Story: Treading on Crimson Ice, Chapter 1 - Going Under
Summary: It was kind of ironic; the sight of someone else having been injured and bleeding was a more than often occurrence, and it still greatly bothered him to see it, but to see his own skin, his own Captains Haori, stained with his own crimson was a completely different story. Not exactly self harm. POST!WW
Warning: As much as I absolutely LOVE Gin-Sama, on Toshiro's part, naturally, there will VERY 'LIGHT' and BRIEF bashing of him on Toshiro's part.
Also, I've watched and read quite a bit of bleach at least three or four times by know, but I'll still apologize in advance if anything is mislead or wrong. If you find anything of such, please feel free to mention it in a comment.
Any who, onto the story, eh? ^_^
To a lot of people, Hitsugaya Toshiro, or 'Hitsugaya-Taichou' might would seem to be just a stuck-up, stoic, unpleasant and cranky, person who couldn't take a joke for the life of him, but despite what others thought, or even what he, himself, was aware of, he actually wasn't that horrible of a person, for, down deep, whether he would admit it or not, he did care for others, and to the few who truly knew him, that was fairly easily to see. Only people such as his own Lieutenant, Ukitake, Ichigo's younger sister Karin, and about three or four others had got the chance to witness his 'soft side', as Matsumoto had once put it. They could also seem to easily tell when he was more stressed than normal, or when something was bothering him, even if they didn't say much. However, if there was one lone person who'd got to know him better than anybody else, and could personally understand what he'd been though, it was undoubtably -once again- his own Lieutenant.
Matsumoto had been picking up on her captain's rapidly increasing anxiety lately. It would've been hard for her, of all people, not to notice the occasional distant looks in his eyes, and how he'd been distancing himself as well. Normally, he would eventually have caved in, telling her whatever it was on his mind, but he'd been utterly refusing to talk about anything, denying there was anything wrong, insisting he was absolutely fine. Naturally, it was obvious he wasn't, but she didn't really know how to go about getting him to be willing to open up. Down deep she knew that, though he definitely wasn't some innocent child, he was still young, still growing, still learning...
Speaking of her captain, where was he?
Pushing aside the troublesome paperwork on her desk, she sighed, taking a moment to gaze out the window just them noticing how cloudy it was. This somewhat worried her.
'He couldn't still be training, could he?' she wondered, when reality set it. He could and probably was.
There's no telling what would have happened if she wasn't there to get him to relax at least once in awhile. She was almost certain she would've been right to say he might would've worked himself to death, even.
Well, it was probably best to check on him and make absolutely sure he was okay, she decided.
Curse his bright, showy, untamed white hair.
Curse his height and weight.
Curse his child-like appearance, period.
Curse Aizen for everything he'd done to him, to Hinamori, to Matsumoto, and to the entire Soul Society.
Damn himself for being so reckless, by letting his personal emotions get the best of him, and falling into Aizen's trap, despite how obvious it should have been, almost killing his closest childhood friend in the process.
Hitsugaya had always hated, no, loathed, how so many humans, soul reapers, Lieutenants, and even other Captains were always either coddling him because of his -so not- adorable 'Chibi size', as the bastard Gin had once put it, or doing the exact opposite by looking down on him for the exact same reason. Kurotsuchi was constantly doing or saying anything he could to make him feel even smaller than what he already was, and others as well, directly or indirectly.
He'd often gotten agitated with a lot of them, yes, but truthfully, in the long-run, he could only seem to blame -hate- himself for it, and only himself, far more than he could anyone else.
It often made him wonder why he couldn't be more like the other 'Shiro-chan', whom practically everyone respected, and looked up to. Even the tyrant Kenpachi, in his own weird way, was fairly 'respectful' to him, nor could he remember a single occasion that Kurotsuchi had ever particularly went out of his own way to insult the man.
Well, it wasn't like anybody could've really come up with a plausible reason to. What was there anybody could possibly dislike about him? While he knew how to stand his ground when he had to, he was always very understanding; furthermore, was incredibly wise. There was also the given fact that he was far easier to ask for advice from than anyone else in the entire Soul Society.
He never would say it, but he really admired the elder. Unlike himself, he was patient, kind, open-minded, open-hearted, selfless, and not to mention encouraging.
Even his own lieutenant probably liked being around Ukitake more that him. After all, who would want a cranky, fussy, undesirable, intolerant, stubborn, boring child for a Captain?
That's was what they all saw him as, wasn't it?
As much as he hated it, that was a part of him at this point; it wasn't like it was something he could change. It wasn't like he'd asked to take on all of these duties of a soul reaper, even more so a Captain. The only reason he had was to protect his grandmother.
Gazing down at Hyourinmaru, he took a moment to contemplate its blade, leaning against a large tree in the long empty Squad Ten Training Ground, allowing himself to sink to the bottom of the tree trunk. All the while, his attention remained on the Zanpakuto in his hand, gently running his left index finger over the smooth blade.
It'd always amazed, or more-so irked, him how even after all the years he'd been using it, despite everything he'd put it through, his Zanpakuto's blade still looked exactly as it had the day he'd acquired it; stainless, innocent, much unlike himself.
There was no denying that the white haired captain had always been proud of every aspect of his sword, and was very appreciative of it. But unrelenting voices kept tell him he didn't deserve it, yet practically everyone he knew insisted on referring to him as the 'Child Captain Prodigy' Some stupid-
His thoughts were immediately cut off, as he hissed, a large surge of pain suddenly shooting up his hand and slightly past his wrist. Immediately, the sword dropped with a 'clink', and he gaped at his trembling hand, his self-loathing increasing only that much more within just seconds. Apparently, he'd been so deep in thought that, like some clumsy, careless idiot, he'd somehow managed to accidently cut himself.
No. Wait. Actually, to call that a mere cut was a completely stupid understatement. He'd deeply sliced open his hand wide open! Normally, under any other circumstance, he would've found something to cover the wound with as soon as possible. However, there were two things that stopped him; his Zanpakuto's spirit hadn't said a single word for hours, and the voices in the back of his head angrily reminding him that this was his fault weren't helping either.
Though the voice was right about that. What kind of person touches knifes when there not fully aware of what there doing? A child does.
And so he did nothing. He just sat there instead, motionlessly watching as the dark Crimson liquid poured from the slit, quickly trailing down his forearm, to his elbow, dripping off onto the white fabric of his Captain's Haori, certain to stain it forever.
It was a bit ironic; death and war was -more than- an everyday occurrence, but it never did seem to grow old, always managing to rip something else out of him that he didn't know he even had. The sight, or even thought alone of someone else he cared for, even in the slightest, bloodied, injured, or hurt, could easily seem to haunt him for days.
On the other hand, when it came to seeing his own injuries, his own crimson staining his own Captains' Haori, that was a completely different case. It never had seemed to phase him much. Though if it did, it was only because he was acknowledging that he still incredibly weak, and had to train even harder, otherwise he wouldn't be able to forgive himself, especially if his weaknesses costs him someone else's life.
After a long moment of deep thought, ignoring the dull pain still remaining in his hand and wrist, he rose his head to take a gander above him at the dark rain clouds that had filled the sky. Within no time at all, it'd began drizzling, which soon turned into a heavy down pour, practically soaking his entire being.
How long had he been sitting there, just thinking...? He finally assumed it'd been at least a good thirty minutes or so. Eventually, his eyes had begun to feel heavy, as he was finding it harder and harder to stay awake. The last thing he could remember hearing, before sleep had taken over, was a worried, yet exhausted, voice he vaguely recognized to be his own Lieutenant's.
"Taichou...!"
~End of Chapter~
A/N: So? What did you think? It's been a while since I've written for Bleach, but I thought start this. Please tell me if you like it. IT WILL MY FIRST TWO-SHOT XDDDD
or will it...? (I have super bad memory, sorry XD)
Please do NOT rush me on this, or any of my other fanfics, or I'm very likely NOT to finish them if you do. I've been going through a whole lot of stressful crap lately.
1. My Grandmother has recently broke her wrist, and I've been really worried.
2. Social Anxiety
3. Depression
4. MAJOR Writers' Block! T.T
5. Multiple Doctors Appointments
6. Headaches; I've been having lots and lots of Headaches.
7. Been trying to clean but also trying appease my oh-so-perfectionist-mother-who-points-out-every-little-spec-and-piece-of-dust-on-the-floor
8. Schooool '
nuph said, but it you want more, I gots plenty U.U