Soul Society had been an empty victory. A very empty - very hollow, if you wanted to say it bitterly - victory. He hadn't needed the somehow disappointing look Kon gave him to figure it out, nor the still-empty seat in class when he came back, nor the fact that no one remembered Rukia at all. She might as well has died as far as Karakura knew.

At first, he had tried to be rarely optimistic when the true villains ran off, even though the rest of the realm was grim. He had won Rukia back, and that had been all he had come there for. His battle had been won. There was no point getting any further involved with Soul Society than he had been, no more intertwined in their sorrows than he had ended up being. They had gotten Rukia back, so fuck the rest.

Except then she had wanted to stay, and despite all the prodigious people he had defeated, somehow keeping a smile on his face was the hardest thing in any world. Ungrateful, his mind hissed. Don't let her go as easily as last time.

If you love something, let it go. His dad had said it to a bawling Yuzu one year at the graveyard, when she questioned why he didn't seem sad at all. He had just said that he had let their mother go, and that they'd see her again some day. It had been the smartest thing the man had ever said, and he had been so strongly reminded of the words that the strength came to him and he let her go.

He had gotten too involved. Everything had braided itself too tightly, and as badly as he wanted to blame the Gotei Juusantai and Urahara Kisuke and Shinigami abilities entirely, there was a time for blowing composures later. The cut near his temple throbbed, rhythmically reminding him that there was no turning back, that so long as he fought these Hollow half-breeds, there was no unwinding himself.

How was he supposed to have known that trying to tame his own pesky hollow would somehow result in more business with Soul Society? There wasn't an excuse, though; he had stepped too far and had twisted too violently and now he was trapped in the quick sand. There was still time to walk away, his injuries serenaded. He could still go back to normal.

Besides, they kept going, he could hardly move. There was no will left, except maybe to turn around and walk away, walk home. Crack open a book and start studying for his next English test. His grades had started to falter - what was the point in learning things like arithmetic and grammar and more modern skills for life when the afterlife promised so much more when you were done?

That's not how you work, hissed the adrenaline that was beginning to kick in again. You would never forgive yourself.

With that, he bolted forward and aimed a slash right for the larger Yammi or whatever his name was. The tightly woven braid keeping him and Soul Society together tightened and turned to stone, forever molded into a grim and unsaid allegiance. This was now his battle, too.

He had been so busy worrying about the reason that they were in Hueco Mundo that it wasn't until he was alone in the obnoxiously large castle that it hit him - deserts were supposed to be blisteringly hot. Compared to the statistics he knew by textbook to be true, this was a very, very cold desert.

Reiatsu was everywhere. He wasn't the greatest at sensing it, and nervously he considered that maybe it was because the many foreign pressures were so strong that he could feel it. It was too cold and they might not be strong enough. Why had they split up, again? If someone got in trouble, there was no one to save him or her. This could so easily be the end.

He stopped and closed his eyes, feeling the tiny form of Nell bump into his ankles and begin whining in his hardly intelligible lisp, but tuned it out. A moment of searching among dozens of threads and he found them, the reaitsu of those who mattered thankfully entirely intact - every single one of them.

We will come back here alive to this place!

He continued walking. There was a spirit pressure flitting towards him, and he moved closer to it.

Soldiers. They were soldiers, the good guys. The good guys always won

Aizen must have been hiding all but the tiniest fraction of his spirit force in Soul Society. It seemed obvious now that he would have, but it was too late for that now. He was out of miracles now, there was no one left to save him. They had either suffered the most grim fate or were just barely there.

Despite all he thought he had known, Aizen was smarter. He hadn't planned them coming here, but somehow made it part of his plans, and that coupled with strength and ability that easily topped Zaraki Kenpachi thrice over had made the battle over scarcely before he had begun. This was the first time he had bitten off more than he could chew and still didn't manage to choke it all down.

We are about to head to the battlefield!

The desert was so cold. Or maybe it was just him that was cold. Weakly, his head sunk into the sand now wet with his blood. He could smell it; it was sickening.

Believe our blades will not shatter! Believe our souls will not be cut!

It couldn't end like this. Aizen walked away; he could feel the stifling pressure move away but it still wasn't any easier to breathe. Every exhale tasted so strongly of blood. He tried to roll over only to be met with a splinter of Zangetsu, stabbing into his arm but not poking hard enough to cut. He wondered vaguely if his own sword could cut him.

Even if our steps separate, our iron will remains solid!

Move. Move! MOVE!

His body refused, sinking farther into the gritty sand the more he tried. In front of him, Aizen's footsteps disappeared all but for shallow basins in the loose earth. He could no longer take in any air; where was Zangetsu now? Why wouldn't the blood stop - he could still feel it seeping out of him and into the ground around him, staining it an ugly burgundy. It couldn't end like this.

He shouldn't have ever gotten involved. He should have left it all alone.

Promise!

If he died in Shinigami form, would he still go to Soul Society? Could he still continue to exist? It didn't matter any more. His will was as broken as any promise to Orihime, but at least she'd be safe. Aizen said she'd be safe, and at this point it was easier to believe the enemy than his own failing optimism that maybe he wouldn't die.

Maybe he wouldn't haunt the earth restlessly - that was the new maybe.

We will come back alive to this place!

Sorry Renji… your chants must suck as much as your kidou. He pictured Orihime's face, calling for him, never using his first name because she was too polite. It was fading, or his vision was fading. He hadn't been able to breathe for almost two minutes now and his body twitched weakly in warning.

He had never been more sorry in his life. And then the world ended

Kurosaki Ichigo

July 15, 1990 - October 21, 2006

Ichigo's sisters were bawling. Both of them, even Karin who she had never seen cry in the entire time she had stayed with them, no matter what. It didn't matter, though, they couldn't see her or the other Shinigami who stood stiffly beside him, dealing with grief in his own way.

"It shouldn't have ended," Renji whispered, gruff without even trying. "We should have all come back from that alive. Every single fucking one of us!" A large fist closed, but the redhead didn't lash out and for that Rukia was grateful. There was no need to disrupt the grieving Kurosaki family with a new hole in the nearest tree.

"He died for us," she said after a long while, voice a low whisper that still trembled. A tear had crawled its way down her face.

"He should've been more selfish." She didn't have to look to know that Renji's narrow eyes were shimmering with tears he would never, ever shed.

"That's not how he works," she continued softly. "You know that."

They stood there a while, until Renji looked away from the grave and kicked the firm ground weakly. "He… he died a soldier's death," he said, voice somewhere between a murmur and a whisper. "That's…"

"That's about as good as it gets," she finished, her cheeks stinging and raw feeling. It had been a long time since she had cried like this.

"Rest in peace, you fucker." And with a sniffle on his part, the doors to Soul Society opened and they backed into it.

"Rest in peace, soldier."