He's standing in the graveyard in the pouring rain, and the sight of blood, her blood, seeping into the ground burns itself into Gintoki's vision. He leaps at his enemy, but the old man blocks him in the nick of time.

"Not bad, kid. You made me draw my sword."

Gintoki's anger is scalding, and it shows in his swordsmanship – where his style is normally fluid, it becomes instead ruthlessly offensive, and Jirochou stumbles back under the barrage of attacks. He quickly regains his balance, though, and a solid strike of his katana leaves Gintoki reeling as his bokken explodes into shrapnel.

The old man smirks. "It's over."

Gintoki responds to the blow without missing a beat; he snatches a fragment of wood out of the air and plunges it into Jirochou's shoulder.

It's not over yet, you bastard.

At least, that's how it's supposed to go – time slows to a near standstill as the fractured wood makes contact with the Jirochou's skin, but instead of embedding itself into his flesh, his hands are shoving into Gintoki's chest, sending him flying backwards into a gravestone. Alarm bells sound in the back of Gintoki's mind; something about this situation isn't right. He pushes himself up off the ground, still clutching the broken piece of his demolished wooden sword, and makes to leap forward for a another shot, but his muscles won't respond – his calves twitch uselessly, frozen in place, and Jirochou is bearing down on him all the while. Panic floods Gintoki's body, and he wills his limbs to move, damnit, but it's too late; Jirochou's katana connects with his right shoulder, and that fragment of his bokken is rolling across the ground now, rolling away from his open palm where it lays in the dirt along with the remainder of Gintoki's arm.

No, no, no, this isn't right, this isn't what's supposed to happen—

"If your limbs won't obey you, then you don't deserve them." Jirochou's katana flashes again, this time on Gintoki's left side. He drops to his knees. Two more slices and Gintoki is on his stomach.

"I told you already, your job is over." The buildings that rise up on both sides of the street stare down on GIntoki with impassive gazes from windows like empty eyes; they loom over him and Gintoki feels trapped. If only there was someone to save him… He turns his head frantically, searching the street for any sign of life – there! Behind Jirochou, there are people gathering! Gintoki opens his mouth to call out for help, takes a deep breath, but his airways feel heavy, the air feels dense, like he's breathing molasses instead of oxygen, and he can't make a single sound.

Jirochou throws back his head and cackles, then looks down on Gintoki with a devilish grin. Behind him, the growing crowd of Kabuki-chou residents all wear matching demonic expressions. A shiver of goosebumps washes up Gintoki's spine.

"There's nothing left here for you to protect." Jirochou raises his katana high above his head. "You're of no use to anyone anymore." He swings his arms downward, and the blade connects with Gintoki's neck—

—and Gintoki shoots upward into a sitting position, gasping for air. The first thing he's conscious of is the wild beating of his heart paired with the anxious rush of adrenaline through his body. Instinctively, he wraps his arms around his chest and curls in on himself before suddenly noticing that his arms are still very much attached to the rest of his body. This, in turn, makes him suddenly aware of his legs, also attached, and the comforting weight of blankets pressing down on them, as well as the softness of the futon beneath him. His heartbeat slows, he unclenches his fists, and his eyes slowly adjust to the darkness of his unlit bedroom. Carefully, Gintoki reaches up and runs a hand around his neck – but there are no cuts, no injuries, only unbroken skin.

Just a dream.

Flopping onto his side, he burrows into his blankets the best he can and stares balefully at the base of the wall across the room. Gintoki is no stranger to nightmares, but this… He squeezes his eyes shut and prays that all of this will be forgotten come morning.

The doorbell rings, and, after a pause, rings again.

Gintoki frowns. "Someone go answer the door."

"You do it, it's your house," Kagura counters.

Gintoki rolls onto his side so he's facing the back of the couch. "No, you do it. I'm tired today."

"You say that every day, Gin-san. We know you're just being lazy," Shinpachi admonishes.

"That's not fair, I'm seriously tired today!" Gintoki whines. The mystery visitor gives up on the doorbell and starts to knock. Gintoki turns his head to look over his shoulder, trying to muster as pitiable an expression as possible. "I didn't sleep very well last night."

Kagura rolls her eyes. "What, were you having nightmares? At your age?"

Gintoki's stomach lurches as a series of images suddenly flashes through his mind – blood mixing with rain in the dirt, his own dismembered arm, a katana whizzing towards his neck. Daylight had mostly cleared the dream from Gintoki's mind, but the mention of nightmares is bringing it back full force. Gintoki winces, and quickly turns back around to face the couch.

(As such, he misses the puzzled look that Kagura and Shinpachi share.)

"Gin-san…?"

The knocking on the door escalates to pounding. "Coming!" Shinpachi calls out, and Gintoki hears a slight rustle as the boy stands and hurries to the entrance.

There's a second rustle as Kagura stands, and suddenly there's a hand ruffling his hair none too gently.

"Gin-chan, if you're too tired to work today, that's fine! Shinpachi and I will handle it. Just don't complain when we don't share any of the payment with you." Gintoki can hear the shit-eating grin she's surely wearing right now, and a smile twitches at his own lips.

"Leave me alone, brat. Can't you tell I'm trying to sleep here?"