This wasn't at all what Uryuu had expected when he was called to the Urahara Shoten. Ordinarily, the shop keep would either have more training in mind or an errand for him to run. The last person he'd thought he'd encounter there was his father.

Ryuuken hated shinigami even more than his son did. Although Urahara was still an exile, and technically no longer under the jurisdiction of the Gotei 13, he was still a shinigami in body. That was enough for his father to dislike the man. Kisuke's demented personality only added to rationalization to the elder Ishida's distaste.

Uryuu couldn't blame him much for that, either. There were times he wanted nothing more to smack the eclectic man upside his shaggy head.

So why, then, was Uryuu staring at his ordinarily composed father hanging off of Reaper In Question's shoulder, making a pathetic attempt to glare at his son?

Scowling, the youth adjusted his glasses. "Urahara-san, what's…?"

Kisuke smiled infuriatingly and adjusted the elder Quincy's arm a little more securely over his shoulders. "I do believe your father could use a little assistance home, Ishida-san."

Uryuu could only stare as his father shoved himself off of the shop keep's shoulder, only to stagger off to the side and fall against the wall. If walls could crumble from a glare, the one Ryuuken was currently leaning against would.

"Urahara-san…" Uryuu shook his head in a futile attempt to steady his mental balance. "How did this happen?"

Urahara's smile hid behind the suddenly manifested fan. "Ah~! That is indeed a good question, Ishida-san~!"

Uryuu repressed a groan. "Why can't you just tell me?"

The folded paper stilled, as amused olive eyes gazed innocently from the shelter of the absurd green striped hat. "Where would the fun in that be?"

This would be one of those times violence was difficult to repress. Instead, Uryuu took a deep, long suffering breath and cautiously approached his father. "Ryuuken, let's get you home."

Before either one of us is embarrassed any further.

"S…son." Ryuuken fixed a slightly glazed glare on the teen. "Why don't you call me father?"

Another sigh escaped. "I have my reasons." Steeling himself against the awkward feeling, he tucked himself under his elder's arm and started steering him out of the shop. A wince flickered over his features as the unmistakable scent of whisky mixed with something he couldn't quite place washed over him.

What the hell did they do?

As they left, a cheerful voice called, "Be safe, Ishida-san~!"

Uryuu didn't bother turning his head to see which of them the demented shinigami was addressing.

"Uraharararara-" Ryuuken cut himself off abruptly and watched a little white butterfly float by. "-san, has some…interesting products."

"You're drunk, Ryuuken."

"Pff." The silver haired man's free hand fumbled in his jacket pocket, no doubt for a pack of cigarettes. "I do not get drunk, Uryuu. What sort of example would I be setting?"

His snort and roll of the eyes was kept at bay with a dry glare. "I don't think I'll dignify that with a response."

A low sound issued from the taller man. A moment later, Uryuu recognized it as one of his father's extremely rare chuckles.

"Too late. You already did."

Uryuu tilted his face up to a sky stroked by wispy white in entreaty. "Why me?"

For a moment, there was silence as they slowly made their way down the street, before the elder replied, "Why not you?"

Sapphire eyes met the steely blue of his father's in a sidewise glare. "That was rhetorical."

"Why bother asking then?"

"Because…ah…" Damnit, the man had him there.

"See?" A touch of cocky drunken pride entered the low voice. "Your father's pretty sharp."

"You're sounding like Kurosaki's father."

"WHAT!" Their stop was just a touch too sudden. Ryuuken pitched forward, barely saved from falling over completely by a quick duck and grab around the ribs by his son. "D…don'…."

Uryuu looked up sharply at the sudden roll of tension he felt in his father's torso. "Ryuuken, you're not…"

Anyone who's listening, please…not in the middle of the stree-…

Nope. Uryuu wasn't holding on through that.

As soon as the support his son's arms retreated, Ryuuken went down on hands and knees. The Quincy's lunch made a second appearance all over the cement just in front of his hands.

It took everything Uryuu had to staunch his own nausea. Gently, tough very awkwardly, he patted his father's heaving back.

Eventually, the elder sat back on his heels and pushed his glasses back into place. Again, he fished for a cigarette with one hand as the other slipped across his mouth.

Shaking his head, Uryuu pulled a stick of gum from his own pocket and held it out to the elder. "Here. Take it. I'm not helping you if you don't do something about your breath."

Liquor is bad enough. I'm not tolerating vomit.

Ryuuken made a grab for the foil-wrapped candy, missed and made another grab only to miss again. Finally, on the third try, he almost got it.

"Oh, for…" Uryuu took his father's flailing hand and placed the stick of gum in the palm.

When Ryuuken simply popped it into his mouth, still wrapped, Uryuu couldn't resist the face palm.

This was going to be a long night.

I can't see Ryuuken willingly getting drunk post-Uryuu, so of course, Kisuke had to be involved. This would be why he avoids the Urahara Shoten as much as humanly possible.

Dedicated to Muku!