Characters: Ryuuken, Uryuu
Summary
: You never knew how to say what you meant when it mattered. Drabble.
Pairings
: None
Warnings/Spoilers
: None
Timeline
: Pre-manga
Word Count
: 300
Disclaimer
: I don't own Bleach.


The child is a small but noticeable weight curled up beside him in the darkness, and Ryuuken sighs slightly as his hand goes to the top of his son's small, soft head, listening to his shallow breaths. Tears have stopped, pulse is a little erratic but mostly back to normal. Uryuu isn't a sound sleeper, hasn't been since he was a baby, but he's calmer now at least. The shaking's stopped, and that's all he asks for.

Fantastic… When I'm a child, my worst fear is that America and Russia will nuke each other and take the rest of us with them, and for Uryuu, it's the thoughts of dead spirits that keeps him up at night.

Ryuuken's not all that sure that it's terribly appropriate to compare Hollows and the Cold War, but whatever.

Even now, it's hard to resist the urge to push him away, to send him back to his own bed and make Uryuu, young and fragile as he is, face his own fears, by himself. He'll have to do this one day; they both will. It's an inevitability.

Eyes cloud before, slightly angry with himself, Ryuuken pushes the cobwebs away roughly and tells himself that there's no harm in this, not for the moment. And there's no use being caught up in memory, either, even if he's drowning in it.

Uryuu's just a child, three years old. He can't reasonably be expected to behave with adult rationality when responding to nightmares and, frankly, sensible fears; if someone sees a Hollow, Ryuuken does expect them to be afraid of it.

Uryuu twists his head slightly, and Ryuuken threads his fingers in his son's black hair.

It won't hurt anything. It won't hurt anything, Ryuuken keeps telling himself, still fighting the urge to push his son away.