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Shunsui Kyōraku was assassinated two years into his Head Captaincy.
It turned out he wasn’t the only one who could use shadows to his advantage. His attacker had materialized behind him and had slashed his across his back – right shoulder to left hip – before stabbing him through the back, a direct hit to his heart. He’d had no time to react; he’d stood to stretch after hours of paperwork, his swords mounted on the wall behind the desk as they normally were to allow him to sit and work comfortably. He never even saw who they were nor did he recognize the spiritual pressure; and when he found that he could not draw any air in when he went to inhale he couldn’t have cared less who the assassin was. His mind, body, and spirit committed to one task – don’t die.
He didn’t feel the hardwood floor under his knees when they gave out from underneath him, but he did notice the disturbing pool of blood that was beginning to form underneath him, and he did notice the sticky quality that his clothing took on as they soaked in the blood from his wounds and clung to his body. He tried again to breathe and finally – finally! – was able to suck in air, the burning in his chest caused by the lack of air and wound was almost mitigated by the amount of burning caused by trying to breath with a wound in his chest.
It felt like hours before he felt small, frantic hands turning him onto his back – when had he fallen completely to the ground? Lying on the ground on his back was excruciating, every muscle in his body was aflame, but he knew it wasn’t the slash that would kill him, it was the hole in his heart. He could hear someone’s panicked shouting but he couldn’t make out the words, couldn’t tell if they were addressing him or someone else. He couldn’t even muster the strength to open his eyes. Did he really need to? The only person with such small hands that would have gotten to him so quickly and be so concerned about him was Nanao-chan. And if Nanao-chan was with him then everything would be okay, she’d never let him down.
The burning in his chest faded to an agonizing simmer and he dimly realized that Nanao must have started to treat him with kidō. His vice captain had always been particularly skilled at kidō, but the only ones who had any chance of saving him were in the Fourth division and he had no way of knowing if they even knew of his condition.
It all seemed to cruel to him. He’d been murdered in his office, in the middle of the afternoon on a Thursday. Shunsui had always fancied that he would die in battle; die an honourable death with his comrades against a formidable enemy that was worth the time and energy. He’d known for a long time that the Central 46 had a less than favourable opinion of him, but he had never considered that they would stoop so low as to assassinate him in broad daylight.
It was becoming harder to maintain his consciousness and he knew that the minute he let himself go that it would be the end. He couldn’t feel his finger or toes, nor could he feel the floor underneath his body or the hands that must have been supporting him. The indescribable pain seemed to blur the confines of reality and dream, and he had no concept of time. He wished he could open his eyes, just once more, to be able to say good-bye to Nanao, Ukitake, and the numerous others that he loved. He tried, but could not find the muscles that would open his eyes or allow him to speak any final words, and his world faded to black.
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Jūshirō’s eyes burned when he pressed his palms into them to shut out the bright lights inside the room of the Fourth division. How long had he been there? Sitting at Shunsui’s bedside and praying for a miracle. He’d been on his way to visit the First when he’d heard Nanao’s shouts and when he’d burst into the office time had slowed and his body had begun to operate automatically. There had been no time to panic or worry about the fact that he was treating his best friend when he’d added his kidō to Nanao’s in an attempt to save Shunsui’s life. There weren’t many ways to survive being stabbed through the heart, they’d rushed him into surgery but the damage had been to extensive. Isane had explained to both him and Nanao that they’d only bought Shunsui time – time for his friends and loved ones to come and say good-bye. She couldn’t say definitively whether or not he would wake again, but she’d assured them that he wasn’t in any pain.
Jūshirō looked across the bed to the empty spot that Nanao had sat in for hours. She’d quietly said something about having to address the Gotei 13 as co-vice captain of the First division but he hadn’t really been paying attention. He turned his attention back to Shunsui in the bed; under normal circumstances he could be mistaken for just being asleep, however, his skin was pale, his breathing erratic, and his heartbeat monitored by the machine was infrequent. His heart rate had been gradually slowing, Isane had explained that the wound was causing improper and inefficient pumping of blood, and that the number on the monitor was probably incorrect anyways. The sheet covering him only came up to the middle of his chest, showcasing the thick white bandages that wrapped almost the entirety of his chest. His chestnut hair, normally pulled back to try and tame the unruly locks, was now splayed across the pillow, the tips matted with blood. Shunsui never wore his hair down and it was a strange sight, but only that solidified in Jūshirō’s mind, the severity of the situation.
In desperation, Jūshirō leaned over the bed, twisting his fingers into Shunsui’s hair and pressing their foreheads together, before moving so that he could speak directly into Shunsui’s ear.
“Stop this,” he whispered desperately. “Stop this right now. I’m supposed to die first, everyone knows that.”
Jūshirō squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed past the wad of cotton lodged in his throat. Tears rolled down his face and dripped onto the bedsheets, the pressure in his own chest was immense, and Jūshirō realized that he had forgotten to breathe. The next breath in was ragged and painful, the sound unfitting of his position and stature.
“Wake up,” he begged. When there was no answer his fingers tightened on Shunsui’s hair. “First Genryūsai-sensei, Unohana-senpai, and now you. Why am I the last one left? Why am I the one who has to carry this burden?”
He stayed like that for what felt like a long time. His back ached from bending over the bed and is fingers hurt from clenching but he refused to move. Jūshirō focused on wrapping his spiritual pressure around the both of them, using his to strengthen and comfort Shunsui as best he could.
“Crying over me...ne…Ukitake?”
Jūshirō’s breath caught and he froze, convinced that his ears were playing tricks on him.
“I’m dying. T-the least you could do,” Shunsui paused to pull in some shallow breaths, “is let me see your handsome face…one last time.”
Jūshirō swallowed hard and took another breath to fortify himself before he pulled away and braced himself on his hands. He swiped once underneath ether eye to wipe away any remaining tears as he looked for what would likely be the last time, into the depthless brown eyes of his greatest friend.
There was a moment of blind panic that blossomed over Shunsui’s face, his shallow breathing quickening and his fingers twitching at his side.
“I’m afraid,” Shunsui whispered brokenly.
Before Jūshirō could respond the panic had passed, and the expression on Shunsui’s face left no room for discussion about what has just transpired. Jūshirō focused again on sending courage and support through his spiritual pressure to Shunsui, and he vainly thought that perhaps Shunsui’s seemed to calm fractionally.
“I’ll look after them,” Jūshirō said. There was no need to clarify who ‘they’ were, and Shunsui seemed pleased by the declaration.
When Shunsui’s breathing would have become more laboured, he seemed to lose the energy to meet the oxygen demands of his body. Jūshirō watched as Shunsui met his gaze one last time, nodded his head sharply, and let go. His exhale long but no longer pained, and a short time later the monitor signaled the halting of Shunsui’s heart.
The ringing in his ears began immediately as Jūshirō began to realize what had just happened. A far away piece of him recognized that he had a very limited of time before the space that he had seen Shunsui to his death with would become crowded with his people. While he knew that his arms would still bear his weight, Jūshirō leaned down and pressed a kiss to Shunsui’s brow, before pulling back and away from the bed.
Jūshirō sat back and watched Nanao’s heart break when she returned to find that her beloved captain had died. The pain on her face was visceral, but he found himself incapable of experiencing anyone else’s pain as he worked through his own. As he watched her he found a renewed conviction in the promise he had made to Shunsui. He would look after those that Shunsui had loved, perhaps together they could find a new light in a world that had been pitched into darkness.