A/N:

Once again, I've gone and upset myself into writing. Love me for it. Actually, don't because if you love me for writing something like this, then I spit at you. Don't blame me, it's what I do.

OR, I could make like Sentaro and flick a booger at you. Your choice, buddy. It's all up to you.

Captured Wind

"It Hurts So Much, I Can Barely Feel It anymore...."

He lays there, his subordinates and comrades strewn out alongside him. There's so much blood, and it bothers him. He tries to shift, but a stabbing pain rips through his chest and down his spinal cord, which carries it throughout his body. It's a white-hot pain, but he's used to it by now. It's hardly a worry to him anymore. Laying his head on the grass, he lets his mind wander. . . .

Where was Rukia? He doesn't remember whether or not he had brought her along this time. If he had brought her with him, she would be dead by now. That is what drowns away the pain in his wound and his lungs. The pain in his heart. He hopes, wherever she was, that she was all right. After all, she is the one he loves, and it gives him a reason to laugh. After so many long and painful years of stopping himself from loving, Kaien had gone and introduced him to his young and beautiful subordinate. He couldn't remember ever seeing anyone as beautiful as Rukia in his entire life. Her deep violet eyes were set so perfectly on her pale face. The way she moved, as if she were somewhat uncomfortable with her surroundings, but still with a certain grace. . . She was like a young doe in a new forest, and he couldn't help but focus solely on her.

He loves her. He loves her, and for that he laughs again. It's a frail sound, hardly audible above the rustling of the trees in the wind that blows in the darkening clouds in from the west. The wind whistles over his laughter, which soon turns to a chorus of barking coughs. It were as if the two were at war with each other, one trying to drown out the sounds of the other. Yet he found that now, his coughs carried over the wind and almost overtook it.

He pushes himself to roll over. He is laying on his front, both arms thrown out in front of him. His left arm is useless, and he can't remember why. He can't remember very much. Not the date, his Division number, where he is (much less why he's there), or the amount of men lead into battle. Though, he remembers his name and rank. He remembers his Vice-Captain, who passed away several decades former to this day. He remembers Rukia, clearly. . . And Shunsui. He remembers Shunsui. He remembers Unohana and being ill, though he'd rather not.

Finally, through all the pain and blood, he has himself turned over and he forces himself to sit up. Holding back the cries of agony, he counts his men, and scans for survivors. There are none.

Why am I such a failure? Why can't I even lead my men to a victory... just once? It's because of these damned lungs! They're a curse! If ever I wished myself dead, THIS is one of those times!

He mentally scolds himself to the point where he wants to cry. But he can't. That would be terribly immature, and what if someone saw? They can't though. No one is around. Deciding that to cry once and a while is healthy, he lets go. The tears are hot and they carry the blood off his pale face. He can't remember the last time he cried. It was so long ago that it's not even a blurred memory. Not even a frail, failing image. Has he ever cried a day in his life? If he hadn't, then he was proud to call that his first. His first tears were for his soldiers.

Am I the only one that lived...? Is this... my whole division? Where am I?

He can't bring himself to speak. Was this his fault? As their Captain, yes. It was his fault. It was a heavy burden, but it was one he'd have to bear by himself. He had brought shame to his division and the Seireitei. With this thought, he forced himself to stand, driven by the need to regain the honor lost in battle. His honor. His subordinates' honor. But his pride was stepped on when he moved to step and ended up on his face again. He looked up.

Oh, I remember. That's how I got myself in this position in the first place.

"Is anyone alive out there?" A call came through the dead silence. He looks up. "Anyone? If you can hear my voice, try to call out or move!"

He lays there, his subordinates and comrades strewn out alongside him. There's so much blood and it bothers him. He tries to shift, but a stabbing pain rips through his chest. It's just what he needs to call out in pain and catch their attention. The men of Fourth Division run to his side, calling his name and asking if he's all right.

"R-rukia.... Wh-where is she...?"

"C-captain... Rukia's...."

He doesn't want to hear the end. The officer sounds so scared and he just doesn't want to know. If any ill fate had befallen his love, he wouldn't be able to bear it. Instead, he turns his head to stop the officer's words. The man realizes this and helps the others to turn him over instead. The five of them begin to work on his multiple wounds.

"Jyuushiro!" The call is high-pitched. It's that of a woman. A young doe in a new forest. The tiny, beautiful butterfly that he admires so much. "Captain! Is he going to be all right, Shuusuke?"

"He's just fine. These wounds are hardly worth worrying about, Miss Ukitake."

"Rukia? I thought...."

"No, I'm okay. These guys are just being dicks as usual." She kicks one of them in the back and scowls at him. Jyuushiro looks up at her and smiles. He's never been happier to see anyone in his entire life. "What about you?"

"It hurts so much, I can barely feel it anymore...." He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. With all the help Fourth Division could offer, none of them could save his life. That breath was the wind stolen from the Heavens above, and it was his last.