There's a beach in Sakahone, the 76th District of East Rukongai. It wasn't a particularly pleasing beach with its black sand and murky waters, but it was a beach nevertheless. No-one knew what lay beyond its shores, but the storms and the stories were good at keeping people from finding out. Most stories were old wives tales, the type of stories grandmother's told children to get them to behave. Stories of gods and hollows, or of islands where naughty children were sent for punishment even of sunken ships and ghostly crews. On a clear day, if there ever was a clear day, for Sakahone was known for its dull and dreary weather, one could supposedly see the distant shadow of the island the stories referred to.

Not all the stories were there to scare or correct, some brought tales of healing and peace. That if one bathed in the waters, it could heal the most lethal ailments or if drunk it could grant the heart's most desired or advise on life's trickiest problems. The stories differed from district to district and the closer to the centre of the Soul Society the wilder the stories grew. There was one consensus, that all who visited Sakahone, rarely returned. All but one...

Nobody dared approach the Shinigami as he walked down the dusty streets. Normally any stranger to the district would have been jumped on the minute they appeared. Shoes taken, valuables stolen, left for dead in a gutter, but there was something about this man that made thugs step back and watch him warily. Perhaps it was the daishō at his hip, of the eye patch on his eye, some thought it might have been the flowering pink kimono or the hint of a captain's haori underneath, but mostly it was the way he carried himself, like a man who had lost all hope, who had wandered into this place to die and that scared the people of Sakahone. They'd heard rumours of a man from Zaraki, a bloodthirsty man who sought fights for the pure pleasure of fighting, a man who was a captain in the Gotei Thirteen and soon the rumours flew around the district, rumours that the dangerous Kenpachi was out looking for blood.

Kyōraku Shunsui didn't bother to correct them.

Instead, he welcomed the peace, he didn't want to fight anyone, he'd come here with a purpose, on a whim and a whisper of an old wives tale. Specifically, one that mentioned inner peace, that despite the dingy area the beach was located in, it brought enlightenment in the darkest of times.

It had been three months since the invasion that rocked Soul Society, three months since the revelations that turned everything they thought they knew about their history upside down. Three months since Shunsui had been thrust into a position he neither wanted nor believed himself ready for.

The loss of his mentor, his best friend and a close colleague he regarded as his senior, all within the space of a few days had hit him hard. There was so much to do, to organise, to clean, people to promote, the list was endless. Sure he had Nanao and Genshirō, but sometimes one needed the face of a close friend he'd known for millennia over the face of a colleague he'd known for centuries.

He'd never done well with guilt. Guilt was a constant companion in his life, a reminder of the decisions he'd made and the path he walked. He'd held onto the guilt of what happened to his brother's wife for centuries, elevated slightly when he fought for Nanao to join his division. Their fight against Lille Barro, watching his niece fight with the power of the Ise clan, despite the promise he'd made to her mother, the promise that he'd made to himself, to see her fight, to survive to win... If only all the battles could have ended the same way, in success and not in a loss.

Yamamoto Genryūsai, the man who had been like a father to him, out of the three he'd lost he'd known Genryūsai the longest. He'd never wanted to become a Shinigami, had been happy to continue with his somewhat destructive youth. Genryūsai had been the one to convince him otherwise, that despite his behaviour he had taken Shunsui under his wing, taught him, was patient with him, treated him like an equal and not like the child he sometimes acted like. It was Genryūsai who had introduced him to Jūshirō, Genryūsai who had always stood strong, unwavering in the face of danger, but to see him cut down like he was nothing. The grief and the pain of seeing such a wall of a man crumble like he was paper.

There was a time, years ago, back when Shunsui was young and in trouble, when he loved to push boundaries, one such boundary was sneaking into rooms that were closed off to him. Rooms that usually belonged to others, mainly Genryūsai. There was a picture in his rooms, unlike the pictures he was used to. Pictures of sakura blossoms or beaches that made one crave the World of the Living. Instead, this one was of a figure, engulfed in flames.

'Ah, that picture... That is a monster that appeared in Soul Society long ago. It appeared when Soul Society was in great need and only brought further turmoil. It will not trouble us again. If, someday, that monster were to appear before us again... I fear that will be the last day I am ever seen in this place.'

Little Shunsui had passed it off as a tale to frighten him, he hadn't taken it seriously. Older Shunsui wished he'd had the foresight to sit and listen to the tale, learn from the past so he knew what to do in the future.

Unohana would know what to do, she always knew what to do. Another constant in his life. He'd lost count at the times she tried to slow him down when he was younger, to see the wonder of the world to learn the healing arts, but he was too busy running off to do other things. Unohana was and always had been, his senpai. He looked up to her, respected her, for, despite her rough past, she moved on and became a better person. Her thirst for blood turned in time to one of healing. To ask her to retreat into the old shell of herself, pained him. He told himself it was for the greater good, that without her insight they would never have won the war, but this was one guilt that would weigh on him for years to come. Every time he looked at the people she'd left behind, those that she'd helped and loved and he was reminded that he had been the driving force behind that decision.

Then there was Jūshirō, his best friend, confidant and everything in between. He'd been hungover the first time they'd met, awoke in the coordinated relief station with a pounding headache and a couple of marks he'd no recollection of receiving. Jūshirō had been in the next bed over, keeping watch over him. Unohana had tutted at him, Yamamoto had yelled at him, but Jūshirō had smiled at him. Green eyes, shining with wonder at the kid lying next to him. That had been the turning point for Shunsui, the incident that had sent him away. Meeting Jūshirō at the entrance ceremony to the Shin-ō Academy had only further solidified their friendship. He calmed down in his wild ways, became more responsible, more careful when he was out and about. What he loved about Jūshirō is that he was the complete opposite to himself, calm and collected, caring and studious. Whereas back then Shunsui was quick to anger, impatient, uncaring and rather lazy. He'd improved over the years, he'd had to, Genryūsai and his captain kept promoting him, seeing something in him that Shunsui never saw himself, but no matter where he was, what he was feeling, Jūshirō always stood by his side and it hurt him that he hadn't done more to stop him. There could have been another way, he didn't have to sacrifice himself, but Shunsui didn't seem to care, didn't want to acknowledge what Jūshirō was implying. The wheels were turning, plans were being made, in the heat of the moment rash decisions were made. As the captain-commander, Shunsui could have put his foot down, could have said no, but he also knew deep down that this is what Juūshirō had to do, what he wanted to do. The worst part of it all was that Shunsui wasn't even there, hadn't been there, he'd run away just so he didn't have to face the pain of watching the one he cared about die.

Unohana had been the same, Yama-jii, they had all fought knowing what was happening, knew that at that point they had reached the point of no return. They had sacrificed themselves for the greater good and now it was up to Shunsui to make sure their sacrifices hadn't been in vain.

The stories about the beach didn't do it any justice, sand as black as night, water so murky who knew what lay beneath the surface, the wind howled; a storm was on the horizon, or so a fisherman had warned him upon his arrival. Night had fallen by the time he'd reached the shore, his journey from the Seireitei had been completed with a mixture of shunpō and walking. He sat, not bothering to watch where and stared out across the sea, that same fisherman had also warned him not to get too close, that the tide was coming in and the current lethal at this time of year. As if trying to prove a point, the sea surged forward, pooling around Shunsui before retreating as quickly as it came.

"I thought I might find you here," came a familiar voice, soft and quiet against the crash of waves against nearby rocks, but no matter how soft he spoke, how loud the background noise was, nor how far apart or the distance between, Shunsui would always hear him. Despite the voice, Shunsui continued to stare straight ahead, the turbulent waves a metaphor for the turbulent emotions and thoughts crashing around in his head. "You know, in my inner world, this place is a lot more beautiful: golden sand, calm crystal waters as far as the eyes can see."

Shunsui smiled at the description, there was something rather personal about the sharing of one's inner world, he felt a presence as something sat next to him. It was a comforting presence, like slipping into bed after a long day of work, of the feeling he felt when he wore his pink kimono. It was familiar, reassuring, warm.

"I can just imagine you walking barefoot across the sand, sandals in hand, the wind blowing your hair out of your face" he smiled as he pictured it and the presence beside him chuckled.

"Please promise me you won't walk barefoot across this sand. Broken glass and cigarette butts would be the least of your worries."

"A night in Four would save me from the responsibility that faces me at One," and he felt something on his knee, he imagined it to be a hand, warm yet pale in the moonlight and he resisted the urge to look lest the illusion be shattered.

"What are you thinking about?"

"You," he replied, staring out at the ocean, he hadn't noticed but it was almost as if it had calmed down, that the very appearance of the presence next to him had calmed the sea's temper.

"Surely there are more important things to think of than me?"

"I'll always think of you," he replied quickly. There was no hesitation in his mind and he finally brought his head up to look at the man next to him.

Jūshirō was smiling softly, green eyes shining. Shunsui had always loved Jūshirō's eyes. 'Green eyes like the ocean,'' he'd commented once. ' You're both wild and calm, dangerous, yet beautiful. You are both contradictory and a mystery, so many attributes that make up your soul, could be said the same about the ocean. The fact that you found a new life in the ocean, that your Zanpakutō spirit takes its form as it does.' Jūshirō had blushed at that, but what Shunsui had said was the truth.

He stared into those eyes now, seeing an unfamiliar sight reflected at him. It was like a scene from his mind reflecting out of Jūshirō's eyes, a picture drawn from the description of Jūshirō's inner world. Sand: white and fine, water: crystal clear, the sun shining, fish swimming, it looked like a paradise and Shunsui was torn between staring more and risking getting lost in the dream or from turning away and finding out that it was all a lie.

Jūshirō's voice snapped him out of his thoughts and he looked down, chest heaving in disappointment at the sight of black sand and not white.

"Don't think of me for too long, it does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."

Shunsui shook his head, looking up quickly. "Asking me to not think of you would be like asking Zaraki to not fight," Jūshirō chuckled.

"I'm only asking that you don't let my passing consume you, that you walk tall and stay strong, not only for yourself but for everyone else who is looking up to you. I forgive you, my friend, don't allow yourself to feel guilty for something I knew had to happen. There was no other way, and we all played our parts. Now it's time to move forward and look to the future with hope and not into the past with regret."

Shunsui sighed, deep down he knew all along that his friend wouldn't want him to mourn him the way he had been doing. The sleepless nights, the drunken parties, whilst common of the Shunsui of the past, unbecoming of the captain-commander he had been forced to become. He looked back up at Jūshirō, eyes softening as he once more caught a glimpse of the inner world that had brought the Thirteenth Captain so much peace.

"You're right, you are always right, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to mourn you. I promise to not let your sacrifice go in vain."

Jūshirō nodded, pleased with his decision. "I'm never too far away, you know that as well if you even need me again, you know where to find me."

The illusion was fading now, the presence that was Jūshirō fading as the sun rose in the east, pale flecks of sunlight broke through the clouds and for a moment the sea was calm, the sand lighter than it had been in centuries, the water as green as the eyes he loved. Shunsui nodded, throat tightening.

"Thank you, my dear old friend, I won't let you down."