Dark Fragments

But from the inside... it just makes so much sense. Ishida loves order and control and to be out of control and /helpless/ during such a critical moment and then to have his own power /‘betray’/ him when he needs it most. Well no wonder he decided to do some pruning. It actually reminds me a lot of the Vizard ‘mutilating’ their souls by locking their hollowfied zanpakuto because if they had two spirits like Ichigo does they may well have tried to simply remove (kill) the hollow spirit. 2      

(That got darker then expected) Belated warning of head mates almost deaths. (Ahem sorry ptsdven) There is actually a fanfic where Ichigo took Shiro’s power and then killed him. Zan was /horrified/ and secretly saved Shiro and then had to deal with a weirder who had little contact him and zero understanding of why his zanpakuto was suddenly shying away from him meanwhile Zan is in a horrified shock at his other half being murdered or attempted murdered and that Ichigo /could do that/. 3       

When from Ichigo’s point of view and a shinigami point of view it would make sense. Plus Ichigo’s Mum being murdered by a hollow etc. So the parallels here are interesting particually if Ichigo in this story drew parallels between his hollow and Ishida brutally rejecting his Sentinal powers in a fit of lack of understanding and pain or even if it made him think... maybe even gave Ishida and Ichigo another point in common so they could help each other for hurt/comfort? 4        

(Before anyone asks no I don’t remember what story that was. (If anyone does please let me know, it’s likely on AO3 or FanFiction) Hunting through my AO3 bookmarks did help me find ‘Trust by Acidwing’ a dabble Oneshot for anyone who wants a quick pick me up of Vizards who trust their hollowfied zanpakutos and teach Ichigo the same. :) 5            

So yeah, this is.. a very dark AU albeit things get better as time goes on. And yes, Chad is the other Sentinel that Ichigo pulls in.

I had fun with the various descriptions of Uryuu’s soul and how he ends up perceiving the world as a sentinel. It’s an interesting concept to play with, and I really do love the Sentinel trope, even if I’m making it kind of dark here XD

Urahara knelt and examined one footprint. “Blood,” he confirmed grimly. He rose and strode to the door, pulling it open and slipping in.

“Do—” Ichigo swallowed his words when Urahara held up a hand for silence. He tightened his grip around Urahara’s neck and tried to be patient.

(Tried not to think of Ishida collapsed and in pain, wounded by kami knew what and unable to get help.)

Urahara slunk through the house, following the trail of footprints across the foyer and up the stairs. He peeked into several rooms as they passed, taking stock before continuing on, but Ichigo couldn’t spot anything of interest.

(Everything was so sterile and tidy. Everything but the little muddy footprints leading them on.)

He hadn’t realized that Ishida lived in such a large home, yet Urahara had said this was where Ishida’s reiatsu had settled. But nothing Ichigo saw lent any credence to the idea that Ishida /lived/ here— he’d yet to see any indication that someone /his age/ inhabited the building. No toys, no books laying out, nothing that he remembered himself or his sisters having at this age.

(It felt more like a display than a /home/.)

(What sort of life could someone /live/ in a place like this?)

Urahara stopped just before another doorway, one hand rising to tap Ichigo’s arm, then carefully edged closer so they could both peer into the room. His body tensed at whatever he saw and his hand closed over Ichigo’s wrists, locking Ichigo in place.

Ichigo pulled himself up to get a better view, then inhaled sharply at the sight. The bathroom was the same sterile design as everywhere else, marred by more muddy, red-tinged footprints. Ishida sat in the shower area, clearly in the process of cleaning his feet off, with an unopened emergency medkit sitting just within reach.

Ishida was still wearing the sleepwear that Ichigo had lent him. He had the sleeves and pants rolled up past elbows and knees, and the cloth was damp from spilled water. One foot was submerged in a shallow basin, the water pink from spilled blood, and the other was pulled up, ankle resting on his knee.

He stared at them, eyes wide and terrified, body frozen, hands trembling.

They’d interrupted him, Ichigo realized. Interrupted him at a very, very bad moment.

(Wounded and vulnerable and /trapped/…)

Ichigo squirmed out of Urahara’s hold and dropped to the ground with a muffled /thump/, feet protected from the floor by the adult-sized reiatsu cloak Urahara had given him. He hastily discarded the cloak and slipped around Urahara into the bathroom.

“Hey,” he said, dropping to sit on the cold tile several feet away from Ishida. It put his head lower than Ishida’s and put him at a disadvantage — not that it mattered, with Urahara lingering in the doorway. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

Ishida cast a panicked glance at Urahara, then focused on Ichigo. “What do you /care/?” he demanded. “I’m not— I’m /nothing to you/! Go away!”

Ichigo shook his head. “Uh-uh. You’re hurt. At least let us help. Please?”

“No! No— I— I’m fine, I can— it’s fine! G-go away!”

“Please, Ishida,” Ichigo repeated, keeping his voice soft. He made a shooing gesture behind his back, hoping Urahara would actually /leave/. More than half of Ishida’s terror seemed to be because of Urahara, which… Ichigo got, honestly. The man could be /very/ terrifying, and who knew what avenues Ishida had tried in previous cycles.

(’And if he decides it’s easier to kill you and move on?’)

(He doubted any version of Urahara would take that well…)

Urahara lingered a moment longer, gaze burning a hole in Ichigo’s back. “I’ll see about cleaning up the tracks,” he said eventually, then vanished from the doorway, leaving them alone.

Ishida didn’t relax much, but his hands at least stopped shaking. Ichigo would take what victories he could at this point.

“Will you let me see?” Ichigo asked, scooting a bit closer to Ishida as he did. He was still well out of reach, but at least his motions hadn’t set Ishida off again.

(Small steps, the way Chad had taught him.)

“Why do you /care/?” Ishida repeated plaintively, eyes bright with gathering tears.

Ichigo made a soothing noise and slipped a bit closer. “I don’t like seeing people in pain, especially if I can help. Please, Ishida?”

Ishida bit his lip, gaze moving between his wounded feet, to Ichigo, then to the door. His free hand rose to press against something wrapped around his neck, and Ichigo struggled to keep from frowning; he couldn’t see /much/, but… it looked like Ishida had a necklace made of leaves tucked under his shirt.

(Why would he wear something like that, and where had he gotten it?)

Whatever it was, it seemed to settle his mind. He let his hand drop and gave Ichigo a shallow nod.

“Thank you,” Ichigo said warmly. He carefully pulled himself the rest of the way over, making sure to keep his movements slow, and took the washcloth from Ishida’s hand. “I’ll try to be gentle, alright?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Ishida muttered, head tipped to the side and gaze fixed on the door.

“Of course it matters. I want to help you, not hurt you,” Ichigo said. He gently gripped Ishida’s ankle, then scowled internally at the way Ishida flinched at his touch.

(How long had it been since anyone had been /gentle/ with him?)

(He didn’t think he wanted to know…)

Ichigo swallowed his emotions and set about carefully cleaning Ishida’s foot, hating every flinch and shudder he caused. He didn’t bother trying to keep himself dry, just focused on doing what he could to get everything clean. He wished Ishida would accept Urahara healing him with kido, but… he doubted Ishida would ever willingly let Urahara near him when he wasn’t moments from collapse.

Still, Ishida’s foot didn’t look too terrible. None of the wounds seemed deep or particularly damaging, but Ichigo suspected it would be painful to walk on even when bandaged.

“Okay, that’s one,” Ichigo said, rinsing off the washcloth once more. He lifted Ishida’s other foot from the basin, then dumped the dirty water down the drain. He edged away and carefully rose to carry it over to the sink, scrubbing the basin clean with soapy water and filling it up again. “Here, give it a rinse while I clean the other.”

Ishida watched him with narrowed eyes but didn’t protest. He carefully settled his foot into the basin when Ichigo set it down, and lifted his other leg up to cross it over his knee. He stayed silent, even when Ichigo sat down and began the process all over again.

“This one doesn’t look as bad.” Ichigo poured a bit of water over Ishida’s foot to rinse it, being careful of the few wounds he could see. “I’m going to need to bandage both, though, okay?”

“Do what you will,” Ishida said in resignation.

Ichigo looked up sharply. “Hey, no, that’s not how this works,” he said as gently as he could. He reached out to rest a hand on Ishida’s arm, trying to ignore Ishida’s flinch and be as comforting as he could. “If you don’t want me doing anything else, just tell me, okay? I suspect you know more about wounds at this point than I do, anyway.”

Ishida stared at him blankly then looked away, shrugging awkwardly.

“Ishida?”

“It’s fine. Just… get it over with,” Ishida muttered.

Ichigo hesitated, then pulled the medkit closer and opened it up. It wasn’t the agreement he was looking for, but he didn’t think he’d manage to pry anything better from Ishida. So instead of arguing, he carefully dried off Ishida’s foot and set to doctoring it.

Ishida pulled his foot out of the basin when Ichigo indicated, crossing his legs so that his freshly bandaged foot didn’t touch the wet and dirty tile. While Ichigo repeated the treatment on Ishida’s other foot, Ishida poked at the bandages and wrappings that Ichigo had already done.

“Did I do it wrong?” Ichigo asked.

“No, it’s…” Ishida hesitated, picking at a stray edge, “I thought… never mind.”

Ichigo bit back a sigh and finished bandaging Ishida’s foot. It /burned/, not knowing how to reach Ishida, much less comfort or reassure him. They had a history that only Ishida knew, and… Ichigo doubted it was a /good/ history, beyond a point.

There was guilt in Ishida’s eyes, when he though Ichigo wasn’t looking. Guilt and regret and an aching loneliness that Ichigo wanted to /fix/ but couldn’t figure out /how/.

(He wished he could just make everything /better/.)

(He knew it was impossible, but oh how he wished…)

“There you go,” Ichigo said, smiling up at Ishida as he closed the medkit and pushed it back. He moved to kneel in front of Ishida with his back to him. “Climb on, and let’s get you out of here, okay?”

“To where..?” Ishida asked, one tentative hand settling on Ichigo’s shoulder.

“Got a bedroom around here? Someplace to sleep?”

“I’m not staying here,” he said firmly. His hand trembled against Ichigo’s shoulder. “I’m… not. I can’t…”

“Hey, shh, it’s okay,” Ichigo murmured, covering Ishida’s hand with his own. He had to wonder about Ishida’s parents — shouldn’t they be worried about their son by now?

(Goat-face and his mother had been giving him worried looks all last night. Where were Ishida’s parents?)

“We’ll figure something out,” Ichigo promised. He gave Ishida’s hand a gentle squeeze, then tugged lightly in an attempt to encourage him to climb onto his back. “But this isn’t a place to do that, okay?”

Ishida whined softly, but leaned forward to drape over Ichigo’s back with his arms around Ichigo’s neck. “Fine,” he muttered into Ichigo’s shoulder. “Fine.”

Ichigo reached back and looped his arms around Ishida’s legs, then reinforced his body and rose to his feet. Ishida was heavier — and his own body was weaker — than he expected; reiatsu reinforcement was about the only way he could get away with carrying Ishida at the moment.

(He’d need to fix that. Need to train himself up all over again. But at least he knew what to do and focus on this time.)

He needed to find Urahara, and find if there was anything Ishida wanted from this place before they left.

(Where in the world would Ishida feel safe enough to rest?)

With a quiet whine, Uryuu forced his limbs to move. He crawled out of the hollow and settled against the tree, then took a moment to breathe.

(Everything hurt. It hurt-it hurt-it hurt—)

(/Make it stop/.)

Uryuu buried his fingers in the ground once more, pouring his extra reiatsu into the soil. The pressure on his body eased, a brief release that made his young body sob with relief.

A branch creaked, reaching down and brushing against his head, curiosity echoing through his mind.

“Too much power, too young,” Uryuu explained. “I’ll grow into it, just… it’s too much…”

A hum. Consideration. Echo of flashes like sunspots in his eyes: the way the kami viewed his outpouring of power.

“Yeah, it… isn’t really healthy.”

The branch creaked again, the tip settling around his throat and /sprouting/—

Uryuu held still and swallowed back his fear, letting the branch loop around his neck. It settled, loose and smooth against his skin, then /snapped/ free of its parent. Tendrils of /presence/ seeped like roots through his skin and into his soul, and tiny leaves sprouted all along the branch.

(He would never grow accustomed to that sensation.)

The kami settled back with a feeling of satisfaction and retreated from Uryuu’s mind, leaving behind the link between them. Already, Uryuu could feel its effects in the way his reiryoku ceased to replenish as quickly, leaving his available reiatsu restricted.

He tipped his head back against the tree and breathed a sigh of relief; survival without the kami’s assistance was possible, but grew harder with every cycle he lived through. Eventually, he would no longer be capable of it.

(Eventually, even the kami would cease to help.)

(He wondered how much longer he had…)

Without the strain on his body, everything became clearer, more in focus… including the way his feet ached and how stiff his muscles were. Uryuu reluctantly grabbed one ankle and pulled his foot up to see the damage, then winced. Dried blood and dirt caked his foot, and he couldn’t see the wounds too clearly under it all.

He ran his fingers over his foot, picking absently at a couple little stone-chips his fingers found. Thankfully, no fresh blood welled up as a result, but it still confirmed what he already knew.

He couldn’t treat his feet out here.

Being an empowered soul strengthened his resistances, but this… no. He couldn’t leave this alone. His child’s body was already stressed and in trouble.

(One more reason to return to Ryuuken’s mansion.)

(Hopefully Urahara wouldn’t know to look for him there.)

Uryuu brushed what he could from his feet, then carefully rose and took a limping step forward.

(Oh it /hurt/—)

He grit his teeth and scrubbed at his eyes to wipe away his body’s betraying tears, realizing only then that his glasses were missing.

(That he had to have left them behind at the shoten.)

“Fuck,” he breathed. Tried to remember if he had any spares at the mansion. Couldn’t. Gave it up.

(He’d just have to look later.)

Uryuu grimaced and carefully stepped onto a tiny reishi platform. It still hurt, but at least he wasn’t grinding further dirt and debris into his wounds.

“Will you guard me from the others, even beyond your clearing?” Uryuu asked hesitantly, one hand resting on the thin branch coiled around the base of his neck. /Agreement-desire-need/ rippled through his thoughts, the kami pulling lightly on his reiryoku. “Agreed. Protection for power. Thank you.”

The kami settled, pleased and content, and Uryuu made his way to the clearing’s edge on tiny bursts of hirenkyaku. He squinted out at the forest beyond, tentatively reaching out to sense the reishi. Everything seemed to have settled once more, though there was an /edge/ to the reishi that told him the forest remained unsafe.

Uryuu licked his lips, braced himself, and oriented towards the feel of Karakura. He had to be quick. Had to keep his output low and his steps hurried. There were things that even the tree’s kami could not protect him from, and if he caught /their/ attention it would be all over.

“I’ll return as soon as I can,” Uryuu murmured.

(No one treated Urahara so cavalierly and escaped unscathed.)

(Not even a tiny child.)

But he escaped to the forest without incident, and even when he hesitated on the border and scanned the area, he couldn’t sense or see Urahara nearby. Not that he could ever sense the man, not this early in his body’s life, but the lack of incident was as worrying as it was relieving.

(What was Urahara’s game this time?)

(What changes would the man /knowing/ cause?)

Uryuu swallowed and slipped into the forest, slumping against a tree and trying to gather his thoughts. He didn’t dare walk deeper, not with his emotions and reiatsu riled so. The nature reishi generated by the forest was the perfect cover, but only if he could maintain his own equilibrium.

A crow was perched in the branches above his head, head cocked and eyeing him in curiosity. There was a light of intelligence in the bird’s eyes that gave Uryuu the chills; after everything that had already gone wrong, he didn’t need to awaken the /things/ that lurked deeper within.

(Things out of legends older than Shinigami. Older than Quincy. Things as old as the land and as indifferent to Humans as nature itself.)

“Go on, get lost,” he told the bird. He pulled his reiatsu in as tightly as he could, until his body strained under the pressure and it felt like he was coming apart at the seams. “I’ll not be entertainment for you today.”

The crow cackled and launched from its branch, flying deeper into the woods. Any hope of slipping into the forest in safety vanished with every cry that the maybe-crow made.

Uryuu pinched the bridge of his nose and wondered if this entire cycle was going to be like this, with one mistake after the next. Nothing was going the way he wanted it to.

(Damn. Damn Urahara and damn Kurosaki and damn whatever it was that brought them back with him.)

Uryuu pushed away from the tree. He needed to get moving. Needed to get away. Needed to make his way to the one safe place he knew about within the forest.

He winced as he set out, twigs and stones digging into his bare feet. This was not how he’d wanted to come here, not how he’d /planned/ on coming here. He wasn’t dressed for the forest, didn’t even have socks on for that minor protection. But leaving the forest wasn’t a good idea, not with Urahara aware of everything that had happened.

So he kept walking. Kept moving through the pain. Blanked his mind and held his reiatsu close and ignored the protests of his young body.

There was no path to follow, just a /sense/ of where he needed to be. He scrambled over downed trees and kept an eye on the ground and the forest around him. He could feel the natural reishi of the forest beginning the stir, as things best left alone began to stir from their apathy and slumber.

(There were reasons Quincy were told to never wander the wilds alone. Reasons the Shinigami stayed within cities and used human methods to travel between them.)

(The younger Shinigami might have forgotten, but the elders knew all too well what lurked beyond the tamed lands.)

(As did he, after so many repeats.)

A twig snapped behind him. A bush rustled. Reishi rippled.

Uryuu ran.

He fled without regard, forcing his body on. Roots caught his bare feet. Branches scratched his arms.

Crows cackled overhead, driving him on-on-on.

He defied their attempts at herding him. Held onto his sense of /safety/ and didn’t allow himself to be driven aside. He broke into a wide clearing with relief, hurling himself forward and down. Down to the base of a massive tree. Down to the ancient, weathered altar that remained behind. Dug his fingers into the soil before the altar and /poured/ his reiatsu into the ground before him.

“/Please/.”

/Surprise-interest-amusement-acceptance/—

A barrier snapped into being, enveloping the tree and the clearing it had created. Crows shrieked defiance. Reishi rippled in frustration. /Things/ paced the border beyond his sight.

(Beyond his Sight.)

Uryuu slumped in exhaustion, panting and wrung out and numb. A foreign presence poked at his mind, wending through his thoughts and twining around his soul. It plucked at his reiryoku, curious at the dissonance between body and soul, then reached deeper—

It jerked back as if burnt, and Uryuu huffed a breathless laugh. “Sorry,” he whispered, flexing a hand still buried deep into the ground before the altar. “Didn’t have the strength to warn you this time.”

Acceptance slid through his mind, and Uryuu breathed a sigh of relief.

(This kami was a forgiving one, but even it had its limits.)

“I need—”

Another rush of acceptance through his mind cut him off, along with hazy sensations of hot-cold-light-dark. The ground rippled and the tree shook, bright green leaves showering down upon him and nearly burying his body. He laid there under the discarded leaves and gathered his strength, unbearably thankful for the luck that had led him this way so many repeats ago.

(He didn’t think he would have survived so long without it.)

(He didn’t know if that was a good thing.)

When he finally had the strength to climb back to his feet, the ground had settled and the tree had stilled, and a brand new hollow had formed at the base of the tree. He gathered up an arm-full of leaves and stumbled to the hollow, shoving them in before gathering up more and repeating the process.

He lined the hollow with shed leaves, then crawled in and curled up, pillowing his head on his arm and closing his eyes.

He was as safe as he could be here, cradled within the heart of the kami’s strength. A kami grown even stronger from his offering.

There’s someone arguing in the hallway with his father. Neither of them are speaking very loud, but Uryuu /knows/ they’re fighting. His father’s voice has the same icy edge to it that it does when he fights with— when he— when sensei—

Uryuu swallows and squeezes his eyes shut, fighting back tears.

(Ragged breaths and slowing heartbeats—)

(No-no-no-no-no—)

(Sensei—)

“—away from my son!” his father demands, snapping Uryuu out of his spiraling thoughts.

“Maa, maa, we both know better than that, Ishida-sensei,” the unfamiliar voice says, placating. “The damage—”

“Don’t you /dare/,” his father says, voice tight with something Uryuu thinks might be fury. “Don’t you /dare/ stand there and talk to me about ‘the damage’. Get out of my hospital. Out!”

“Ishida-sensei, please, your son is wounded. I did what I could for him, but he needs—”

“He needs to be left alone by the likes of you,” his father interrupts, tone final and sharp. The sort of tone he always took right before declaring an argument ‘over’. “The S&G council have been made aware of his situation and will handle it from here.”

“Not you?” the stranger asks, sharp and disapproving. “I would think as a Guide yourself—”

“Out!” his father snarls. “And Urahara— if I catch you around my son again, I will not hesitate to /destroy/ you.”

There’s a pause, heavy and uncomfortable, and Uryuu can’t help but fidget, plucking at his bedsheets with clumsy fingers. He doesn’t understand. Not the argument nor why his father hates this Urahara person even worse than he hates being a Quincy.

“Very well, if that is how you want it to be,” Urahara says, voice perfectly even.

Uryuu wants to cringe back at the words, wants to hide under the covers and pretend he never heard them. There’s something /dangerous/ about them — about Urahara — that sets off every instinct in him.

(His father has /infuriated/ the man.)

“It is,” his father confirms.

“On your head be it.” There is a /snap/ like something being abruptly closed, and then the sound of footsteps stalking away.

His father lingers outside the room, unmoving, and for a moment Uryuu wonders if his father will come in to speak with him. If he’ll give an explanation, or even just… tell Uryuu what’s wrong.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t even step closer to the door, just turns away and walks off, leaving Uryuu entirely alone.

(His mouth tastes like ash.)

(Where is his mother..?)

Uryuu lifts a shaking hand enough to see and stares at it. Stares at the scratches covering his fingers and the bandages on his arm. He stares at the evidence of damage and tries to remember—

(Hollow roars and ragged breath and metal in his mouth.)

(Crushed grass and muddy ground, scattered red like sequins—)

“Hey, kiddo, you okay?”

Uryuu starts and tries to sit up, pushing his lethargic body until it obeys; there’s a man sitting in the open window, wearing the silliest hat Uryuu has ever seen and fiddling with a fan. He doesn’t remember hearing the door open, nor the window, nor even the sound of footsteps, and that… worries him.

“Woah, hey, it’s okay,” the man says, slipping into the room and over to the bed. One large hand settles on Uryuu’s back, supporting him even as he’s eased back to rest against the headboard. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

The voice is familiar, even if the man isn’t. Uryuu stares up at ‘Urahara’ and asks, “Didn’t /he/ tell you to go away?”

“Maa, heard that, did you?” Urahara smiles sheepishly and rubs at the back of his head. “Ah, well… we just… have a difference of opinion about something. That’s all.” At Uryuu’s suspicious look, Urahara chuckles and flops into the chair next to the bed. “Maybe you can help me out with it?”

“I don’t even know you,” Uryuu grumbles, looking back down at his arms. The fine weave of the bandages catches his eye, individual threads standing out like rope, fuzz interlinking—

Uryuu winces, squeezing his eyes closed against the sight. He tries to remember his sensei’s words on calming his senses, but he can’t— he can’t and it hurts, it /burns/— there is too much light—

Urahara’s hand settles across his eyes, blocking out most of the light. His palm is warm and something sparks across his skin, rippling through Uryuu’s head and settling like a heavy blanket across his mind. When it settles and Uryuu relaxes, Urahara pulls his hand away; this time, the light doesn’t bother him, and when he open his eyes nothing grabs his attention and forces him to focus in.

“Better?” Urahara asks. When Uryuu nods, the man sighs in relief and fidgets with his fan. “Good, I’m glad. I think—” he hesitates, eyes Uryuu, then lets the cheerfulness fade— “You need to know what happened. No matter what your father thinks.”

Uryuu considers Urahara, struggling to think through /whatever/ the man had done to him. The distant pain he’d woken with is even fainter now, and his lethargy is back. It feels like he could sleep for days — like maybe he /should/ sleep for days — and he wonders if whatever the man has to say is actually important enough to stay awake for.

(His father had threatened to destroy the man for this trespass.)

He manages to bring a hand up to rub at his eyes, fighting back a yawn. “I might… fall asleep,” he admits softly. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Urahara reassures him. “We’ll go over it briefly now, and I’ll be back when you’ve healed a bit more, okay?” Uryuu’s nod is all he waits for, before beginning to speak again, “Your soul was damaged either during or soon after you woke as a Sentinel. I did what I could to heal you, but… I’m not an expert.” He grimaces and leans forward in the chair, resting a hand atop Uryuu’s in some form of comfort. “Both your reiryoku and your sentinel powers were affected, and I’m… not certain how that will affect you in the future.”

Uryuu flinches, fingers flexing as he /remembers/—

(Choking red light smothering his pale blue—)

(Ripping it free like a /weed/—)

—and he needs a moment. He needs a moment to breath and try to absorb Urahara’s words. He can’t — doesn’t /want to/ — understand what Urahara is saying. But even with his thoughts as slow as molasses, even with his body begging for sleep, he /knows/.

He’s broken.

(His grandfather is Sentinel strong. Quincy strong. He shouldn’t be able to lose!)

(Uryuu’s senses destroy the lie.)

He hears the way his sensei’s breath falters, watches his sensei stumble from exhaustion. And it doesn’t take his suddenly spiking senses to see the /glee/ in the Hollows, as they converge and /strike/.

Uryuu stands frozen, unable to force his body into action.

(If he was strong like his sensei, he’d fight!)

He’s frozen even as he listens to his sensei’s heart slow, then stop. Frozen even as the Hollows mill about and roar, the sound gouging deep into his brain. He loses track of time as the Hollows turn on each other, struggling for supremacy despite their previous almost-cooperation.

He can’t tear himself away from the tree he’s hidden behind, not even when one of the smaller Hollows on the edge of the scuffle turns towards him. It raises its head and sniffs at the air, mouth twisting into a hungry leer as it begins to step towards him.

It’s then that the Shinigami arrive. Far, far too late for his sensei. Barely in time for him.

Uryuu can hear their words, their irreverent chatter as they kill the Hollows with negligent ease. Not even the discovery of his sensei’s body seems to bother them much; it’s an offhand note to them—

(”Guess his age caught up to him at last.”)

(”Bound to happen eventually.”)

(”Ready to head back?”)

(”Yeah, let’s move.”)

—and they leave without even a glance his way.

Uryuu’s legs give out and he crumples to the ground at last. He digs his fingers into hard dirt and bows his head, tears pricking at his eyes. He can’t— he’s not— he can barely focus. His senses are scrambled, spiking and retreating in unpredictable ways, and its all he can do to focus past the blinding pain in his head.

(Sentinel. He is a /sentinel/.)

(He is /useless!/)

Uryuu bites his lip and struggles to rein in his twisting senses before he loses the last of his control. Control he can’t afford to lose. Not here. Not now.

(Where was his Guide? Or /any/ Guide? Shouldn’t they have sensed him, sensed his distress?)

He takes a breath and focuses within, diving deep into his reiryoku in hopes of finding peace. His senses can’t reach him there, held within the core of his own Quincy powers. A moment to breathe and rest, that’s all he needs—

Except there is no peace. His reiryoku is riled, twisting and writhing within his soul, tangled up in angry crimson light. It /infuriates/ him to see the origin of his powers so /mangled/, and before he can consider what it is he’s doing he grabs at the crimson light and /tears/—

Agony rips through Uryuu’s soul, but he refuses to back down. He refuses to let it remain twisted through his reiryoku the way it is. The light comes away slowly, tearing at his reiryoku and leaving deep, jagged wounds that his pale blue power only slowly fills in.

(It hurts. It hurts it hurts-/it-hurts-*it-hurts*/…)

Uryuu sobs from the pain. Gathers what he’s pulled free into a tighter grip.

/Rips/ as hard as he can.

“—can’t wait to see him get his—” “—he’s a loner, that’s reason enough—” “—fault if he gets separated—”

Ichigo scowls and tries to determine if whatever he’s overhearing is trouble or he’s just reading into things. If it /is/ trouble, he doesn’t like where it’s leading; with a war on the horizon and deployment inevitable, talk about loners and being separated leads his mind down a dark path that he’d rather not tread.

(But that’s not enough to go on.)

(He hates sneaking around like this.)

He circles the room again and closes in, wending his way through the tables and straining to pick out the different threads of conversation going on all around him. He scans expressions as he moves, looking for something, /anything/ obvious, and knowing he isn’t going to find it.

“—mag-null, right?—” “—say we didn’t know—” “—sounds good, let’s—”

Ichigo freezes the instant he hears ‘mag-null’ and tilts his head, turning in a slow circle and trying to find the source. He spots one of his knights sporting an uncertain look, and steps closer to the table the man is at.

(That’s not language he has /ever/ approved of.)

(Mag-null. Someone born without magic. Someone of /lesser value/ because of it.)

(He despises the word and the intent behind it.)

“—should be easy enough,” another knight is saying, her hand waving absently. “He likes solo missions, right? And the commanders are always giving them to him.”

A second knight scoffs and pushes aside his empty bowl, then sets his elbow on the table and props his chin on his hand. “It’s about the only way a mag-null like him can get any missions, solos like those.”

“Mag-null or not, who’d want to work with /him/?” a third asks incredulously, gesturing about with her spoon before digging it back into her food. “He’s insufferable enough around the castle, constantly showing off. I’d hate to imagine what he’s like in the field.” She gives the whole table a look, and Ichigo is disgusted to see every knight there nodding in agreement, even the ones who are only listening.

(Even if this isn’t about Ishida Uryuu, Ichigo isn’t about to let talk like this slide.)

“I dunno,” the second knight says with annoyance. “His superiors seem to like him. He only has to ask, and off he trots on a solo.”

The first snorts and shakes her head. “Kenta, you poor, innocent soul.” At the man’s frown, she leans forward with a wicked smirk and says in a low tone, “There’s a /reason/ his superiors like him, and it’s certainly not his attitude.”

Ichigo bites his lip hard enough to taste blood when one of the other knights snickers and makes a lewd gesture. He’s had more than enough of this conversation, even if he doesn’t know for sure who they’re talking about. But if he lingers here any longer, he’s going to be too tempted to just… start bashing heads together and pitching everyone involved out of the knighthood.

But Shiro’s right, they don’t know how far this goes, or how many people are involved. So instead, Ichigo turns to memorizing each knight’s insignia; he’s never been able to put names to faces reliably, but he’s found ways around that as he grew older.

Like the insignia, unique for every knight under his command, and attached to a dossier he keeps in his office. He’ll be able to make a list of /everyone/ in this conversation, and he’ll make sure to mark the apparent ringleaders.

Halfway through memorizing the insignia, though, one of the knights makes an excited noise and stands. There’s a cruel gleam in his eyes, and his smile is less than friendly as he waves at someone walking through the door.

“Hey, Ishida!” the knight calls out, then narrows his eyes when the newcomer doesn’t turn to acknowledge him. “Hey! I’m talking to you!”

Ichigo frowns and scans the rest of the hall, taking in the way the other tables have quieted down a bit, and the way some knights are hunching forward. None of them are speaking up, though, not even the ones that appear unaffected by the call-out. They’re all studiously ignoring what’s going on, except for a few covert glances.

(How did he /miss this/? How long has this behavior been going on under his nose?)

The standing knight growls in frustration and leans forward, resting his hands on the table. “Well, if you want to sit by yourself, be my guest,” he drawls. “I was only going to invite you to sit with us, since everywhere else is full.”

“Are you certain you don’t require glasses, Faran?” Ishida asks, tone dry as dust. He gestures at the tables around him, many of which have at least a bit of room, then shrugs and turns away. He starts to make his way towards one of the nearly empty tables in the back, throwing over his shoulder, “Perhaps you should look into that. The battlefield is no place for poor vision.”

The first knight barks a laugh, her smile sharp. “Speaking from experience, Ishida? Is that why you’re always taking solo missions, because you don’t want to look helpless in front of your peers when the enemy knocks your glasses off?”

“You should let us help,” Kenta pipes up, voice heavy with fake sympathy. He flashes Ishida an insincere smile when he  freezes and turns back, and continues, “There’s no shame in weakness, after all. That’s what we’re here for, to help.”

Ichigo swallows his disgust at the words, and hastily finishes memorizing the insignias of the knights at the table. Forget listening further, he needs to leave and return openly, before the darkness he can see in Ishida’s eyes turns into something /worse/.

(No wonder Urahara decided to work around his promise at last.)

“Your help?” Ishida repeats, lips curling up to expose the tips of his teeth, disdain in every line of his body. “And what help would that be, Matsunu? If it’s your usual brand, I feel the need to warn you that Swallow takes… poorly to those she believes are threatening me.”

“That old nag? I don’t see why you still ride her, Ishida,” the first knight says with a scoff. “Just because your mother gave her to you as a child, doesn’t mean you should still be forcing her into battle. All she does all day is sleep in the stable.”

Ishida gives the knight a blank look, then glances at the others around the table, looking for something that he clearly doesn’t find. His shoulders slump a bit, and he pinches the bridge of his nose, saying, “If you want to be that blind, be my guest, please. Keep proving to me you’re all failures as knights.”

“Damn mag-null,” Kenta mutters darkly, then bares his teeth at Ishida in a pretense of a smile. “Failures, are we?” he asks while rising to his feet, one hand settling over the pommel of his sword. “I think it’s the opposite, isn’t it? At least we’re capable of working as a team and supporting one another. All a mag-null bow knight like you is good for is getting into trouble and being shot down by a mage.”

(’Shot down’?)

(Ichigo doesn’t have any aerial knights under his command…)

Ishida stalks closer, chin tilting up and expression a blank mask hiding a fury that Ichigo can nearly feel. The sight makes Ichigo stiffen and cast a confused look at the group of knights; he /knows/ that expression, that look of leashed fury, and it’s enough for his mind to finally link faces to positions to /names/.

Ishida Ryuuken is one of the strongest War Priests that Ichigo has ever met. For his /son/ to lack magic beggars belief; magic doesn’t simply /die out/ in a single generation. It dwindles, lingering in the bloodline for generations and providing skills and abilities that those without a drop of magic cannot duplicate.

(So who taught Ishida Uryuu to hide himself so thoroughly and consistently?)

(And what does Ishida’s dossier say about his ability — or lack thereof — with magic?)

Ichigo shakes his head and digs his nails into his palms, trying to clear his mind. It doesn’t matter who taught Ishida what, not now. Not when he can almost taste the coming violence.

(He wonders if intervening now is too little, too late. If there’s anything of Ishida’s loyalty /left/ after who knows how many years of torment.)

(Torment that Ichigo has been blind to the entire time.)

He can’t afford to think like that, though. Not now and not ever. The only thing he can do is try, and right now ‘trying’ means breaking the coming violence up before it begins.

Ichigo hurries out, keeping his steps as silent as he can, and slips into a hidden passage. Everyone knows that there are hidden passages in the castle, and everyone /knows/ that the passages are shielded against people sensing those within them.

Ichigo strips Shiro’s spell from his body, allows his magic to unfurl from his core, and breathes a sigh of relief.

(He hates hiding. Hates restraining his power so thoroughly. But needs must.)

Then, squaring his shoulders and gathering himself, Ichigo strides from the hidden passage and towards the knight’s hall.

He has a fight to stop and a group of knights to examine carefully.

This was… probably a bad idea, Uryuu acknowledged, as he made his slow way to the window and peered out of it. It seemed to be early in the day, judging by the angle of the sunlight across the walls and roofs of Seireitei, but not too early. The view also served to reinforce what a terrible idea this was; he was on at least the third story, if not the fourth, and, even if he had been on the first floor, escaping out the window was… very anime-cliche of him. Wasn’t it?

Uryuu glanced over his shoulder at the partially open door to his room. Back to the view out the window.

They would hunt him down if he escaped. Hunt him down and likely tie him to that bed. He had just enough medical knowledge to know that he was in no way recovered. But… Uryuu was tired of the stares, and the constant presence of at least one of Ichigo’s friends, all cloying-sweet and worried.

(Why were they worried about him? They were Ichigo’s friends, not his! Especially the Shinigami amongst them!)

(A bitter, furious part of his soul was certain they only pretended to care, in order to have a chance to reach Ichigo within him.)

Resolute, Uryuu slid open the window and hopped up onto the sill, one hand clutching at the frame as his body protested the action.

(*I’m going to kill myself with this shit,*) Uryuu thought blankly, as he stared down at the ground so far below him. (*I’m going to trip, and fall, and crack my idiot head open. I should go back to bed and lay back down.*)

But no voices replied to him, and while he knew this was a horrible idea, he also knew he needed to escape, even if only for a few minutes.

Uryuu reinforced himself as much as his pitifully depleted reserves would allow and gave a leap of faith, aiming for a roof a bit below and to one side. He went sprawling across the red tiles, the breath driven from his body and his limbs as shaky as a newborn foal’s, but he had made it.

It felt like an eternity before he could gather the strength to rise back to his feet and begin his shambling process across the tightly packed roofs of Seireitei. He didn’t know where he was going, didn’t have even the vaguest idea of a goal, he just… knew he needed to move. Needed to be out of that white-white room and away from the constant watch of others.

(White walls and white ceilings and a blue, blue sky with a bright-bright sun that was fake-fake-/fake/.)

(Sometimes he wondered if he could only trust the night sky to be real.)

Eventually, though, he had to stop. His limbs wouldn’t stop trembling, his bare feet protested every step he took, and his breathing was ragged. He’d long since lost the ability to reinforce his body, and all that was driving him onwards was his will and his inability to admit defeat. So when he found a small, sun-drenched nook made by the meeting of two buildings, Uryuu was quite content to curl himself into the spot and rest, tucked away and hopefully hidden.

He remained there, half-dozing and half awake, as the sun traveled across the sky. It was so peaceful in his little nook, even with the various Shinigami that he could sense wandering by. Uryuu wondered if they were ignoring him, or if his reiryoku was so depleted that he wasn’t even producing any reiatsu to be sensed.

“Ishida Uryuu.”

Uryuu started, head jerking up from where it had been resting against the wall, and he stared in mute shock at Kuchiki Byakuya. The Captain was as put together as usual, looking like the injuries he had gained in Hueco Mundo had never happened. A tiny frown crossed the man’s expression when Uryuu didn’t respond to him, and he took a small step closer.

“I do not believe you were released from the Fourth yet,” Kuchiki prompted.

Uryuu gave an awkward shrug and looked away. What was he supposed to say? He hadn’t been released, and was probably doing himself more harm by being out here instead of resting in a bed.

A tiny breath of air escaped the stoic Captain, and Uryuu turned his gaze back on Kuchiki in confusion. Had that… had that been a sigh?

“Come along then,” Kuchiki told him imperiously, turning away from Uryuu and moving towards the edge of the roof. “It will soon be afternoon, and this is no place for someone to convalesce.”

Uryuu sighed and slowly unfolded his body. Well, at least he’d managed a few hours outside of the hospital. That was something, right? He reluctantly moved to follow the other man, and grimaced down at the street the moment he came to the edge of the roof. Getting down was… going to be exciting. He could already feel that in his bones.

But before he could do more than try to gather himself to jump down, a powerful arm was around his waist and the world /blurred/. Suddenly he was on the ground, one hand gripping Kuchiki’s arm as tightly as he could (which wasn’t very), and biting back a startled sound that he /refused/ to acknowledge possibly giving voice to.

Kuchiki released him the moment Uryuu was steady once more, and began to walk away with another imperious gesture to follow.

Uryuu paused, staring at Kuchiki in confusion, then over his shoulder at what he was /sure/ was the actual direction of the hospital. Was… was the Captain not going to bring him back? Wasn’t Kuchiki /all about/ following the law to the letter? That was the impression Uryuu had gained through his short exposure to the man, but… well, maybe this was just another path through the maze that was Seireitei’s streets.

So Uryuu followed, not seeing a point in protesting. He had been caught, after all, and he really didn’t have the energy to be more rebellious than he already had been this morning. Kuchiki was even polite enough to temper his pace to one that Uryuu’s tired limbs could keep up with. Uryuu fell into a trance of simply placing one foot in front of the other, trailing along after Kuchiki like some stray animal, even if the comparison would have normally sent him into a fury.

That trance shattered the moment they came to a gate that was /definitely/ not the entrance to the Fourth Division, and Uryuu shot Kuchiki a confused look as a servant opened the door and bowed deeply to the Captain.

“See him to the gardens,” Kuchiki ordered the servant with an absent tone, as he swapped his outside shoes for softer indoor versions. He looked at Uryuu for a moment, then said, “You may rest here for the afternoon. My servants will provide you with a meal, as well.”

Uncertain of what to do with this unlooked for kindness, Uryuu just nodded and watched the man walk off down a hallway and deeper into the mansion.

“This way, please, sir,” the servant told him, gesturing for Uryuu to follow.

Feeling entirely out of his depth, Uryuu followed along, through the mansion and out another set of doors into the elaborate garden at the heart of the residence. It was surreal to take the three steps down to the smooth stone path. Surreal to think that he was here, staring at a garden straight out of the history books. A noble’s garden, full of delicate trees and even more delicate plants, all in carefully maintained beds. Even the grass looked perfectly maintained, with no blade reaching beyond a certain length.

When Uryuu glanced behind him he noticed that the servant had vanished once more, leaving him alone with a garden that made Uryuu feel like tiptoeing.

He took a breath, held it for a moment, then shook his head and made his unsteady way down the path. He needed to lay down soon, based on the way his limbs were starting to tremble again, and he just hoped there was a good place to do so. The porch was a possibility, but it was entirely shadowed and right now Uryuu wanted to be out in the sunlight.

He gave up searching for a good spot, and simply settled down on the grass next to the koi pond before his limbs gave out on him. The hospital yukata kept the grass from being prickly, the sun was pleasingly warm, and the only thing he could hear was the gentle rustle of tree leaves and the sound of moving water.

Uryuu turned to stare coldly at Ryuuken, at the man who had sired him and given him back his powers and told him cease having any dealings with Shinigami. Who was now standing, stiff and out of place, in this world of Shinigami but yet was still comfortable enough to frown disapprovingly at him. As if everything was his fault. As if he was still, still so wanting, so hopeless, even after all he’d done, all he’d survived.

“I have,” Uryuu said, just as stiff and cold as Ryuuken’s words.

“Good. Then it’s time for us to return to the living world, to your proper place.” Ryuuken spoke confidently, as if taking for granted that Uryuu would agree, would willingly leave with him. “They should have never placed you with Kurosaki Isshin. He’s a brilliant doctor for being an idiot, but he runs a home clinic, not a hospital. Given your condition at the time, and given that the Shinigami apparently decided to abandon you with—”

“Get out,” Uryuu snarled, as he glared up at Ryuuken. How dare he. How /dare/ he? “Get. Out.”

Ryuuken blinked, startled and wary and still so heartbreakingly frigid that Uryuu wondered how the man’s reiatsu still felt alive. Even Rukia’s reiatsu was warmer, filled with ice and snow and yet so much /joy/ at his living that it /hurt/ because /what was he to her/.

“Uryuu..?”

“I won’t have you just… just coming in here and belittling those who kept me alive!” Uryuu clenched his hands, trying to stop the trembling from betraying him. “Would you have done any better? Or would you have ignored me, left me to rot in my own inner world because of your goddamn /pride/ and /unwillingness/ to deal with Shinigami?”

“Quincy don’t have inner worlds,” Ryuuken stated firmly, implacably, his eyes narrowed and his body stiff. “And as the director of the hospital I have many duties that need to be seen to day to day. It is also not my place to try to do everything; that is why I have other doctors and nurses on staff, to take care of all the things I cannot.”

Uryuu slumped back into his pile of pillows and gave a hollow, brittle laugh. His father was so /blind/. Had he really once looked up to this man? This empty shell of a person who stood and spoke of duty and saving the living and /ignored the changes in his own son/. Had he really wanted to /prove Ryuuken wrong?/

Orange-striped hair fell across his face. He didn’t bother to sweep it aside. Stared up at the man through two-toned hair and let his laughter die a broken death. “That’s where you’re wrong. I’m not a Quincy. Or a Shinigami. I don’t know what I am, but I’m /something/ and that /something/ is no longer human. Could your nurses even see me, Ryuuken?”

Ryuuken’s silence would have hurt at one point, would have made Uryuu turn away and reassess his approach, but right now… Right now he had never wanted to see the man who had sired him dead more than he did in that instant. His silent, empty mind echoed with a fury that couldn’t quite touch the core of his soul, but still blazed through his body and made his clenched fingers tremble with restrained emotion.

“I doubt they could,” Uryuu spoke, voice cutting and teeth bared in an unnatural grin. “Urahara pulled a trick when we left, turned us humans into reishi constructs. And then, while in that state, I merged with a Shinigami soul. With /Ichigo’s/ soul. Somehow I doubt they wanted to take their chances on turning my /barely living body/ physical again.”

Ryuuken’s breath caught in his throat, and once upon a time Uryuu would have pounced upon that sign of weakness, on that shred of /possibly he cares/, but that was a long time ago and now all he felt was that trembling rage and empty fury that drove him to his limits.

“I’m not a Quincy anymore,” Uryuu told Ryuuken coldly, ignoring the way the words tried to catch in his throat. “I’m not a Quincy, and I’m not a human, so I guess I’m not an Ishida anymore. Go away, Ryuuken. Go back to your hospital, to your /living humans/. I may not belong with the Shinigami, but I certainly don’t belong in your narrow little world anymore.”

With that, he turned away, stared out the window, ignored the man who had sired him. Fought to keep himself from tensing up as Ryuuken’s expression, reflected in the glass, grew stormy, and the man stalked closer. He was essentially at the other’s mercy, too weak to rise, too weak to fight… where were his watchers? Would they leave him to the non-existent mercy of his father, or…

“I think that’s enough,” Kurosaki Isshin’s firm voice broke the silence, as the ex-Shinigami appeared next to Ryuuken and held him back. “You can talk with him later, Ryuuken. Let’s just… go back home, okay?”

Uryuu breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed behind the two, leaving him alone with his thoughts. With his memories. With the silence.

He had no energy to wonder at that. His body was wracked with chills and burning up. Keeping down food or drink was a chore, and reality… made no sense. Beasts loomed across his vision, howling at his weakness, calling him a failure, taunting him for his errors. And no matter what he tried to say, no matter how he tried to growl back, to stand his ground and deny them, their words just cut through his weak protests and drowned him out.

Uryuu’s dreams, too, were rife with nightmares and terrors, of blood and sand and the silent /plink-plink/ of stone against stone. Ulquiorra’s empty gaze followed him everywhere, neither judging nor condemning but all the worse for that lack. Inoue’s shattered gaze, tears streaking her cheeks, before her expression turned furious and she turned her powers against him, erasing him from existence in favor of Ichigo being returned. All things that forced him awake despite his desperate need to sleep. Nothing brought relief except for retreating into his mindscape to huddle next to Ichigo’s sleeping body, listening to his friend’s heartbeat and disassociating himself with his body.

But even that wasn’t a true reprieve, because one or another reiatsu would constantly draw him back, denying him his peace and forcing him back into his fever-wracked body. Uryuu had attempted to fight it at first, lashing out with his pitiful reserves and clinging tight to Ichigo in denial, but he had constantly been gently overpowered and pulled free. Now, he just accepted it with grim resignation, hating that they couldn’t just /leave him be/ but knowing there was nothing he could do about it.

There seemed no end to the cycle, to the terror and pain, until one day he woke from another nightmare with a terrified gasp and stared with sightless eyes at the white-white ceiling. Still caught in the traces of sleep, of Ulquiorra’s taunting gaze and Inoue’s accusations and the pristine white of Las Noches, Uryuu whined and tried to drag his heavy body upright, only to find a hand pressing him back into the bed.

“Please, Ishida-san, please, you’re safe, it’s over, you’re safe, you’re safe,” a gentle voice told him, even as ice cold (and yet so /warm/) reiatsu wrapped more firmly around him. He couldn’t help but relax into the familiar power, all the fight draining from him and leaving his head mostly clear for the first time in what felt like forever.

Even so, it took him a moment to place the power, and Uryuu had to dredge his memory in order to attach a name to the person sitting at his bedside. When he finally did, he opened his mouth and spoke in a disturbingly weak voice, “Kuchiki..?”

Relief flashed through her eyes, and she leaned forward eagerly even as joy flashed through her reiatsu. “You recognize me?”

Uryuu coughed briefly, was relieved when she hastily helped him sit up a bit and allowed him to sip from a cup of water, and said with as much energy as he could the moment his throat didn’t feel like sandpaper, “Idiot Shinigami we charged into Seireitei to save.”

“Oh thank the kami, you /do/!” Kuchiki exclaimed. She tugged a few pillows over and leaned him back, so that Uryuu was no longer laying flat but wasn’t reliant on her to hold him upright. “We were all so worried about you!”

“What happened..?”

Kuchiki frowned, hesitated a moment, then sighed and slumped slightly in her seat. “You’ll find out eventually, anyway.”

“Kuchiki.”

“It’s not like I enjoy remembering this!” she growled back at him, then shook her head. “According to what I’ve been told, Inoue-san and Unohana-taicho together could only just put you back together. You nearly destroyed your very /soul/ with whatever you did at the last, Ishida! You had so little reiatsu that Unohana-taicho was afraid you’d just cease to be, and so many wounds that Inoue-san could barely handle all of them.”

Uryuu remained silent, listening in blank shock as Kuchiki told him about how he had been stabilized then brought back to the Human World. How everyone thought that would be for the best, since he had never shown any enjoyment of the presence of Shinigami. How Kurosaki-sensei had fought with Ishida-sensei about where he would recuperate, with Ichigo’s father winning despite the seriousness of his case. That had been where he had woken that first time, in the Kurosaki Clinic, and where he had made his situation worse by crawling into the shower without someone else around.

Apparently, he had been in the shower for well over an hour before someone realized, having been the middle of the night when he woke up and with Kurosaki-sensei still trying to recover himself from the time in the Dangai. No one had expected him to wake up properly for days, even Unohana-taicho, so he hadn’t been monitored quite as closely as they otherwise would have.

For a healthy person, it wouldn’t have been too terrible a thing, or even if he had only suffered the physical wounds. But he was suffering from depleted reiatsu and a body on the verge of collapse, so his time under the cold water had led to pneumonia. He’d been put under watch after that stunt, and moved back to Seireitei where everyone joined a rotation to keep constant watch over him.

Uryuu turned his gaze back up to the white-white ceiling and considered everything he had been told. It was… almost too much to take in. How close he’d come to death. With a sigh he closed his eyes and slumped further into the pillows at his back, starting to turn his attention inward only to be stopped by Kuchiki’s ice-like reiatsu tugging him firmly back into the outer world.

“Don’t do that,” she told him firmly. “You have no idea how dangerous that is when you’re in this state. You risk completely losing your connection to the outside world when you’re as sick as this.”

He frowned in confusion, tilting his head to look at her, and asked, “But… why?”

Kuchiki sighed again and shook her head slightly, “I’m not a healer, so I don’t know /all/ the details about it, but when you retreat to your inner world you focus all your reiryoku inside yourself and leave only a small link with your body. When you’re sick, your reiryoku fluctuates in strength, and during the low points it’s possible for that link to snap, leaving you trapped inside.”

“But… I remember going within,” he said, wanting to know /why/ they would have even allowed it if it was so dangerous.

“We couldn’t stop you,” Kuchiki admitted with an pained tone. “If we tried, you just… hurt yourself more struggling against us. So Unohana-taicho told us to allow it if you weren’t coherent, that she would draw you back out if you lost yourself.”

Uryuu looked away. Let the silence settle across them again. What could he say? That he hadn’t meant to?

Even Inoue’s healing hadn’t managed to fix everything, Uryuu contemplated, as he carefully touched one new ridge of scar tissue that slid down his chest and across his stomach. Perhaps there had been too much damage? But… he’d seen her repair things that others would consider impossible.

Unwilling to consider exactly how close he had come to death, Uryuu carefully sat up and swung his legs over the bed he had been settled into. He didn’t recognize the room he was in, which was both a relief and a worry, because it meant he wasn’t in Ryuuken’s hands, but it also meant he didn’t know /who/ had been caring for him. He slowly stood up, one hand gripping the edge of the bed to give him some stability, and then looked around again.

A door a short distance away gave him some hope of a bathroom, and Uryuu started to make his slow way across the room towards it. His legs shook under him, and he had to continue to grab at things in his path in order to stay upright, but he refused to wait for help.

No, not when he had been an invalid for… however long. He didn’t need help.

He didn’t.

His luck proved good, and the door did indeed lead to a small, western style bathroom with a large tub and shower combination at the very back.

Using the sink to support him, Uryuu turned the shower on and barely waited for it to warm up, before he had pulled the sleep pants off and stumbled over the edge of the tub and under the stream of water. Panting at the effort he had expended so far, Uryuu sank into the bottom of the tub, just letting the water rush over him, and huddled into a ball.

There was a numbness in his soul, a weariness that went deeper than his bones and /ached/ in a way that he had never experienced. This wasn’t the feeling of burning his powers out. No, this felt like hunger but /more/, as if he was starving despite the vague memories he had of being fed. And his visible ribs bore that idea out, made Uryuu run trembling fingers over the bones visible down his side.

The warm, almost scalding, water poured across his body, doing little to make him feel better despite warming his flesh. He didn’t know if he would ever feel better, ever feel like the (foolish, prideful, /silly/) boy who had rushed into Hueco Mundo to help a friend and stick one to the Shinigami. Didn’t know if he ever /wanted/ to feel like that again.

(Look where it got him. Half-starved and mostly-dead, down his only true friend and likely hated by the others.)

His friend… /Ichigo!/

Frantic, Uryuu reached within himself, pushing himself through his exhaustion and numbness to reach for that mindscape that Zangetsu had built for them.

“Ichigo!” Uryuu cried in mixed panic and relief, as the gleaming tower room materialized around him and he spotted the teen. He scrambled over to Ichigo’s side, pride tossed aside as he clung to the limp body and desperately attempted to figure out what was wrong with the other.

“No, no, no… I can’t… I can’t lose you. Please, Ichigo… Ichigo, please, wake up!”

He would break. He would /shatter/. He /knew it/. If Ichigo was truly gone, Uryuu didn’t know if he could handle it. Not so soon after everything had happened to him, to /them/, not after working together the way they had!

Ichigo groaned, one hand twitching and attempting to weakly shove him back. Uryuu sat back on his heels in relief, though didn’t release the hold he had on Ichigo’s left shoulder. Ichigo was still with him. Ichigo was going to be /fine/.

Finally snapped from his fixation on his friend, Uryuu scanned the rest of the room they were in, spotting Zangetsu crumpled to one side, and Shiro just beyond the other spirit.

Uryuu’s legs gave way and he sat down hard, slumping forward across Ichigo’s chest and resting his forehead on the other’s chest, feeling comforted by the slight rise and fall that he could now feel. It was going to be alright. They were all fine. They’d beaten Aizen and /survived/, somehow.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, feeling the gentle movement of Ichigo’s chest and listening to the other’s steady heartbeat. And perhaps that was a strange thing, a spirit having breath and heartbeat, but Uryuu drew comfort from those blessedly /normal/ things and so didn’t question. In fact, he was lulled into a half-trance of his own, simply resting and drawing comfort from Ichigo.

A jolt went through him, and Uryuu whined in his throat. Something was happening to his body, but he /didn’t want to leave/, but if he didn’t… if he didn’t, who knew what could happen? Reluctantly, he allowed his focus to slip free of the mindscape, rousing himself to the real world. The first thing that registered was how /cold/ he was, his skin like ice and his body well past the point of shivering.

(*Oh,*) he thought distantly, (*I was in the shower…*)

The second was the sound of cursing and the feel of terrified reiatsu coiled tight about his body. Something was being roughly dragged across his body, chaffing at his body and rousing pain in his numbed limbs.

Uryuu’s head lolled slightly to the side, and he cracked his eyes open, trying to put together what was going on. But his head was stuffed full of cotton batting again, and while he could connect that he /had/ been in the shower, and that was likely the reason the other person was fussing and terrified, he /couldn’t understand them/. Their voice sounded like it was coming from a down a long hallway, and Uryuu just… couldn’t dredge up the energy to focus.

Instead, he decided to just give up and let the other continue with whatever they were doing. Certainly, the reiatsu he could sense had no malice in it, and some part of him trusted the presence.

“Where’s all that vaunted power now?” Ichigo asked, as he darted after Aizen, forcing his sword back into a bow briefly so Uryuu could aim and fire another Getsuga Tenshou straight into the monster’s torso.

“I will admit to some surprise,” Aizen said, as he struck again, sword singing as it clove the air. “You work so well together, one might even think you had hope to defeat me!”

“We will defeat you!” Ichigo roared back, as he lashed out with his free hand and grabbed Aizen’s sword, a trickle of blood running down his palm from the edge. He sneered in the man’s face, at Aizen’s dumbfounded expression, and thrust forward with his sword.

They danced across the sky, cutting and striking at each other. Uryuu lurked in the background, manipulating their reiatsu to resist Aizen’s blows, to force the other to constantly exert more and more effort. And whenever they had a moment, Ichigo forced his sword into a bow, and Uryuu shot a black arrow at Aizen.

It was wearing on the man, they could tell. Their tag-teaming was coming smoother, with Zangetsu having to step in less and less as they continued to fight. The Getsuga arrows were everything they had hoped — Aizen, in his hubris, had allowed the first to land, and blood still marred his right shoulder, even though the wound had long closed.

(*The Ginto,*) Uryuu murmured, as he hardened their reiatsu to resist another of Aizen’s strikes.

Ichigo grunted in acknowledgment, and reached back with his left hand to pull one of the tubes free of Uryuu’s belt. He didn’t do anything with it, not yet, merely held it ready as he felt Uryuu feeding a trickle of their power into it in preparation for its use.

“Your foolish defiance will end here!” Aizen proclaimed, as he retreated momentarily and raised a hand to the sky. “All your strength is worthless against kidou!

“Seeping crest of turbidity. Arrogant vessel of lunacy! Boil forth and deny!”

Ichigo grit his teeth, as he gave way before Uryuu’s prompting. The Ginto erupted into black light in their hand, and he felt muscles straining as Uryuu pulled his bow to a full draw.

“Grow numb and flicker! Disrupt sleep! Crawling queen of iron! Eternally self-destructing doll of mud!”

The Ginto-empowered Getsuga Tenshou arrow lanced forth from their bow, leaving a slash of pitch black in its wake.

“Unite! Repulse!”

Aizen’s eyes widened in shock, as the arrow pierced his torso. Blood dribbled down the corner of his mouth. The power gathered around his hand flickered, wavered, as the man choked out the last of the incantation, “F-fill with s-soil an-and know your own powerl-lessn-ness! H-hado nin-nety, K-kurohi-hitsugi!”

“Shit!” Ichigo shouted, as huge black boxes with leaning spears atop them began to multiply around them. He remembered when Komamura had been hit with a version of this, and how Aizen had said it was barely a third of its strength without the incantation.

Frantic, he glanced around, looking for an escape and finding none.

(*Ichigo!*) Uryuu’s sharp voice cut through his panic, even as Ichigo felt his left hand going for one of the remaining Ginto. It snapped to life as Uryuu forced it open, shedding bright green light over the darkening world. (*Ginto sever the bonds of reiatsu!*)

“Right!” Ichigo slung the bow over his back as if it was his sword, and switched the Ginto to his right hand. They had no time for finesse, not when the space remaining around them was growing smaller with every second. With a shout, he poured everything he had into striking out, cutting through walls and severing spears as quickly as they appeared.

Sweat dripped down his forehead. The Ginto was dragging through the kidou, shattering pieces of it haphazardly, and he could feel the weight of power pressing in on them, fluctuating constantly.

Finally, with a shout that Uryuu echoed, the two of them pulsed their reiatsu as high as possible, making the Ginto flare nearly white with power as the kidou shattered into a million fragments around them, exploding outwards in a rush of power and unchained destruction.

Ichigo bit back a cry of pain, as shards dug into their shared body, gouging wounds that they couldn’t defend against. So much of their power had been directed towards the purpose of escape, of destroying the kidou they were trapped within, that they had nothing left to defend with.

They stayed on their feet through force of will alone, and Uryuu clumsily wove the ransoutengai over their entire body, supporting it with puppetry. Blood dripped into their eyes from a gouge across their forehead, and Ichigo clumsily wiped it away, squinting through the pain and dispersing fragments of reishi to find Aizen. Even as damaged as they were, they *couldn’t* give up, not when they had come this far, fought him so well, *wounded him* the way they had.

(*Oh.*) Uryuu said, as they finally spotted their enemy, a rush of relief flooding them at the sight.

Aizen was on his knees, wounded gravely by both the ginto skewered through his chest and the shards of exploding kidou, and Urahara, his face set in a snarl of concentration, was applying… something… to the traitor. The more Urahara worked, the less inhuman Aizen looked, until he looked no different from the smug bastard that had taunted them so long ago, as he left Soul Society through a negacion.

They were both viciously pleased to note that the ginto remained even through the change, the lingering black reiatsu that clung to it lashing out any time Urahara attempted to pull it free, until the shopkeeper finally gave up and just let it be.

But finding that their battle was over, the fight won and the monster defeated — if not killed, but perhaps that would come later, and they both hoped they were invited to the execution — their energy flagged. Adrenaline started to flush from their system, and the sting of their wounds blossomed into sheer *agony* as the world dimmed and flickered around them.

Ichigo groaned softly, as Uryuu allowed their body to settle onto the broken ground. He just… wanted to sleep. That sounded like a wonderful plan.

“Ishida..? Damn!” Urahara’s voice broke through the gathering fog in their mind, and Ichigo forced their head up slightly to squint in Urahara’s direction. The panic in the man’s voice was… concerning. But… he could deal with it later. Apologize for failing. For falling, on that rooftop in Hueco Mundo.

“Hold on, kid. Don’t die on me now, damnit!” Urahara snarled.

A rush of healing kidou rippled through their body, and Ichigo sighed at the relief it brought. As the pain eased off a bit, he felt the call of sleep rising up, until it was all he could do to cling to consciousness.

“Shit, just hold on. I’m going to get Inoue.”

Inoue? But… she was in Hueco Mundo still. Wasn’t she?

He just… wanted to sleep.

Uryuu slipped away. The ransoutengai faltered. Failed. Leaving Ichigo to slump over on the broken ground. It was… uncomfortable. But he was just… so tired.

He closed his eyes.

||||

“*… I reject!*”

||||

Uryuu swam to consciousness, feeling worse than the time his father had pushed him to his limit, and then *beyond it*, in order to reawaken his powers. His entire body ached, and he felt too tired to even force his eyes open.

But… the longer he rested, the better he felt, though nothing seemed to touch on that bone-deep weariness at his core. It made him just want to go back to sleep, to sleep and sleep until nothing hurt and he could just pretend that this was just a figment of his imagination.

The ground was uncomfortable under his body, and Uryuu tried to gather up the will to move, knowing that he’d regret not doing so if he fell back asleep at this point.

“Don’t you dare move!” Inoue’s voice cut through his thoughts, deflating what little will he had gathered. She sounded… worried. Terrified and barely holding back tears. “Don’t you *dare move!* I almost… I almost… NO! *I refuse to lose you too!*”

At her panicked declaration, Uryuu finally managed to force his eyes open, and shifted his head until he could see Inoue through the glowing golden dome that she had erected over him. Her palms were pressed tight against it, tear tracks stark upon her pale cheeks and her eyes red from crying.

“Inoue..?” Uryuu forced out, as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. He was just tired, just needed sleep… wasn’t he?

“Don’t you ‘Inoue’ me!” she practically yelled at him, her voice breaking halfway through as she choked on a sob. “When I arrived, you were almost *dead!* *I almost couldn’t heal you!* You… you *idiot!* If Kuchiki-sama hadn’t agreed, and wasn’t so fast, *I wouldn’t have made it!*”

At the Captain’s name, Uryuu shifted his head slightly, trying to spot the man. He wouldn’t have thought that Kuchiki Byakuya would agree to ferry anyone anywhere, no matter the emergency, but if Inoue was speaking truthfully…

He spotted the Captain finally, sitting on a piece of ground that had been thrust upwards during the combat. The man looked worse for wear, missing his haori and nearly all of his left sleeve, while the rest of his shihakushou was torn and tattered. Blood dripped from open wounds, already drying in place if the slight expression of distaste on Kuchiki’s face was an indication. Urahara was moving around the other Captain, his hands glowing green with healing kidou, though he kept glancing over his shoulder and towards Uryuu as he worked.

“Everyone..?” Uryuu managed to force out, wondering what else had happened while he was apparently unconscious.

“They’re fine,” Inoue told him through her tears. “Even… even Tatsuki and Chizuru and /everyone/, even Kurosaki-sensei! So just… just get better!”

Uryuu sighed slightly, allowing his eyes to slip closed once more, and hoped that he wasn’t going to regret falling asleep once more. But even with Inoue’s healing, even with the energy flowing into him, exhaustion was clawing at his mind and dragging him back down into the darkness.

“Answers?”

“Mmmhm,” Urahara hummed, rising and tapping his fan against his chin. He gestured with his free hand, shooing Ichigo and Tsukabishi back into the private spaces of the shoten. “Ishida was the one who killed the Wandenreich. And likely several Shinigami Captains, if my assumptions are correct,” Urahara said, taking a seat at the low table and drumming his fingers against his thigh.

Ichigo frowned and dropped to sit across from Urahara, resting his hands on his knees and leaning forward a bit. “Explain.”

“Those reishi blades he conjured left rather distinctive marks in the floor,” Urahara said. “Even accounting for his temporary lack of control distorting the blade’s shape, the marks are similar enough for me to feel confident in saying that Ishida was their killer.”

“He aimed for the femoral artery when he tried to attack me,” Tsukabishi added while taking a seat and pouring tea for all of them. “The blow was slow and a bit clumsy, but he knew where to strike.”

Urahara grimaced and shot a guilty look at Tsukabishi, which the other man ignored.

Ichigo wanted to protest, but he really couldn’t. He’d seen first-hand the ruthless way Ishida attacked his foes, giving no quarter no matter who he faced. He seen how desperately Ishida fought against Yhwach, despite his own injuries, and Ichigo had assumed…

Well. He’d assumed it meant Ishida was on their side, was fighting against Yhwach, but his conversation with Ishida when the other woke—

(/’You know nothing!’/)

“We need to help him,” Ichigo spoke into the silence that had settled. “He’s terrified and lonely and in pain—”

(/’And every single time I end up right back here!’/)

“That… might not be the best idea, Kurosaki-kun,” Urahara cautioned, fidgeting with his fan. When Ichigo scowled at him, Urahara shook his head. “Please, listen to me. I don’t know how many times he’s repeated this, but evidence points to /far too many/—”

“That just means we shouldn’t leave him alone!”

“—listen to me!” Urahara snapped, pale eyes stony. “Before you continue to lobby for him, /listen to my words/. Ishida Uryuu is like no enemy you’ve ever faced before—” When Ichigo opened his mouth, Urahara glared him to silence. “Yes, an enemy! Because there is no room left in his heart for anything /but/ enemies. /He is a child soldier, Kurosaki-kun/. He has likely known nothing but this repeating cycle for longer than most Shinigami have lived.”

Ichigo stiffened at Urahara’s words, watching the man warily. “He’s not a child, then,” he pointed out, trying to deny Urahara’s brutal words.

(Was there… understanding there, in Urahara’s mannerisms? Had he seen this before… or had he /been/ there before?)

“Nine years,” Urahara said coldly. “Preteen to teen. Never aging enough to drink, much less graduate high school. To reach the level of skill and proficiency he displayed during the fight with Yhwach, even while grievously injured, takes time. Time to condition the body and to form the correct instincts. And the physical body has more effect on how you think and perceive than you likely believe.” Urahara tapped his fan against the table, expression dark. “I doubt he’s had a social life in decades. I doubt he’s had a friend in longer.”

“Then I’ll just have to /show him/,” Ichigo said stubbornly. “I’m not abandoning him, Urahara. He helped us there at the end—”

“And if he decides it’s easier to kill you and move on?” Urahara asked ruthlessly. “People like him are driven, Kurosaki-kun, fixated on their goals beyond all else. They /have/ nothing else. And it’s not so simple as ‘showing him’ what he’s missing; in his mind, he’s /not/ missing anything.”

“He won’t.” Ichigo tilted his chin up, meeting Urahara’s gaze and refusing to look away. “In that whole confrontation, he never made a truly threatening gesture towards me.”

Urahara sighed and tugged at the brim of his hat, head tilting to the side and gaze drifting away. “Oh your head be it,” Urahara murmured.

“I’ll be fine, Hat’n’Clogs,” Ichigo reassured him, shuffling around the table a bit closer to Urahara. He rose up on his knees and reached out with one (far too tiny) hand and rested it on Urahara’s wrist.

(He was so tiny. So small. How must Ishida feel, constantly thrown back through time to this small, helpless body?)

(How must he feel, to constantly suffer the pain Ichigo had awoken to, before Urahara had found a way to temporarily sooth it?)

“At least keep in mind my warnings,” Urahara said in resignation, moving his hand to take Ichigo’s in a gentle grip. “Even if I’m wrong, /you/ are correct about one thing at least. He’s terrified and in pain, and people in that position do not act in a manner we perceive as rational. Don’t make me bury you, Kurosaki-kun.”

Ichigo examined Urahara for a moment, taking in the hidden worry and dismay, then nodded solemnly. “I understand. I’ll be careful.”

“Thank you.”

(He’d give Ishida some space, but… he wasn’t going to allow the other to suffer any longer.)

(They’d figure out how to break the loop together.)