A/N: Been a while since I published anything on here. We all have those lows, though, don't we? Anyways. I figured I'd try my hand at a ShiroIchi fic.

Ichigo's family has stayed the same; Masaki is dead, but he has Isshin, Yuzu, and Karin. Shiro- Hichigo Shirosaki, prefers to go by Shiro- has a family now, too: Zangetsu Shirosaki and Shirayuki Shirosaki. For those who don't know, Shirayuki is Rukia's zanpakuto- Sode no Shirayuki. Anything else... you can figure out.

I do NOT own Bleach. If I did, would I be writing FANfition?

Enjoy~ Reviews are much appreciated, thank you~

~Hellcoming

Hellcoming: coming home to Hell... or something very near it.

The road was smooth under the wheels of the bus. That didn't make the ride smooth, though. It was bumpiest ride of his life, the window rattling under his forehead and his shoulder bumping against the side. The condition of the road he was on had nothing to do with this; it was the intended destination. Back to his home town, the place his demons had chased him relentlessly from. There was nothing he'd have loved more than to stay far away from it for the rest of his life, however long it may be.

"Hichigo."

Gentle fingers touched his shoulders and he looked up. His mother was in the seat next to him, long white hair falling over her shoulders; he'd gotten his hair color from her, that much was true.

"It'll be okay, you know."

"It'll be the same," he muttered, looking to the window again. He knew his mother meant well, but in a small town, people never forgot. They'd be preparing for the arrival of the Shirosaki family now, seeing as Zangetsu had gone ahead to start getting the furniture moved into their new house. Since their son had been so uncomfortable with the idea of a return, Shirayuki had stayed behind with him for a couple of days. "The same…"

"Now, stop talking like that, young man. We all know there are nice people there. I know it will be different now."

His expression remained deadpan. "Your outlook on life is so bright it's astonishing." His gaze returned to the window. He heard his mother heave a sigh, but she said nothing more. There was something to be grateful for. From a young age, he'd been diagnosed with spasmodic dysphonia; his voice was nearly constantly distorted. He'd learned not to speak.

Hichigo must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew, those same gentle hands were shaking him and the light outside of the bus window had dimmed significantly. "Honey, we're here," she said softly, leaning over him so she wouldn't disturb the other sleeping passengers. Not that there were many.

"Yeah. Alright." Though he was still half asleep, the white-haired teen found his way to his feet and grabbed the bag on the floor. As he climbed off of the bus behind his mother, he couldn't help but feel a bit of relief. Not only were there very few people around, but he'd also arrived in time for him to make a stop. It was a little trip that he knew he needed, and he needed to do it as quickly as possible. "Hey… Ma…" he said softly, looking off down the sidewalk. She stopped and looked back at him, whether he saw it or not.

"Just be home before too late, okay? I'll tell your father." Turning, Shirayuki folded her hands over her dress. "Tell him whatever you need to. Maybe then you can breathe easily."

Hichigo doubted it, but he started quietly walking, anyways. Even after four years, he could still find his way easily about the town. His feet carried him without any conscious instructions from his brain. The breeze against his paper-white cheeks was cool, not deflected by the dark sunglasses resting on his nose. Maybe it wasn't too wise to be walking around with sunglasses when there were barely any rays to block, but he'd much prefer limited visibility to risking someone seeing his eyes.

He didn't meet anyone on his way- another thing to be grateful for on this absolutely horrible day. But his luck couldn't last forever. Cemeteries were filled with the dead, their cold breath whispering out over the headstones. Dancing shapes…

The grave he was looking for was nearer the middle of the yard. That was all he could remember, though. Moving one hand, he bumped his sunglasses up to read the names, walking slowly. It took a while, but he found the spirit he was looking for.

Renji Abarai.

It had been years since he'd allowed himself to so much as think the name. It caused his breathing to shift, become uneven. The glasses slid off of his nose, held tightly in his hand. "Renji…" he breathed, kneeling down before the grave. "It's Shiro. You remember me…?" He took a breath and looked over the tombstones. The dying sun set the grass aflame. Flames… He closed his eyes slowly; he could see Renji again, hair bright flaming red. His hands tightened in the grass. With that image came more. More that he couldn't handle. Not then and definitely not now. His eyes snapped open, but it was dark now. "I miss you… so much… You shouldn't have left, idiot. I told you not to. Now look what's happened. Look where we are. You never were too bright… Not besides that smile." He reached up, letting his fingers brush over the name etched in stone, the death date. "I want to hate you. For what all of this has put me through. For letting yourself get killed. For… For…"

"Hey!"

His head snapped up at the new voice, the hand that had been against the gravestone scrambling for his glasses. But he couldn't stop the reflex to find who'd called to him, and so his eyes quickly found warm chestnut brown ones. He could see them widen.

"Y-your…" Ichigo Kurosaki stood frozen on the spot. Not for any real reason like meeting a strange man in a cemetery in the middle of the night. The eyes… had surprised him. Bright yellow suns against a night black sky. They were so… unreal. Like something he'd see in a movie. It was an abnormality he'd never seen before, never so much as heard of.

"My what?" The tone to his voice was challenging, suggesting he was tired of hearing the comment he knew was about to come out of this stranger's mouth.

Ichigo quickly composed himself. What the hell was he thinking? If he said anything about the guy's eyes, he'd be just as bad as the people who constantly tortured him because of his hair color. It wasn't a bad thing to be different. He'd just… been caught off-guard. "Jeans are going to get grass stains if you're not careful," he finally replied simply, eyeing the knees of the stark white pants. It had rained earlier, so they were wet but not stained.

Shiro snorted and slid his glasses up onto his nose again. "Yeah." He was sure that had been what the guy had been thinking; note: sarcasm.

"You're… not from around here, are you?" If he'd seen someone like this around, Ichigo was sure he'd have remembered.

Yellow eyes went back to the gravestone at his feet, and he was quiet for a moment. "Not for a long time." He reached out, brushed pale fingers across the curving top of the stone. "I've got to go." Then he turned, stuffing his hands back in his pockets, and made a hasty escape by dodging between graves, careful not to step on any of them.

Ichigo wanted to stop him, to find out more, but he'd only exchanged a few words with the strange, white-haired teenager, so he stayed put. The last thing he wanted to do was spook someone who already seemed so on-edge.

Curiosity was a beast that was hard to contain. Why had the teen been here to begin with? Everyone knew that Ichigo stopped by the graveyard when he could to visit his mother's grave, but at such late hours, he never met anyone. Quietly, he stepped over to the grave that had held those strange eyes and knelt down. The name wasn't hard to read; the stone looked like new. But who was Renji Abarai…?

The curiosity swelled at the new information. Standing, Ichigo finished the walk to his mother's grave. His visit was shorter than it usually was. Normally, Masaki was the only thing on his mind when he came here. But tonight, he had some digging to do before he could think of anything else.

For the first time in a long time, he ran all the way home, shoved his hand palm-first against his father's face to push off the impending attack, and pounded up the stairs before Yuzu could even tell him she'd held his dinner for him. His backpack bounced once against the bed before thudding to the floor, but he didn't bother to kneel and pick it up again. Instead, he threw himself in his chair, caught the desk edge before the momentum could send him rolling into the wall, and opened up his laptop. As it was starting up, he unzipped his jacket and folded it over the back of his chair, watching the screen.

It seemed forever before his desktop wallpaper made an appearance and he could pull up his internet browser. It took just as long to find something related to the name. It wasn't much. Just a suspisciously vague obituary. Small town news apparently wasn't very important. Besides, it had probably just been something natural; cancer or something. He scrolled through a few more pages of results, but found nothing that would help him.

Still, he made a mental note to inquire his father about it the next morning. He'd have done it right then, but he assumed his father had already gone to bed since he had an early shift at the hospital the next morning. He also wrote down the dates on the obituary so that he'd have something to go on, more than just a name.

And then he gave up, his shoulders sagging in defeat, and turned to his homework.

-xXx-

Shiro was fuming by the time he got home. He hadn't planned on facing anyone here yet, not until tomorrow when he forced into school against his will. It was strange that the orange-haired teen in the cemetery hadn't recognized him, though. He stopped in the door, his temper dropping completely. "Why didn't he recognize me…?"

It wasn't that Hichigo was conceited and expected everyone to know him. It was that everyone had known him because he was all over the papers for months. He could see the pictures flare up behind his eyes now; blood leaked in his field of vision and he hissed, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut to clear it away. He tossed the sunglass onto the kitchen counter and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. Sometimes, the urge to simply claw the things out was overwhelming.

"Sweetheart…? Are you okay?" Shirayuki padded over in her slippers, a snow white robe tied tightly around her waist, and reached up to gently close her fingers around her son's wrists, moving his hands from over his eyes. One of her hands moved up to his cheek, trying to soothe him.

"I'm fine, Mom…" His eyes opened, betraying his words as a lie. He knew his mother could see that.

Zangetsu walked into the kitchen behind her. He was still in his scrubs, as he'd been unpacking their things since he'd gotten home from work at the clinic. A quick look was exchanged with his wife. They'd both known that moving back would be incredibly difficult for their son, but they hadn't expected him to be having such a hard time after only arriving. The elder doctor walked over and carefully slid the backpack from his son's shoulder, where it had been flung carelessly. Carefully, he picked the darkly-tinted sunglasses from the counter and slipped them into the side pocket. "I'll show you where your room is and you can get a shower, okay? Some sleep will do you some good." But he knew that sleep tonight was probably going to simply be a desire for Hichigo. Coming back, starting a new school the next day… the teen would be tossing and turning all night; he just knew it.

Shirayuki smiled slightly, stretched up on her toes, and pressed a soft kiss to her son's forehead. "I'll make you some tea, too, okay?" Every time someone in her family was stressed or upset, she made them tea; it was exceedingly calming, both for her because it gave her something to do and for them.

"Alright…" Shiro kissed his mother on the cheek and hugged her tight before he let his father lead him up the stairs. His room was at the far end of the hall, with an adjoining bathroom; he was glad. Maybe now he could suffer his nightmares alone.

One shower and cup of tea later and he was curled up in bed. The blood red letters on the alarm clock across from his face read 11:03. Shiro sighed and nuzzled his nose into the pillow, stark white hair falling over his eyes. His body was tired, but his thoughts were going a mile a minute. If he got any sleep, he'd be one lucky guy; he'd never been a lucky guy.

Renji would tell you that.