes it, eyes averted to the ground.
Hyakkimaru leads him away from Daigo’s land.