Hey, so I got this idea from this guy's story, and I thought it would be interesting to try and write what happens if Toushirou was raised by Kenpachi, along with Yachiru.

SPECIAL THANKS to Mr. Hourglass -this idea is HIS, people. Give credit where it deserves.

Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Tite Kubo.

Chapter 1: The Giant and The Pink Blob

The boy perched atop the tree, gazing at the bubbling fight with vague interest. A mild breeze from the south ruffled his snow-white hair. A small, slightly-bloodstained, light-green yukata hung over his slim frame and a pair of worn straw sandals protected his feet from the rough grounds of Kusajishi. Or was it Zaraki? He was in the edges of either one –probably Kusajishi. No one wore sandals in Kusajishi -except the boy. He made it himself. He broke off a twig and meticulously tore it apart strip by strip as the men below charged at each other, weapons in plain sight. Five minutes into the clash, one of the men swore at the wooden spear that protruded just inches from his heart. Stupidly, he pulled it out, spraying the glade with a clear mist of crimson blood. A sizeable amount of the scarlet liquid splattered the boy, but he made no move to wipe them off. It happened to him often enough to know that there would be more to come.

He felt his stomach growl, and stood from his branch. With nary a sound, he scaled around the trunk, jumped from behind the tree and landed on the beaten trail littered with foliage out of the fighters' sight. He dashed to his left, running a few hundred metres until he came upon a miniature clearing solely occupied by a thriving watermelon patch. This precious patch of fertile land was the reason he had been keeping an eye on the thugs; one of them might actually come out alive and stumble onto his only source of food –or worse, the entire fight might somehow crash through the trees and ruin the fruits. He picked a small one, plonked it in a ragged sack he kept hidden in the trunk of a tree, and hauled it over his shoulder. The boy made his way back to the brawl –only five of the original thirteen men were left. The bodies of dead men were scattered on the blood-soaked earth.

The boy sneaked back to the glade, scrambled up the tree, and continued hiding himself behind a thin veil of pine needles. He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a small, sheathed knife. He had pilfered it from an unsuspecting brute after watching him survive a particularly vicious free-for-all. He drew the serrated knife from its leather sheathe and expertly sliced the watermelon into pieces small enough for him to eat. He cleaned the juice from the knife using the hem of his yukata and stowed it away. Gingerly picking up a slice of his food, he monitored the struggle still going on between four men –the fifth one had dropped out of the scrap because of the spear sticking out of his torso (it might have been the same spear to have taken out the other man during the start of the fight). Sinking his teeth into the watermelon, he studied the remaining combatants. One had a badly-scratched face, his right eye having been torn out of its socket at the beginning of the fight. The second man only had one arm, but fighting extremely well with his remaining limb–oh, he had just killed one of the men by slitting his throat. The last man was the worst of the three. His ear looked like it got bitten off, and a large portion of his upper body was covered in deep gouges and cuts; it was a miracle his intestines were not spilling out yet. He had a large dagger –almost like a short sword –jutting from his back, dangerously close to the spinal column. He was in danger of losing too much blood.

The boy took another bite.

The one-armed man ruthlessly beheaded the one in danger of losing blood, and faced his remaining enemy. He waved his sword threateningly.

The boy leaned forward. He could sense these two were veterans; people who survived in the harsher districts of Rukongai for years. These were the most dangerous kinds of souls. They were tough, cruel, and will do anything and everything to stay alive. They were survivors.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

The boy blinked, then doubled over, dropping his half-eaten slice. His breath hitched. He couldn't breathe. His insides were constricting, and dark spots were moving across his vision. Sweat beaded his forehead. He didn't know that the two fighters, in the silence of the glade, had heard the watermelon drop from the tree.

"Hey, you!"

The boy didn't reply. His head was pounding. He wanted to throw up everything he had eaten in the last week, but his pride and current situation would not let him do this simple act. The men were not helping. They had teamed up and tried to shake the tree, attempting to capture the boy who might possibly own something of value if he can afford to possess something as trivial as watermelon.

The boy pressed a hand to his temple. The throbbing was getting worse. He closed his eyes and concentrated. He felt something deep within him stir. It curled, shaking itself awake after years of slumber. It sparked briefly, before spreading icy warmth throughout the boy's body. This cool wave of something washed away the pain, leaving behind a refreshing sensation –much like the rush he feels during the first snowfall of winter. He sat up, slowing his breathing. He fixed his balance, and went back to watching the two men try and shake him from the tree. He wondered what the sudden agony was all about. Was the watermelon poisoned?

"This way, Ken-chan! This way! The noise is this way!"

The two men started, then turned. The boy looked up. A tall man of lean muscles emerged from the trees, radiating the dangerous aura that was the source of the boy's former discomfort. Hanging on his shoulder was a pink blur that looked quite familiar to the boy. Pink was a very unusual colour in Kusajishi. Usually, it was dark green, brown, or red. Mostly red. Where had he seen that before?

The man scanned the sight before him. Two bloody people and a boy sitting on a tree branch. The men were nothing unusual. But the boy was a strange sight. There weren't many children in the higher districts who were actually alive. His white hair and teal eyes were as bizarre as his own charge's pink hair. He looked like he wasn't afraid of the men. In fact, he seemed almost amused.

The pink blob chirped, "Hey! I know you!"

The boy switched his gaze onto the miniature pink-haired girl on the big man's shoulder. She really does look very familiar.

"Oh! Are those meanies bothering you?"

Then it clicked. The girl was one of the only two children he had met in Kusajishi. The other kid –a boy with raven eyes who had gone by the name of Hayate–had been killed at least two days after he met him. His gory remains had been strewn across a ring of freshly-slaughtered bodies. The boy was lucky to have made it out of that particular battlefield alive.

"You know him, Yachiru?"

"Yep! We met before. He's the only one as small as me. He gave me yummy red stuff."

"Red stuff?" The big man was instantly suspicious. "Red stuff" was in great abundance in the Kusajishi district.

"Watermelon," the boy muttered. "She looked hungry."

"Yeah! He made the sounds from my tummy go away."

"He fed you."

"Yes."

His eyes softened. Not many people would take the time to feed a hungry girl when they themselves were struggling to survive in the harsh environment. The man glared at the two warriors. "And what do you think you're doing?"

One-arm snarled, "What's it to you?"

"You trying to rob the kid?"

"None of your business," One-eye said. He turned back to the tree. "Come down, you brat."

The boy rolled his eyes.

"Yaahhh!" A burly thug crashed through the trees, holding a long katana in one hand and a knife in the other. "Give –"

"I have nothing." One-eye pointed at the boy. "He has watermelon."

The burly thug snorted, his pig-like nostrils flaring. "What use is that? I want water." He narrowed his eyes. "But if you can afford to have watermelon..." He dropped the chipped weapons and started shaking the tree.

Big mistake.

The big man lunged forward and slashed vertically at the thug with his own sword, effectively cutting him in half. Blood and gore splattered everyone's clothing. The two men recoiled. The boy flinched slightly. The man must have had immense strength to be able to cut a thickset man in two.

"Go, Kenny!" the girl cheered.

The two men swore, then glared at their now-common enemy.

"You don't hurt this boy," he clarified.

One-arm swore, raised his sword, and charged at the man. One-eye followed suit. The man held out his jagged katana and easily dispatched the two veterans with one sweep of his weapon.

"Idiots," the man grumbled. He nonchalantly scratched his scar.

The boy bit his lip. This man was dangerous. He didn't like his chances of jumping down and running away. He might be faster than the man, but he was short. The man's long strides would be more than enough to catch up to him. He might try to leap from tree branch to tree branch, but he had only done that once –with the help of luck, desperation, and a bunch of knife-wielding bandits.

"Kid, I'm not going to hurt you."

The boy looked at the man doubtfully. He had heard that phrase exactly thirty-two times. By now, he really hated –no, despised –those words.

"Seriously."

"Ken-chan is really nice!" the girl added. "I'm Yachiru! Kusajishi Yachiru." She looked proud of the name.

The boy tilted his head. "You have a name now?"

"Kenny gave it to me." She beamed.

The boy examined "Kenny." His features were rough, and a long scar ran down the length of his face. Messy black hair crowned his head. His body was filled out with lean muscles, not a single speck of fat lining a limb. He sensed the noticeably lethal aura flattening the grass around him. This man was the living representation of danger. Even now, he was having slight trouble taking in oxygen.

"I'm Zaraki Kenpachi." The man looked at Yachiru's friend up and down. Small and skinny, but with a brilliant spark in the eyes that spoke of hidden passion and deadly intelligence. It was clear the boy survived through his wits. "Well?" he prompted.

"Well what?"

"Your name," Kenpachi said impatiently.

"I don't have one," he responded bluntly.

Kenpachi murmured, somewhat sadly, "Another one." He remembered his days of being an unnamed. The days before he met Yachiru, the one bright glimmer in his otherwise scarlet existence.

"Can you give him a name, Ken-chan?" Yachiru pleaded. "Having a name is so much fun."

"What's the point of having a name?" the boy mumbled.

"It gives you an identity," Kenpachi said softly. "It makes you feel less insignificant." He glanced at the boy's white hair and his intense eyes. "You remind me of a lion. Strong and clever." He thought for a moment. "Where are we, anyway?"

"Either Kusajishi or Zaraki," he said.

The man exhaled. "Fine." He paused. "From now on, your name will be Hitsugaya Toushirou."

"Son of winter lion?" the boy questioned.

"It also means intelligent," Kenpachi said. "You have to be pretty smart if you survived all this time in wherever we are."

The newly-dubbed Hitsugaya Toushirou stared at the man who had given him an identity. He felt a deep respect growing for Kenpachi. Not only did he defeat those men (not that he needed it), but he also gave him something to separate himself from the thousands of other souls in Rukongai. He wasn't stupid; he knew he was different. Ever since that time he accidentally froze a dozen people when they staggered into his private hut, he started dreaming of snow. A field of white flakes, complete with blue skies and blasting bitter winds. Recently, the hazy image of a flying serpent had started to haunt the frozen world.

"Your hair's really white," Yachiru exclaimed, dragging him back to reality. "It's like mine, but not pink." She grinned. "You're like a snowball!"

"Snowball..." Toushirou repeated slowly. He was being named a lot of things today.

She giggled. "Hello, Snowball!" She tugged on Kenpachi's ear. "Can we take him with us?"

"What?" Kenpachi's eyes widened. "Another kid?"

"Come with us," Yachiru told Toushirou. "There's room on Kenny's other shoulder."

"Wait a minute –"

"C'mon!"

"Yachiru!" Kenpachi looked back at the girl. "We can't take him. It's too dangerous."

"But here is dangerous!"

"We're travelling. Travelling is dangerous."

Yachiru looked confused. "But I thought we were heading to the place that's not dangerous?"

"Yes –"

"So it's not dangerous!"

Kenpachi was about to continue the argument, but common sense kicked in and told him it was not a good idea. He shook his head. "Never mind." He raised an eyebrow at Toushirou. "Hop on." The boy was probably not going to last a week, no matter how smart he may be.

"Yay!" Yachiru clutched Kenpachi's clothes in anticipation.

Toushirou, who had not expressed his opinion on the matter, said, "Um..."

"You're coming with us, kid," Kenpachi said gruffly. "Hurry up before I change my mind."

Nonplussed, but nevertheless happy at the situation, he jumped down from his branch, stepped toward the tall man and looked for a way to get onto his back. He was tall. How in the world did Yachiru get up there?

"Here." A coarse hand grasped the back of his clothes and boosted him up to the shoulder. Kenpachi checked Toushirou's grip. "Hold tight, don't fall off, and you'll be fine." He picked up his rusty sword and walked away from the glade.

"Where are we going?" Toushirou asked. The minor bobbing was going to take some time to get used to. Other than that, it was actually pretty fun riding on the giant's shoulder. He was almost able to ignore Kenpachi's suffocating aura. In addition to that, the knowledge that he would not have to watch his back anymore lifted a large portion of the tension he had accumulated over the years he had lived alone. He had companions –friends. It was a good feeling.

"The Seireitei," Kenpachi said. "Home of the shinigami."

Review please! Or else... I won't update soon! Yeah... But it's likely that I won't update soon anyway... But yeah... (Yep, that was a threat. Aren't I evil?)