Chapter Text
There are two things he realises on waking up. One, his head feels clearer than it has in ages. Two, he’s looking up at a blank ceiling with two eyes.
Though he realises it right away, it doesn't mean it hits him. Not until he brings a hand up to his face to try and rub the sleep away. It's when he feels the pressure on an eyeball that doesn’t exist that his brain begins to catch up. Panic hits him all at once, as though he was waking up from a nightmare, and then it is replaced by mind-numbing shock.
The last thing Hyakunosuke Ogata remembers is the sound of his brother’s voice in his ears as he puts a hole in his own head.
For a moment, he concludes that he must have survived it. No matter that he shot a hole right through his last good eye, that had to be the only reason. It becomes clear so quickly that’s not the case and that he can’t rationalise this away by suddenly being blessed by the same miracle that’s kept Sugimoto walking. It can’t be the reason because this room is so familiar to him. It’s a room he became so intimately familiar with after joining up at eighteen. It’s the barracks, the ones in Tokyo.
He is so far from Hakodate. So far from that train. So far from the gold.
He doesn’t truly realise what’s going on until he, once again, brings a hand to his face. He drags it along an unmarred face, enjoying the feeling of pressing hard along his eyes and the bright red he sees behind his lids. He had missed having two eyes more than he ever wanted to admit. It wasn’t even the marksman bit of it, he was too good to be hindered by such a thing. He had bumped into far too many obstacles and misjudged when eating to still feel the same. It had wounded his pride being suddenly less than competent at the most basic functions. The moment of enjoyment is quickly replaced again by that same shock as his hand trails further down to rub at his beard.
An unmarred face indeed. Where suture scars should be, symmetrical and hard to miss, there is nothing. He throws himself out of the bed, the wood cold against his bare feet, and he grabs the mirror that he instinctively knows is on the nightstand. The same one he once used to shave with; military issued, and something he had missed when he had first deserted. He had damned himself every time he went to clean up his face for forgetting such a mundane treasure.
This morning is full of realisations as he takes a look into the small mirror. The visage staring back looks younger than he remembered. The last few months he had noticed a haggardness to him, one he blamed on the injury. Deep-set bruises under his eyes that Hijikata had remarked on more than once, asking him with some concern if he was getting enough sleep. He had always blamed any concern that had thrown his way on the injury. He looked bad because he had his eye fucking ripped out of his head. There was a lingering pain with it. He never mentioned the wraith that hung over his shoulders and crept into his dreams.
This though, is more than just one good night of sleep. There is a youth to his face that he missed, though slight as it may be, he can tell it’s there. There’s panic in his eyes, and he can feel exactly what he is seeing reflected. His head is swimming and he finds himself falling back down onto the military-issued futon. None of this makes sense. None of this makes sense. None of this-
“Private Ogata?” A voice questions from behind him, almost meek. He turns around to look and sees a dead man staring back.
“Private Mishima,” His voice sounds strained as he responds back. He shot Mishima in the head. He remembers that day so clearly. Nikaido got his ear ripped off by a bear in their hunt for Tanigaki. Bastard had hidden a gun from them and he had stupidly thought himself invulnerable. And then he got shot. It took him a moment to recover and by that time Tanigaki had been confronted by Mishima. He had felt nothing when he had pulled the trigger, except for a want to pull the trigger on that damned Matagi next.
“Are you alright, sir? You… I mean….” The kid trails off. He forgot how soft Mishima was. Oddly likeable and somehow untouched by death. His likeability use to piss Ogata off.
There’s no denying what's going on. Either he was stuck in some sort of hell. Or the last god knows how many years have been a nightmare. No matter the answer, he has to think fast. His behaviour was suspicious. He never acted like this, always composed in front of the other men. There were only a few times he could remember ever letting his emotions get the better of him in front of the others, and even then they had been excusable. Something for the men to see that he was also human.
“Nightmare. One of those dreams where all the teeth fall out of your head. I thought I was still sleeping.” He says flatly, feeling drained already. Mishima, the idiot, buys it by the way his face relaxes. He looks around and sees a few other men distantly paying attention, but more concerned about their morning routine.
“I tend to get those too, though mine I’m being chased. I uh…” Mishima pauses and for some reason, Ogata indulges him during this.
“Normally my gun keeps getting jammed and I can’t figure out why.” The words leave his mouth and he is confused as to why the hell he’d even continue this dribble. Mishima laughs, and comments on how that's so him, but he doesn’t pay attention to it. He never had the urge to be even remotely friendly, not caring what the other men thought of him. Why now?
“Well, Private, you weren’t at morning muster, but the Lieutenant said you were excused. I was told to grab you though. You are wanted for some of the routines though, Lieutenant’s orders. Usami was called for the 28th Infantry today and-”
“I’ll be there,” He interrupts. Ogata hadn’t even thought of Usami. He looked over at the bed across from him, where the other man had slept. If he had been here to witness his panic, there would have been no end to it. Something burns in his stomach at the thought of that freak. He’d happily call himself a broken person or a monster, but Usami was something far worse. It had felt good killing him.
A broken person. Hadn’t he come to the conclusion he wasn’t broken? So many thoughts swarm him, and none of them are quiet as he goes through the normal morning routine. Despite having fallen out of military routine, it all comes back so easily, like muscle memory. One thought does stick in his head though. The date. He tries to pull from his memory a day he missed morning muster and had Tsurumi’s permission for it. There had been only a handful of times and most of them had been attributed to dirty work. Usami being called to the 28th was another point. That almost never happened, only when the Superior Private from that division had been indisposed because of food poisoning, but that had been ages ago. The only reason it stuck out was cause the guy had apparently vomited right across the courtyard and he had been so mad to have missed-
Oh. It’s 1901. It made sense why he was called just Private too. He wasn’t promoted to Superior Private until after Koito’s kidnapping, and that wouldn’t be till next year. The reason he had been allowed to sleep in was he had taken part in some nighttime exercises, everything completely legitimate. Each infantry had called out their best marksman to show off. He had been the only one to hit each target with low visibility, but he hadn’t tried to show off like the others. It was weird how these memories suddenly came flooding back.
It was an even weirder feeling, walking down these halls, remembering each tile as though it was only yesterday he last walked them. They hadn’t come back to Tokyo when the fighting was done. They had gone back to Asahikawa like they were supposed to be. They had only been down in Tokyo back in 1901 for some military exercises. The excuse had been to build comradery, but the real reason had been unrest with Russia. There had been ongoing negotiations since the Sino-Japanese war had subsided, but they had gone nowhere. He remembered his time in Tokyo hearing nothing but men hoping for a war. Little did they know they’d have to wait another 3 years for it. Tsurumi had taken full advantage of being in the capital, meetings and lunches with all the different personnel that mattered. Tsurumi had even-
He stopped in his tracks. He had forgotten about the other thing that had happened in 1901. The fiasco with his brother at the hotel. Someone had impersonated him in a ploy to get Yuusaku demoted from flagbearer. The mother had started the scheme and though he had never met the woman, Ogata had always respected her for her craftiness. A woman more deserving than the husband she got. He wondered if she had mourned his father. He had never thought about her mourning Yuusaku and for some reason, his heart tightens at the thought. Then a horrifying realization hits him.
Yuusaku is still alive.
His feelings of guilt. Yuusaku was the only one who ever loved you. A sign your parents loved each other. It was fleeting, but there. No point in killing her. You weren’t broken. Why did you act like a broken person. Everything was a mistake. She was the light in your life. She reminded you of your brother. Asirpa….
The thought had been overwhelming on top of that train. So overwhelming he had opted to aim the gun at his head and blast his brains out. It was easier to die than to live with the fact he made a mistake. That his entire life had been one fuck-up after another. He felt on the edge of a panic attack right here in the middle of the hall where anyone could see him lose it.
Brother you were born a blessed child.
He had killed himself because of the realization he had screwed everything up. Poison could not kill him fast enough. Poetically, it felt fitting he took his own life. His hands were already stained in blood; what was one more body to add to the count? And then he woke up. Something he was still trying to come to terms with. Were the Gods trying to give him a second chance? Why? There had been so many more deserving. Plenty of men he had ended deserved this. Not him. But Yuusaku. Asirpa….
And the Ainu gold.
Tsurumi would begin his ploy in earnest during this year for the Ainu gold. He had already been approached by Lieutenant-General Hidenori Okuda about Tsurumi’s intentions. Promises that if he got the gold away from Tsurumi he’d be given a commissioned rank. At the time he thought maybe this was the first step to getting his father’s attention, feeling as though Tsurumi wasn't giving him what he wanted. Now though, he had all the information he needed. He knew roughly where the gold was. He knew how to get the key to the gold. Nopperabo would be arrested next year and begin tattooing skins. He could very easily get ahead of all of them before war broke out.
There was no desire to do anything ahead of time. He could reason that it wasn’t advantageous while he was stuck here. Deserting would do him no good. Reason wasn’t what was driving that lack of feeling. As much as he didn’t want to go back to China, he knew fighting in the war to come would be the best way forward. There was plenty he could do while under Tsurumi’s thumb.
Maybe, he could avoid some stupid mistakes he had made the first time. Maybe, just maybe, he could get what he wanted this time.