Title: Not the Last
Timeline: within the timeframe of chapter 37 of Entropy
A/N: This is a companion collection for the slice-of-life story Entropy, which I have already completed. It will consist of things that I didn't think of until it was too far along to fit them in, things that happened so far in the past that they never would have fit, or shorts whose tone didn't fit with the story. The chapters will not be in chronological order. This short, for instance, is something I do regret having not thought of while it still fit.
Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.
When he was a baby, the greatest object of fascination in Ryuuken's life was the bit of silver chain dangling from his father's wrist. Silent and focused, he would reach for it with the sort of steely determination that would come to characterize him long after childhood was done. If Soken had occasion to be caring for his infant son, he might feel a tug on his wrist, only to find Ryuuken's small, chubby hand clamped firmly around the fine chain. He would always smile at that, even if Ryuuken only blinked at him with owlish brown eyes.
Curiosity is always good, and the younger it manifests, the better.
Now is different. A baby's fixation on glittering objects, on the chain that cast dancing light on the wall when it caught light itself, turned to a boy's disdain and a grown man's hate. Ryuuken never showed great enthusiasm, not once he knew what the chain and the cross swinging from the end of it represented, and he has abandoned that life, no longer answering to the name of 'Quincy'. (If he ever answered to that name in his heart is another matter entirely.)
Soken has never found a way to keep from losing his son's interest, his attention, his good opinion. He's not sure if he ever had it to start with, or if Ryuuken had acquiesced to training simply out of a sense of obligation to his father. The thought of the latter stings both tender heart and thorny pride, but it confronts him every time Ryuuken reaffirms his distaste for the culture he has tried to leave behind.
Ryuuken's son, though, does have the fervent interest that has become so absent in Ryuuken himself.
Uryuu has always been curious. Then again, Soken has known few children who were totally devoid of a curious streak; even Ryuuken was curious about the family craft at one point, even if he did look down upon it. That's the thing about small children; they always want to know more than they do now, because they have yet to learn that sometimes it's better not to know. They don't know the pain of discovering an answer to a question that should never have been asked, so they just keep asking.
More to the point, Uryuu asks questions constantly. Questions about mundane things like rain and the flight of birds.
("Grandfather, where does all this water come from?" "Where do all the brown geese go when they fly away?")
And those questions have, of late, become just a little broader in spectrum.
Wide blue eyes survey Soken with a brilliant, almost feverish eagerness. At the same time, the boy's face showcases a sort of trepidation that keeps him from showing even the slightest hint of a smile. Soken bites back a sigh, knowing where Uryuu's apprehension comes from.
Though they may or may not have spoken about it openly, Soken is sure that Ryuuken has communicated to Uryuu his disapproval of "meddling" in the supernatural world. Uryuu can't have failed to pick up on his father's disdain. He is so eager to please. I doubt he really wants to incur his father's disapproval.
Soken knows that Ryuuken will not respond well to learning that Uryuu has been introduced to the old teachings; far from it. Ryuuken thinks that these teachings should be forgotten, that the Quincy race should just be allowed to die, and pass out of memory. "There is no loner place in the world for the Quincy. The world at large knows nothing of us. The Shinigami have forgotten us. What makes you think that we will be able to survive?"
If it was for anything else, Soken knows he wouldn't interfere like this. Ryuuken is Uryuu's father, the one who claims authority over him. It's his obligation to raise the boy and his right to raise him as he sees fit. Butting in on a parent's territory, subverting their authority is something Soken would normally find nothing short of anathema. He knows that neither he nor Isono would have appreciated someone trying to raise Ryuuken in a different fashion than what they had settled on.
This isn't something Uryuu can afford to miss, though. All of Ryuuken's antipathy towards the Quincy teachings doesn't change the fact that eventually his son is going to become a prime target for every Hollow in the area. There's a reason Quincy children have to grow into their abilities, rather than being born with all of the power of an adult. Soken isn't sure if it's an evolutionary defense mechanism or just some happy accident of fate, but Quincy usually don't fully grow into their abilities until after adulthood, until after they've finished training and if a Hollow comes upon them, they can adequately defend themselves.
For right now, Uryuu has about as much reiatsu as can be expected of a four-year-old boy, and as a result, though he has by now witnessed Hollow attacks, he's managed to go unnoticed by them. But if he goes without training, the day will come when he has enough energy, however much it has gone untapped, that he has become something like filet mignon for Hollows, and he won't be able to do anything but run. You can run all you like, but eventually there will come the Hollow too fast to run from. Ryuuken has to see that. He can't want that to happen to Uryuu.
He must know that this is necessary.
Soken groans ruefully as he gets down on his knees in order to be on eye level with his grandson. There must be rain coming. The only other time my knees hurt this much when I try to kneel is during winter. The earth beneath them is parched and hard-packed, soil turning to dust in the absence of the moisture that would normally keep it together. Wind blows through the dry, yellowed grasses.
"I have something for you," the old man tells the young boy, fishing around in his pockets. "Now if I can just find it," he mutters. After a few more seconds of rifling through pockets, Soken finds what he was looking for. "Ah, here it is. Hold out your hand."
Soken pulls from his pocket a long bit of fine, silver chain with a Celtic cross dangling from it, catching the hot, midsummer sunlight like a mirror. Uryuu stares down at it with furrowed brow and a look on his face as though he's trying to be solemn, but his would-be solemnity is foiled by round eyes and, finally visible, the slightest suggestion of a smile. "What is it?" he asks quietly, turning over the cross in his small hands.
"It's a cross pendant."
"What is that?"
To Uryuu's questioning, Soken only smiles and shakes his head. "When you are training, it will help you to form the spirit bow. You must remember to bring it with you every time you come here, in case you need it."
Ryuuken had been given his pendant when he was not much older than Uryuu was; the same can be said for Soken himself. When Ryuuken left home, though he had always claimed that he didn't want it and though his concentration was fine-tuned enough that he certainly didn't need it, he took the childhood pendant with him. Soken doesn't know if Ryuuken still has it. Though it's just as likely that Ryuuken has gotten rid of his pendant, Soken likes to think that he kept it.
Since Ryuuken took his pendant with him, the one given to Uryuu now is the one Soken trained with as a child. Quincy would often keep their pendants long after they no longer needed them to form the spirit bow, out of a sense of sentimentality, or to give to their children. This is no different.
Soken reaches forward and closes the child's hand over the pendant. "For now, keep it close, keep it safe. And for the time being," he goes on, just sternly enough to know he has Uryuu's full attention, "keep it out of sight from prying eyes."
There is a sharp, sudden pain in his stomach to see that Uryuu just nods quietly without questioning the last part—he ought to be too young to know why he shouldn't wear it openly—but Soken ignores that pain. If Uryuu understands, that makes this easier. If he understands, then Soken hasn't broken anything by saying this. And besides, there's still work to be done.
Then, Uryuu's expression breaks from its solemn frown. His small, thin mouth curls and blooms into a wide, sweet smile, the sort of smile that makes Soken wish that Uryuu was the sort of child who had the chance to smile more often. "Thank you, Grandfather."
Ah, there's what I wish I could see more often. A child smiling instead of crying.
"Alright. Let's get started."
I only hope that this will not be the last time for such things.