They inched closer. The rain came down in sheets, thick droplets made to devour him. Sitting still with his back against the stone, Gintoki's head slumped forward. It wouldn't be long now. Was there minutes left, or hours? He was tough, after all. He was a man that had survived many things, outlasting better men by years, worse men by decades. Zura's glimmering shape shone from behind the grave, his head set against the granite slab, gritting his teeth, face contorting, murmuring the man's name, over and over.

Kagura brought up her umbrella, shielding the vanilla-colored hair, bled through by rain. Gintoki didn't move despite that the torrent stopped. Far away the traffic mumbled, cars and people going somewhere from nowhere. The umbrella handle vibrated from the rain above, a never-ending cycle of death and rebirth, of meeting the ground and falling up into the sky.

For as long as she had known him, she had never looked down on him like this. His head was by her knees. Gintoki seemed small. One knee brought up to his stomach, to the gash and the hands there, hands that gradually slumped downwards into his lap as he tired, growing pale. What blood was left seemed pink at the edges, diluted for the sake of order.

She had never held an umbrella over his head but she understood the sentiment. The taller should carry the umbrella. The older should carry the umbrella. The one who loved the most, should carry the umbrella. Gintoki had scoffed at love and familiarity, but he'd carried her on his back for hours when she stepped on a piece of glass or when she'd fallen asleep in the sofa, softly gathering up her limbs like a bothersome piece of puzzle he'd been ordered to arrange.

Shinpachi put the plate of dangos down on the gravel with a clink. He squatted down beside the figure, regarding his struggle with a concerned expression. "It's not so bad, Gin-san," he said, trying at cheerful but winding up struck. "It's really not that bad-," his voice cracked.

Slowly, Gintoki moved his head upwards, a flicker of pain across his face. He saw the halting of the rain, perhaps even a red umbrella. He squeezed the soaked-through rag harder to his opened chest, coughing weakly. Two hasty breaths into the still dry, still shielded air.

"Oh," was all Shiroyasha said.