A/N: well, this one turned out to be way too long to put in my drabble collection. shitske. all well.
A/N: set this anywhere, i guess? i'm really not sure how i feel about this. but it wouldn't leave me alone either, so here we gooooo
A/N: title is from a wonderful little song, "two against one," by danger mouse, jack white, and a few others. it's actually quite perfect for writing Hollow-Ichigo stuff XD
Title: two against one
Summary: The Hollow is insatiable. –Ichigo, Hollow, Rukia
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The Hollow is insatiable.
Ichigo lies awake in semi-consciousness for hours at night, sweating and cursing under his breath, even though his eyes are glassy and his body is limp. Rukia and the others in the household sense nothing wrong; his battle is not physical. Instead, he closes his eyes to sleep and reawakens in his world—where the buildings are sideways and the clouds drift pleasantly by.
But the Hollow is there, sword at the ready. I'll not be your horse, he snarls even as he leers.
Just accept defeat, Ichigo counters, his Bankai prepared. I'll never let you take over my body.
The Hollow throws his head back and laughs at the sideways sky; Ichigo's skin crawls at the sound. He stays still as the paler version of himself approaches, leisurely, his sword loose in his grip. When they are within normal speaking distance, he stops.
You're such an idiot, the Hollow says. You have more than yourself to worry about, you know.
What?
What is a Hollow, Ichigo? He asks. When the boy stares blankly, he answers his own question. A Hollow is just base instincts without reason or attachments, he says gleefully. I have nothing to protect, nothing precious but myself. Unlike you.
Ichigo only has a moment to panic before the Hollow has Chad at his side.
Chad—! Ichigo starts. How—?
The tall, dark boy raises his El Directo arm to attack the Hollow, but he was too slow. One albino hand flicks out, grabs the enlarged, powerful red and black wrist, then in the blink of an eye, drags all of Chad's considerable weight to the ground. The human boy is on his back, and the Hollow laughs maniacally as he drives his heel into his shoulder while pulling his entire arm. Chad throws back his head and screams—no, roars—with pain.
See this, Ichigo? The Hollow laughs, and then something rips, clicks, dislocates in Chad's arm. The boy on the ground does not weep or roar, anymore. He lies there, trembling with agony.
You bastard—! Ichigo cries, moving in their direction, but the Hollow only grins back: Is that all you have to say? He steps over Chad's body, closer to Ichigo.
Then jerks up a knee—directly into Ishida's back, so that the newly materialized boy is doubled over the wrong way. His back cracks. It is broken. He spits up water from his stomach, and flies across the scene, landing face-down against the mirror-like building, gasping, muttering to himself.
Ishida—! Ichigo can only gasp helplessly, even as the Hollow approaches again.
Do you understand yet, Ichigo? The monster inside of him slings his white bankai onto his shoulder, looking quite casual, despite the mess of human body behind him. Do you understand my power, now?
But the Soul Reaper Substitute flash-steps closer, draws his sword to strike: I understand that I must defeat you once and for all!
The Hollow only smirks. Tsk, tsk, and he steps away, his yellowed eyes not yet taking him seriously. You fool.
Ichigo flash-steps time and time again, trying to bring down Zangetsu in a killing blow, but each time the Hollow moves away just in time, not even once blocking with his own sword.
You! Are you mocking me? The enraged boy cries; he can barely see the Hollow moving now. He stops, panting, looking all around him, but none of them—Chad, Ishida, the Hollow—are around.
A white laughter scrapes up his spine: How about now, Ichigo?
The boy turns over his shoulder, to see the Hollow with a fistful of Inoue's fair hair in his hand. She is on her knees before him, weeping in pain as his hold tightens and pulls.
How about this, hm? The Hollow taunts openly. He throws the girl to the ground, where she coughs and looks at Ichigo with terrified eyes.
Kurosaki-kun—she's crying, and so small and so out of place here. Something clenches in his throat, and he can only see red rage before him.
Ichigo puts himself between her and the Hollow. Is there no end to your madness—? Ichigo screams, clashing blades with the monster. How could you—you're me, aren't you?
He escapes him for a moment, and when Ichigo turns over his shoulder again to deliver a Getsugatensho, the Hollow has another body in his hands. He stops short, the blood draining completely from his face.
This time it is Rukia, and she is wearing the familiar prisoner garb of the Seireitei: she is facing Ichigo, the Hollow behind her with one hand wrapped around stomach and attached to a slim hip, the other on his sword at her throat. The Hollow's nose is pressed to her hair. He looks like a snake entwined around a rabbit, ready for the kill. His bright, manic eyes are directly on Ichigo's. Her eyes are closed, as if she is already—
How now? He says quietly, knowing he will be heard. Yes, I am you, Ichigo. I am your base instinct to power. Yet there is a difference between us.
His sword presses itself to Rukia's throat, skates the tip through her hair; his other hand runs across her stomach. She does not react. Then suddenly the Hollow grips the red collar around her neck roughly, jerks her to one side with his free hand. Ichigo's mouth is dry; he cannot speak for fear.
The Hollow draws his sword on her, nicks her white cheek.
The difference between us is that I act for what I want, and you don't, Ichigo. The Hollow is grinning when he moves—
But Ichigo is already there, Zangetsu's bankai through the Hollow's chest. I do act for what I want, you bastard, Ichigo growls, adrenaline pumping wildly through his veins. I'm just not a sick freak.
The Hollow is still grinning. You're just a weakling, is what you are.
The moment is terribly long: Ichigo realizes that Rukia is gone; the white bankai is in his own chest. Was she ever there? Were any of them ever there?
We could defeat you, the Hollow says, as he is fading, because you have people to protect.
Everything goes black for Ichigo, and for the first time, he is not sure if he was the victor.
When he awakes again, he is in his bed, the bed sheets torn away from the mattress and pillows everywhere. He looks wildly around, trying to focus his eyes, when he realizes that Rukia is sitting next to him, her eyes trained on his face. It is still nighttime; she is wearing his sister's yellow pajamas—not the Seireitei white robes. He clings to that thought for seveal moments while he calms his breathing. He also realizes he's looking directly at the vivid hue of her eyes; had he seen them, back in his dream?
"Nightmare," he mutters.
She nods. "I know. You kept screaming."
He furrows his brow. "Did I wake you?"
Another nod. "Your sisters went back to bed, and your father sent me. He's in the kitchen making himself some tea. It seems he could not sleep either."
Ichigo winces. "I'm sorry," he offers weakly.
"Idiot, don't worry about that." Now she reaches out a small hand toward his shoulder. He finds himself turning into her palm, trying to get as much of her touch on him as possible. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. She assumes it is a nightmare about his mother, he realizes, and he could almost kiss her for her sensitivity.
But he decides not to tell her anyway. Instead, Ichigo sits up, still breathing heavily, and takes her lower arm in his strong grip. "No," he murmurs, "but just sit here for a few minutes. I'll be alright then."
Rukia stands and picks up his pillows and discarded blankets, throwing them back onto the bed. He watches her blankly, unable to speak, and then she moves to climb over him on the bed. He stops her.
"What are you doing?" He still has it in him to be embarrassed.
The tiny Soul Reaper looks at him like he really is an idiot. "Staying here. Move over."
Unable to fight her, he does as she says, and she pulls the comforter over the two of them. She lies down on her side, facing the redheaded boy, but not looking at him. He, in turn, watches her. Suddenly she meets his eye, grabs his lower arm just as he'd grabbed hers a moment ago.
"It's alright now, Ichigo," she murmurs.
But he's scowling at her and at himself, his eyes on the window behind the girl in his bed. "Is it?"
"You're strong," she tells him. "You'll be fine."
They lie there in silence for several minutes before he finally asks in a broken whisper, "But what if I can't protect you?" He blinks, and realizes his eyes are foggy. "There've been so many close calls—"
"I'll handle myself, and that goes for the rest of them, too." A pause. "And if something does happen, we'll all do everything within our powers to bring them back." Rukia's mouth smiles a small smile. "We always do, don't we?"
Ichigo appears to be satisfied for several minutes, so she closes her eyes, but then he says: "But how do I protect you guys from him?"
She opens her eyes; he's struck again by the look of her eyes. How did she always look so calm and yet so serious at the same time? Rukia reaches across the bed and lays one hand on the flat of his cheek. Her thumb gently traces the line of his eyebrow, and she says, "Leave him to me. It'll be my job to bring you back." Her lips smile again. "Now, close your eyes. I'm not going anywhere. None of us are."
He does as he's told again, and when he wakes up again in the morning after a few hours' blessed sleep, her hand is still there, on his cheek, as calming as the first fresh bite of winter. He doesn't feel so alone.
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fin.
A/N: please do review