FIC: gintama - trust in teens (is unfounded)
Title: trust in teens (is unfounded)
Fandom: Gintama
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Gintoki/Katsura, background Sakamoto/Mutsu
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Feedback: If you'd like.
Notes: Japanese slice-of-life AU. With great puberty comes great responsibility.
Cross-posted to ginzura.
“It’s not that we don’t trust you,” explains Zura, lying poorly.
“It’s that we think you’re a dumbass,” clarifies Gintoki, “who can’t make rational decisions based on the universal system of punishments and rewards that normal, non-dumbass human beings judge their would-be actions by.”
“Yes, that’s right,” agrees the shorter man rather pleasantly, nodding. He turns to Chiro again, tone explanatory. “This system can loosely be called a chain of ‘consequences.’ They result from these would-be actions in a sort of domino effect.”
“What kind of domino?” asks Chiro, too innocently.
“Oh,” pauses Zura, eyebrows scrunching up in thought. “European, maybe. Although I suppose they could just as easily be Chinese dominoes...”
“So it’s more of a Mah Jong effect,” responds the teenager.
“No, it doesn’t have much to do with old men who smoke and gamble excessively,” begins Zura, but Gintoki makes an aggravated noise, cutting him off.
“Oi, oi, cut the shit! It won’t be a damn domino effect, it’ll be a ‘my foot up your ass’ effect, do you hear me? That’s what consequences in the real world are!”
“Consequences,” drawls Chiro, as if tasting a new word on his tongue.
“So, so many of them will result,” growls Gintoki, “if we come back to find even a particle of dust disturbed in what was obviously some teenage party-orgy.”
Dull red eyes meet sharper ones. “So really dusty teenage party-orgies are okay?”
“No!” flusters Zura, cheeks reddening. “Especially no really dusty teenager party-orgies! Your allergies will start up again.”
“His allergies aren’t what you should be worried about,” grits Gintoki.
“But,” protests Zura, “we’re out of decongestant.”
“Damnit, so what! I hope his head gets filled to the brim with boogers! No girl wants to kiss a snot-headed brat, and come back to my house to “chill”, and throw up in my vegetable garden from drinking my beer in a failed attempt at mature adulthood!”
“Do young people still say that?” Zura asks Chiro. The boy almost smiles -- he can always count on the dark haired man to derail any argument.
“No, we say ‘kick it,’” he deadpans right back.
“‘Kick it,’” drawls Zura, as if tasting a new word on his tongue. Then, “...Kick what?”
Perhaps thinking volume could pierce through stupidity and sarcasm alike, Gintoki shouts, “His ass, if he has any damn parties!”
“Or particles,” Chiro reminds flatly. “Dusty particles.”
“I think I will quickly go to the store,” mumbles Zura, starting to turn away. “I don’t want to leave him without any decongestant. He may sneeze himself into a coma.”
“Aa? Are you in coma? It’s the only thing that could explain this low brain activity you’re displaying,” responds Gintoki, snagging a lock of black hair and stopping the other. “Oi, where do you think you’re going? We don’t have time for that! He’s fine!”
“I’m fine,” the boy seconds. “You guys should head to the train station. Soon. Now, if you really want to make sure everything goes smoothly.”
“You’re not rid of us yet,” snaps Gintoki, eyes narrowing. “And another thing, don’t you let that long-haired punk into this house, either!”
“Yamato-kun isn’t a punk,” disagrees Zura, smacking at the hand tangled in his hair. “What’s that supposed to mean, anyway? Long hair doesn’t make you a punk. I have long hair.”
“You don’t have long hair, you have a wig.” A yank, as if to demonstrate.
“Ow -- ! What did you say, you ugly-hair bastard?”
They’re never going to get out the door. “Hey, Zura. I forget. How much food do I give Eliza?”
“Two carrots a day, plus a half-scoop of her pellets,” responds the shorter man succinctly. “And as much alfalfa as she wants. You can give her dried fruit slices too. It’s good for her digestion.”
“Her digestion? Her digestion?” interrupts Gintoki. “She’s a rabbit, not an incontinent grandmother! All she does is digest, it’s practically the only skill she has!”
“Aa? Is that so? Perhaps you two can go into business together, then!”
“You shitty wig -- ”
“Speaking of business,” says Chiro, “there is the business of that train, which will be leaving in the near future.”
“Are you rushing us for a reason, brat? Is the keg about to arrive, huh? Or a carload of your delinquent pals?”
“Yamato-kun is not a delinquent!” bursts Zura defensively.
“I didn’t mention Yamato-kun,” says Gintoki dryly. “I said ‘delinquent pals,’ and because Yamato-kun is in fact a delinquent, you immediately thought of him.”
“Hnm,” grunts Zura, evasively. “...We’ll be sure to call every day, to check on you.”
“I never agreed to that. I’m only going away so I don’t have to listen to him anymore. Why are you saying that?”
“And I’m taking my mobile, so you can reach us on it at any time,” Zura continues. “You can call, or text, or picture-message...”
Luckily for Chiro, he has never had any trouble schooling his expression into one of neutrality. He doesn’t even get the facial urge to eyeroll (although his mental eyes are rolling hard enough to fall out). “It’s only four days,” he assures the smaller man. “I’ll be fine.”
“Who cares about you?” grumbles Gintoki. “I’m worried about my house.”
“I got the decongestant at Iwamura-san’s shop,” says Zura, “if you find yourself needing it. Do you remember where it is?”
“I remember.”
“And you can walk there on your own two damn feet. I’ll know if you took the scooter. I mentally marked it’s exact location, angle, and shadow cast.”
“Haa? Like I’d want to be seen around town on that dorky thing.”
“Dorky? Now it’s dorky? When you were little, you used to beg me to take you for rides on it!”
“And then you used to beg me for my forgiveness,” interjects Zura. “Which you will have to do again soon, if we miss our train, because of a stupid argument about dumb scooters.”
Chiro had been hoping punctuality would trump stupidity, this time. Unaware of the loud mental cheer from his charge, Gintoki shouts, “Oi, it’s not dumb! It’s not dorky or dumb! You’re both just jaded to the true, simplistic beauty of that fine machine! I can’t believe what I’m hearing! Unbelievable!”
Zura does not appear to have heard his other half, addressing Chiro again. “Oh, and don’t forget to stop by the Sakamotos’.”
“You’re worried about his allergies, but sending him into that pit of flu germs?” mumbles the other permed man. He appears to rethink his opinion on the matter, however, adding with a wide, shitty grin, “Yeah, be sure to give Tatsuma our thanks for the room.”
“Is that really appropriate?” wonders Zura, missing the point completely. “Poor Mutsu. I think the trip was for their anniversary.”
“How the hell do you know when their anniversary is?” barks Gintoki, affronted. “You can’t even remember our anniversary, you asshole, why would you remember a robot’s and an idiot’s?”
Zura huffs. “I looked online. It’s a very upscale hot spring. Not the kind of hot spring you would just go to on a whim. And Mutsu wouldn’t take off work for a whim, anyway.”
“Mutsu does whatever the hell she’s programmed to do. Maybe she’s programmed to take vacations on a whim. That’s what rich bastards like them do, anyway. You always look into things too much, oi.”
“I’m not looking into things, I’m just saying it was obviously a special occasion!”
“And I’m just saying it probably wasn’t!”
“You should poll people to resolve this,” supplies Chiro helpfully, “on the train. Where you should be.”
Gintoki looks about to argue for suspicious activity again, but fortunately Zura has caught sight of the clock. The train should be there in twenty minutes, and it’s a fifteen minute walk to the station. The dark haired man steps forward, hugging the teenager. “Ah, be safe. We’ll be back soon.”
“At any arbitrary time, fully prepared to catch you in the act,” threatens Gintoki, roughly messing his hair.
It makes little difference to the state of the perm, really, though Chiro swats irritably at the hand regardless. “Yeah, yeah.” He follows the two to the door, handing Zura the bag he would have forgotten. Chiro has learned a lot of timesavers over the years. “Have fun marinating in old man pee.”
Zura shakes his head, looking righteous and disgusted. “I will make sure he holds it in.” And with that and a few lazy waves, he sees his guardians off.
“How can you even act like that?” he hears Gintoki say. “You pee in the shower every day, you disgusting bastard. Own up to how filthy you are.”
“It’s completely natural to follow the water’s flow.”
“What? What does that even mean? Are you just going to stand there and piss your pants next time it rains?”
The conversation fades away, and from behind him, a set of feet come down the stairs. Yamato stretches, slumping against the side of the door. “Jeez, whatta couple’a loud old geezers. Are they gone yet?”
“Yeah, almost.” Chiro watches the two, still bickering, turn down the street. “You wanna put shaving cream in Gintoki’s scooter helmet?”
Fandom: Gintama
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Gintoki/Katsura, background Sakamoto/Mutsu
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Feedback: If you'd like.
Notes: Japanese slice-of-life AU. With great puberty comes great responsibility.
Cross-posted to ginzura.
“It’s not that we don’t trust you,” explains Zura, lying poorly.
“It’s that we think you’re a dumbass,” clarifies Gintoki, “who can’t make rational decisions based on the universal system of punishments and rewards that normal, non-dumbass human beings judge their would-be actions by.”
“Yes, that’s right,” agrees the shorter man rather pleasantly, nodding. He turns to Chiro again, tone explanatory. “This system can loosely be called a chain of ‘consequences.’ They result from these would-be actions in a sort of domino effect.”
“What kind of domino?” asks Chiro, too innocently.
“Oh,” pauses Zura, eyebrows scrunching up in thought. “European, maybe. Although I suppose they could just as easily be Chinese dominoes...”
“So it’s more of a Mah Jong effect,” responds the teenager.
“No, it doesn’t have much to do with old men who smoke and gamble excessively,” begins Zura, but Gintoki makes an aggravated noise, cutting him off.
“Oi, oi, cut the shit! It won’t be a damn domino effect, it’ll be a ‘my foot up your ass’ effect, do you hear me? That’s what consequences in the real world are!”
“Consequences,” drawls Chiro, as if tasting a new word on his tongue.
“So, so many of them will result,” growls Gintoki, “if we come back to find even a particle of dust disturbed in what was obviously some teenage party-orgy.”
Dull red eyes meet sharper ones. “So really dusty teenage party-orgies are okay?”
“No!” flusters Zura, cheeks reddening. “Especially no really dusty teenager party-orgies! Your allergies will start up again.”
“His allergies aren’t what you should be worried about,” grits Gintoki.
“But,” protests Zura, “we’re out of decongestant.”
“Damnit, so what! I hope his head gets filled to the brim with boogers! No girl wants to kiss a snot-headed brat, and come back to my house to “chill”, and throw up in my vegetable garden from drinking my beer in a failed attempt at mature adulthood!”
“Do young people still say that?” Zura asks Chiro. The boy almost smiles -- he can always count on the dark haired man to derail any argument.
“No, we say ‘kick it,’” he deadpans right back.
“‘Kick it,’” drawls Zura, as if tasting a new word on his tongue. Then, “...Kick what?”
Perhaps thinking volume could pierce through stupidity and sarcasm alike, Gintoki shouts, “His ass, if he has any damn parties!”
“Or particles,” Chiro reminds flatly. “Dusty particles.”
“I think I will quickly go to the store,” mumbles Zura, starting to turn away. “I don’t want to leave him without any decongestant. He may sneeze himself into a coma.”
“Aa? Are you in coma? It’s the only thing that could explain this low brain activity you’re displaying,” responds Gintoki, snagging a lock of black hair and stopping the other. “Oi, where do you think you’re going? We don’t have time for that! He’s fine!”
“I’m fine,” the boy seconds. “You guys should head to the train station. Soon. Now, if you really want to make sure everything goes smoothly.”
“You’re not rid of us yet,” snaps Gintoki, eyes narrowing. “And another thing, don’t you let that long-haired punk into this house, either!”
“Yamato-kun isn’t a punk,” disagrees Zura, smacking at the hand tangled in his hair. “What’s that supposed to mean, anyway? Long hair doesn’t make you a punk. I have long hair.”
“You don’t have long hair, you have a wig.” A yank, as if to demonstrate.
“Ow -- ! What did you say, you ugly-hair bastard?”
They’re never going to get out the door. “Hey, Zura. I forget. How much food do I give Eliza?”
“Two carrots a day, plus a half-scoop of her pellets,” responds the shorter man succinctly. “And as much alfalfa as she wants. You can give her dried fruit slices too. It’s good for her digestion.”
“Her digestion? Her digestion?” interrupts Gintoki. “She’s a rabbit, not an incontinent grandmother! All she does is digest, it’s practically the only skill she has!”
“Aa? Is that so? Perhaps you two can go into business together, then!”
“You shitty wig -- ”
“Speaking of business,” says Chiro, “there is the business of that train, which will be leaving in the near future.”
“Are you rushing us for a reason, brat? Is the keg about to arrive, huh? Or a carload of your delinquent pals?”
“Yamato-kun is not a delinquent!” bursts Zura defensively.
“I didn’t mention Yamato-kun,” says Gintoki dryly. “I said ‘delinquent pals,’ and because Yamato-kun is in fact a delinquent, you immediately thought of him.”
“Hnm,” grunts Zura, evasively. “...We’ll be sure to call every day, to check on you.”
“I never agreed to that. I’m only going away so I don’t have to listen to him anymore. Why are you saying that?”
“And I’m taking my mobile, so you can reach us on it at any time,” Zura continues. “You can call, or text, or picture-message...”
Luckily for Chiro, he has never had any trouble schooling his expression into one of neutrality. He doesn’t even get the facial urge to eyeroll (although his mental eyes are rolling hard enough to fall out). “It’s only four days,” he assures the smaller man. “I’ll be fine.”
“Who cares about you?” grumbles Gintoki. “I’m worried about my house.”
“I got the decongestant at Iwamura-san’s shop,” says Zura, “if you find yourself needing it. Do you remember where it is?”
“I remember.”
“And you can walk there on your own two damn feet. I’ll know if you took the scooter. I mentally marked it’s exact location, angle, and shadow cast.”
“Haa? Like I’d want to be seen around town on that dorky thing.”
“Dorky? Now it’s dorky? When you were little, you used to beg me to take you for rides on it!”
“And then you used to beg me for my forgiveness,” interjects Zura. “Which you will have to do again soon, if we miss our train, because of a stupid argument about dumb scooters.”
Chiro had been hoping punctuality would trump stupidity, this time. Unaware of the loud mental cheer from his charge, Gintoki shouts, “Oi, it’s not dumb! It’s not dorky or dumb! You’re both just jaded to the true, simplistic beauty of that fine machine! I can’t believe what I’m hearing! Unbelievable!”
Zura does not appear to have heard his other half, addressing Chiro again. “Oh, and don’t forget to stop by the Sakamotos’.”
“You’re worried about his allergies, but sending him into that pit of flu germs?” mumbles the other permed man. He appears to rethink his opinion on the matter, however, adding with a wide, shitty grin, “Yeah, be sure to give Tatsuma our thanks for the room.”
“Is that really appropriate?” wonders Zura, missing the point completely. “Poor Mutsu. I think the trip was for their anniversary.”
“How the hell do you know when their anniversary is?” barks Gintoki, affronted. “You can’t even remember our anniversary, you asshole, why would you remember a robot’s and an idiot’s?”
Zura huffs. “I looked online. It’s a very upscale hot spring. Not the kind of hot spring you would just go to on a whim. And Mutsu wouldn’t take off work for a whim, anyway.”
“Mutsu does whatever the hell she’s programmed to do. Maybe she’s programmed to take vacations on a whim. That’s what rich bastards like them do, anyway. You always look into things too much, oi.”
“I’m not looking into things, I’m just saying it was obviously a special occasion!”
“And I’m just saying it probably wasn’t!”
“You should poll people to resolve this,” supplies Chiro helpfully, “on the train. Where you should be.”
Gintoki looks about to argue for suspicious activity again, but fortunately Zura has caught sight of the clock. The train should be there in twenty minutes, and it’s a fifteen minute walk to the station. The dark haired man steps forward, hugging the teenager. “Ah, be safe. We’ll be back soon.”
“At any arbitrary time, fully prepared to catch you in the act,” threatens Gintoki, roughly messing his hair.
It makes little difference to the state of the perm, really, though Chiro swats irritably at the hand regardless. “Yeah, yeah.” He follows the two to the door, handing Zura the bag he would have forgotten. Chiro has learned a lot of timesavers over the years. “Have fun marinating in old man pee.”
Zura shakes his head, looking righteous and disgusted. “I will make sure he holds it in.” And with that and a few lazy waves, he sees his guardians off.
“How can you even act like that?” he hears Gintoki say. “You pee in the shower every day, you disgusting bastard. Own up to how filthy you are.”
“It’s completely natural to follow the water’s flow.”
“What? What does that even mean? Are you just going to stand there and piss your pants next time it rains?”
The conversation fades away, and from behind him, a set of feet come down the stairs. Yamato stretches, slumping against the side of the door. “Jeez, whatta couple’a loud old geezers. Are they gone yet?”
“Yeah, almost.” Chiro watches the two, still bickering, turn down the street. “You wanna put shaving cream in Gintoki’s scooter helmet?”