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Jigen plopped down on the grass beside Goemon, spreading himself out in the plush field he'd found him in.
Goemon turned his head as he sat down, Zantetsuken sitting between them in the field. His hand brushed against it gently, the grain of the wood smooth and comforting under the pads of his fingers.
Jigen could tell just by looking at him that something was wrong. It wasn't unusual to find Goemon relaxing in the sun, but something about the way he held himself wasn't quite right. His shoulders were rigid and pulled to his ears, even as he laid in the grass. His hair was shiny and sweat soaked, pushed behind his shoulders to fan out across the grass.
"You okay?" Jigen asked. He moved to look up into the sky, watching as the clouds drifted by them in the wind.
Goemon nodded as he shifted to watch with him, his other hand clamped in the grass. He took a deep breath.
"Yeah," he said. "I'm just… thinking."
Jigen tipped his hat back to look at him. "You wanna talk about it?"
"I…" Goemon paused, trying to decide. "I am not sure."
"Well, I won't pressure ya or anything," Jigen said. He folded his hands behind his head and tugged his hat down over his eyes to protect them from the sun. "But talking about it might help you feel better."
Goemon sighed. He grabbed Zantetsuken and used it to push himself upright. He looked over at Jigen, a deep frown on his face. "I'm not really sure what I'm feeling," he said. "I just feel restless for some reason."
"We could spar," Jigen said, peeking at him through the bottom of his fedora. "That usually helps with restlessness."
Goemon shook his head. "I already tried that," he said. "I'm not physically restless. It's more in my head, I think."
“I’m here to listen if you need it,” Jigen said. “What’s on your mind?”
Goemon pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose, a headache forming as he tried his best to sift through the brunt of his thoughts. They were racing; flashes of memories he’d rather forget moving through his mind like a whirlwind. He couldn’t make sense of it.
“Everything,” Goemon said. “Nothing. I don’t know. It’s confusing.”
“If you could pull one thing from your thoughts, what would it be?” Jigen asked.
Goemon closed his eyes. He grasped Zantetsuken and placed it in his lap, running his fingers along the grain to keep his thoughts in place.
“Jinkurō,” he said, his voice quiet.
Jigen moved to sit beside him, returning his hat to the top of his head as he lounged on his elbows against the grass. “Who’s that?” he asked.
“The name of the first man I killed,” Goemon said. “It seems the memory of his death has come back to haunt me.”
Jigen let out a low whistle, looking at Goemon with thinly veiled concern. He placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it lightly. “ Ouch , man,” he said. “I’ve been there. You wanna tell me about it?”
Goemon opened one of his eyes to look at him. "It is not a nice story," he said. "Is that okay?"
Jigen stared at him, deadpan. He leaned forward, hand still on his shoulder. "Goemon, remember who you're talkin' to," he said. "I've been at this life just as long as you have. Longer , actually. You're not gonna scare me."
"Yes, I know," Goemon said, "but I wanted you to be prepared just in case."
"You can talk to me," Jigen said. "Don't hold back on what you're feeling. It isn't good for you."
Goemon nodded. He opened his eyes to look down at Zantetsuken, staring at his hands as they worked their way over the hilt and sheath. He let out a breath and slumped his shoulders. He wasn't sure he even wanted to say it; his mind too preoccupied to even bring up the details.
"Jinkurō was someone I knew as a child," he said. "He was a fellow student trained by my master, Jinen."
Jigen nodded. "So he was like you?" he asked.
Goemon shook his head. "Not exactly. Jinkurō was undisciplined. He was stubborn and combative, and he almost never listened to Jinen during the time I knew him."
"Sounds like a pretty lousy guy," Jigen said. He reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out his cigarettes, lighting one as he leaned against Goemon.
"I suppose," Goemon said. "I don't know if we're really qualified to judge though, given our collective pasts."
Jigen shrugged. "Good point," he said. He waved a hand and stuck the cigarette in his mouth. "Please continue."
Goemon nodded, eyeing that cigarette as it hung by his shoulder. He decided to ignore it. "Jinkurō was older than me. He had been under Master Jinen's tutelage from the time I arrived there, to the time everything fell apart."
He paused, taking a moment to collect himself. An old pang of grief hit him in the chest, causing his mind to stutter and lose its place.
"He was a decent swordsman; talented. If he had focused more on his studies, he would have surpassed Jinen, but instead he spent his time in the village drinking and gambling.
"Towards the end of my life there, tensions between Jinkurō and Jinen were high. It wasn't unusual to hear them bickering, though in the final few months the bickering had turned into full-fledged screaming matches. I was constantly in the middle of it, forced to be the mediator in a situation I did not fully understand."
"Sounds rough," Jigen said.
"It was," Goemon said. "Because despite their hatred, I loved both Jinen and Jinkurō. They were my first family, and there was a time we were happy."
"But you said things fell apart, right?" Jigen asked.
"Yes," Goemon said, his voice a whisper. He cleared his throat, trying to push away the emotions weighing down his chest. "Jinkurō managed to get his hands on a scroll called the Secrets of the Iga Ninja. It was one of my master's pride possessions; something that had been passed down from person to person in his family. Jinkurō decided it was a good idea to bet it in a game while in the village, which meant he promptly lost it, and Master Jinen was furious.
"He sent me off to run errands while he confronted Jinkurō. I guess he sensed something was wrong, and he didn't want me around to witness it. I was only gone for about an hour. When I returned, he wasn't inside our house. He was outside in the back, lying in a pool of his own blood."
Jigen grimaced. " Shit , Goe. I'm sorry."
Goemon's voice was shaking. "It's… it's okay. It happened a long time ago."
"Yeah, but you still cared for him," Jigen said. He wrapped his arm around Goemon's shoulder and tried his best to be comforting. "It's okay to be hurt by his death."
"I know," Goemon said. He leaned into Jigen, welcoming the support as he went over the events in his head. "When I found him, he was still alive. He told me what had happened, and in that moment, I was consumed with what to do. When he passed, I buried him. I put him to rest under the Sakura tree behind our house and I went out in search of Jinkurō.
"I took Master Jinen's katana— he called it Ryusei— and looked in all of Jinkurō's usual spots. I found him in one of the gambling houses, drunk, and bragging about what he had done. Of course, no one believed him until I appeared. He ran when he saw me, and I gave chase as was my instinct to do.
"See, Jinkurō was talented, but I was doubly so. He knew I could potentially take him down, so he fled to keep it from happening. He didn't get far due to his intoxication, and when I caught up, he begged for his life."
"An' did you do it?" Jigen asked.
Goenon shook his head. "I challenged him. I gave him time to sober up, just so it'd be even. I wasn’t going to take advantage of a drunk man. I wanted him to be clear minded so he would understand why it was I was taking his life. I threatened that if he did not come, I would hunt him down. He knew I was capable of doing so, so he showed up at the time I allotted.
"Apparently our few hours apart had inflated his ego. When he arrived, he acted as if he wasn't worried. I was so consumed by anger at the time that I thought it was just arrogance, but now I see there was more to it. Jinkurō was terrified. He was terrified of facing my wrath, and terrified of facing what he had done. I asked him why he did it, and do you know what he said?"
"No," Jigen said. "What did he say?"
Goemon's eyebrow twitched and he took a deep breath to calm his rising anger. His voice trembled. "He said, 'because I could.'"
"Really?" Jigen asked. "I can understand why you'd be angry."
"I couldn't handle it," Goemon said. "I couldn't believe he'd be so cruel after all the effort Jinen put into us. He raised us both from toddlers, yet he had the audacity to take advantage of a man past his prime. Jinen didn't deserve it."
"They rarely do," Jigen said. "What happened next?"
Goemon looked at Zantetsuken, imagining the familiar grip of Ryusei clutched between his hands. "I killed him," he said. "I sprung forward and I killed him. It was over within minutes and my entire world was gone."
" Jeez ," Jigen said. He stared at him from under the brim of his hat, his eyes haunted and shadowed. He shook his head slowly, dragging his chin against the side of his thumb. "Can I ask how old you were?"
Goemon's face twisted into a scowl. He closed his eyes again, that headache still throbbing in the background. "I was 14," he said.
Jigen spluttered. He pushed his hat up away from his forehead, gawking wide-eyed at Goemon. "Wait, really ?" he asked. "How old was Jinkurō?"
"19," Goemon said. "He was too young. Too young to be a murderer, and too young to be killed."
" You were too young," Jigen said. "You were a child , Goemon. That must have been terrible. It's no wonder the memory has you so wired."
"I should be past it by now," Goemon said. "It was twenty years ago."
"That doesn't matter," Jigen said. "I can still remember the feeling of the trigger the first time I killed someone. It's not something that leaves you."
"How old were you?" Goemon asked. "When you took your first life, that is."
"17," Jigen said. "Too young, though you definitely have me beat."
Goemon looked at Jigen sheepishly, hiding under the curtain of his hair. "Would you tell me about it?" he asked.
Jigen's face twisted, but he nodded. "Would that help you?" he asked.
Goemon shrugged. "It might help me take my mind off my own traumas," he said. "But you do not have to. Not if you don't want to."
"I mean—" Jigen's voice broke, the sound unlike anything Goemon had ever heard from him. "It's not a story I like to think about, but I'll tell it. Just for you."
Goemon looked at him expectedly, his eyes clouded with emotion but also curiosity. It wasn't often they had the opportunity to talk like this, not to mention the wherewithal to do so. It wasn't easy reliving past traumas, but living the lives they did meant it was important. They needed the outlet to get through the rough of it— something that only came with careful words and an unshakable trust. Luckily, that's exactly what they had. Jigen took a deep breath. He plowed forward.
"I had a brother— Aki, who got mixed up with the wrong crowd at 15. He was a runaway livin' on the streets making money any way he could. Somehow, that led him to a group of kids who were involved with the mafia.
"They were selling weapons. Nothing big or fancy, but definitely big enough to be dangerous. It wasn't a world kids like them should have been involved with, yet there they were. They were only in it for the money. They weren't thinking of the risks. Some of them were the children of powerful people. They had support if they messed up, but Aki didn't. He was just a foster kid. He didn't have anyone there to back 'em up when he needed it."
Goemon turned to look at him, watching Jigen's expression even as he hid it under his hat. He noticed the cigarette had gone unsmoked, sitting between two of his fingers, crushed and unlit. "Where were you?" Goemon asked.
Jigen turned his eyes to look at him. He tapped the end of the cigarette absently, but still didn't raise it to his lips. "I was dealin' with my own problems. We were separated as kids. Only reason I knew Aki at all was because I made an effort to do so. But at this point I'd lost track of him. I was living too many towns away, and I had no way of knowing where he was. I heard rumors, but it was hardly enough to go on."
"I see," Goemon said. He plucked the cigarette from Jigen's fingers and found his lighter in one of his pockets. He lit it and took a deep breath, passing it back to Jigen. He nodded. "Continue."
Jigen exhaled smoke, once again holding the cigarette between them. "At some point his deal with these boys went sour. Someone accused him of stealin' money and trying to start his own business. I'm not too clear on the details, but they were angry, and they wanted him to pay."
Jigen tugged on the brim of his hat, trying to hide the grief bright on his face. He cleared his throat and took in another puff of smoke. "So, they took him. They took him and they executed him without a word. They left his body to rot in a field for over a month . I didn't even know until nearly three after that."
"When I found out, I was so angry I punched a hole through a wall. I begged to be able to see him— to visit his gravestone, but they wouldn't let me," he paused, his mind stuck on old feelings and old images. He shook his head, trying to get his mind clear enough to speak. "So, I stole a handgun from the people I was livin' with, and I went out to find those boys. It took me a week. A week of hitchhiking, running, and stealing. It was my first week ever on my own, and probably the hardest of my life. Still, I had to do it. I had to find those boys. Eventually, I did.
"Of course, they didn't know who I was. I was just some random chick showin' up out of nowhere, demanding to know what happened to an old friend of theirs. They were scared and I was angry. Most of it was chaos, but in the end I got what I wanted."
Goemon watched him carefully, studying the shadow of Jigen's hat as it wavered. "Which was?" he asked.
"Revenge," Jigen said. "I killed each and every one of them. There were four in total. When it was over with, I ran. I ran, and ran, and ran, until I couldn't anymore. I found out where they buried Aki and I went there. I told him what I did, and I cried. I think that's the hardest I've ever cried, even after I found out he'd been murdered. Even compared to everything we've been through."
"How old were the boys?" Goemon asked, his voice careful and calculated. "If you are alright with telling me."
"They were Aki's age," Jigen's face somehow darkened even more. He took in another breath from the cigarette and held it until it began to burn. He sighed. "Too young. Too young to die, and too young to be murderers, just like Jinkurō."
Goemon leaned his head against Jigen's shoulder, turning his gaze to stare at the clouds. "The world is unfortunate," he said. "It likes to take even the best people and make them into monsters. Do you mind telling me what happened next?"
Jigen shrugged absently. "That's how I got in with the mob," he said. "Those boys were apparently affiliated with a guy named Asher Vaughan. He found out what I'd done, and he tracked me down. He offered to teach me how to shoot, and I spent the next five years bein' his bodyguard."
"Do you regret it?" Goemon asked.
"Yes," Jigen said without hesitation. "But that crime led me to this gang. It led me to this life. It taught me things I find useful, so I make the best of it. I wouldn't make that choice now , especially knowing what I do, but I was just a kid. I didn't think before I did it. I just knew I wanted that pain to be gone."
"But it didn't go away, did it?" Goemon asked.
Jigen shook his head. "Nope," he said. "I didn't realize at the time that that's what would happen. I just wanted them to feel the pain I was feeling, because my brother was a good kid. He was smart. He didn't deserve what he got."
Goemon nodded, stealing the cigarette and finishing it off. He rolled the filter and tucked it into his sleeve, exhaling the smoke into the air above them. "Like you said," he murmured. "They rarely do."
Jigen hummed. He took the arm slung over Goemon's shoulder and tucked it around his neck instead. He pulled him closer and relished in the warmth of both his partner, and the sunlight. "That— that got a little darker than I thought it would."
Goemon ducked his head. "Sorry," he said. "But thank you. Hearing your story helped me feel a little less alone."
Jigen pulled them backwards until they were lying back against the grass again. He folded his arm behind his head. Goemon twisted onto his side, his head resting on the gunman's chest.
"You're never alone," Jigen said. "Not while we're around, anyway."
"I know," Goemon said. "But it is nice to be reminded."
Jigen flipped his hat over his face again, a small smile tugging at his lips. He ran his hand through the samurai’s hair, tugging absently at a few tangles. "Anytime," he said. "I'm always here for you when you need it. Remember that."
Goemon smiled too. Despite their heavy conversation, he was suddenly feeling lighter and more relaxed than he had all day. He nodded. "The same goes for you," he said. "I'm always available if you need someone there to listen."
"Thanks, Goe," Jigen said. He yawned, and chuckled lightly when Goemon did too. He craned his neck to look down at him. "You wanna take a nap?"
Goemon snuggled into him, placing one of his arms around Jigen's torso. He sighed through his nose, closing his eyes. "Sounds like a good idea," he said. "Do you think Lupin will be worried while we're gone?"
Jigen waved a hand. "Nah," he said. "He's got Fujiko entertaining him. He won't miss us for a few hours."
"Typical," Goemon said. He laughed, shaking his head fondly. "Have a good nap, Jigen."
Jigen smiled. He closed his eyes, already feeling drowsy. "You too, Goe," he said. "Sweet dreams."