War doesn't determine who's right, but who's left.

~

The battle was fierce, as are all battles that decide the fate of many, and hold countless lives in the balance.

Somehow Ichigo felt as if he'd always been fighting; always had to pick up a weapon in order to defend and protect what was his.

What was important to him.

The weapon, be it his fist or sword, always felt like an extension of himself that he could strengthen with his determination and perseverance.

Strengthen to protect.

And that always worked.

In the end, it didn't lure him into a false sense of security, he walked right in. Because no matter what, and no matter the amount of determination and will power, two hands can only grasp what lies within their reach.

If only he'd accepted it sooner.

His body hurt like hell on earth.

He knew pain, far too well for a boy his age, but this particular ache was in a league of its own.

Broken ribs, broken bones, bruises, scars, you name it, he had it. It was a miracle that he was even alive right now.

Breathing was painful, moving was painful, just existing right now, was painful.

A sharp pain gripped his side just as he opened his eyes from sleep. He tried to move his hand but his body was stiff from lack of use.

He hadn't moved in days.

The plain green ceiling of the room he was in had become his television of sorts. He couldn't move his head to see anything else.

He had no idea how long he'd been like this. As far as he could tell from the lack of light and sound, the room was windowless, prohibiting him from knowing the time of day or even how many days had passed.

All he knew was that he was hurting badly.

Every muscle in his body throbbed.

He'd been injured in fights before, been cut down by many different unique swords but he never felt anything like this.

Maybe he never felt it then because he was being driven by his instincts. Maybe he never allowed himself the time to feel it, or maybe because ishe/i was always there, ready to heal him.

Help him.

So, this was the power of iBenihime/i.

His ears were greeted by a muffled noise that somehow sounded familiar. The door to his room was pulled across and someone stepped in quietly, before closing it again. His breath hitched and before he knew it, he was flooded with panic.

His head was spinning.

Where was he?

Was he caught by one of Aizen's arrancar?

Vulnerable as he was now, he was easy prey, even worse Zangetsu was too far away for him to reach, propped up neatly against the corner.

What could he do?

He tried with all his might to make his hands move, the effort straining his body.

Too late.

The person was standing above him.

"Ahh, I see you're awake, Kurosaki-kun."

He eased a bit. That slightly playful voice, the pronunciation of his name.

"K-Kisuke-" His voice was cracked and dry. It sounded strange, like maybe it belonged to someone else and not himself.

That's right. What had come over him? Of course he was by Urahara. Why did he think that he was somewhere else just now?

Urahara stood above him, smiling serenely, eyes hidden beneath the brim of his hat, holding bandages and a bowl.

"I'm glad you're awake. I was beginning to worry, Kurosaki-kun," he said rather casually, placing the items beside Ichigo.

Ichigo bristled at the blatant way he was speaking, when he was the one that put Ichigo here in the first place.

The man had nerve; it was tucked away along with many things beneath that fake smile.

He knelt on the floor. Ichigo couldn't see what he was doing and it worried him. He tried to move his head but still no luck.

Urahara's hands pressed on either side of his face and gently turned his head so that he faced him and could see what he was doing.

Ichigo was surprised. "Thank you, how did you know I needed that?"

Urahara smiled easily dipped a cloth into the bowl of warm water. "Your simplistic needs are very easy to read."

Ichigo scoffed and narrowed his eyes. "Why you- ugh." He glared at Urahara who had just purposely poked him in the side on a very sensitive rib.

"It's not polite to complain, Kurosaki-kun, especially to people who use their time to treat your wounds."

"Hmpf, like you have anything better to do."

Urahara placed his finger near the wound again, threatening another poke for the rude talk. "As a matter of fact, I do."

"Fine, fine," Ichigo conceded, sighing in relief when Urahara nodded. The man pressed lightly against his abdomen and tried to remove some of the bandages and Ichigo wondered idly when the man had become so mild. A little more and he wondered if he could even feel the fingers dancing across his body.

"Please hold still, I want this to hurt as little as possible," Urahara instructed soothingly, not breaking eye contact for a long time.

Ichigo blinked. He would have liked to look away, but he had no control of his body, so he had to endure it.

That strange look in Urahara's eyes that didn't quite seem right.

{}

i"Ne, Kurosaki-kun, I um…" Orihime lowered her eyes and shifted on her feet nervously. Her face was red, clashing horribly with her bright hair.

"I…"

"What is it, Inoue?" Ichigo asked, slinging his bag over his shoulder and turning back from taking the road that led to his house and separated them.

The sky was glazed ginger from the already setting sun, throwing shadows over the street. Ichigo shoved his hand in his pocket and waited.

She looked up at him shyly but then looked away again under his burning gaze and reached into her bag.

Ichigo was honestly confused by her behavior. Inoue was always a little on the strange side in his opinion, but he guessed that made her who she was, and it was initially what drew him to her.

He could see her knees shaking when she walked up to him.

"I- I- Happy Birthday!" she said quickly. And very loudly. She presented a small, wrapped box to him in humble anticipation.

After checking to make sure that his hearing was still intact, Ichigo accepted the gift from her. "Inoue…"

"I hope you like it, I stayed up all night making it. It was very hard and I was really hungry since I hadn't eaten all day and I didn't have any red bean paste to make a snack. I had some cake left but if I ate cake so late at night I'd get a bellyache and I don't like-"

"Thank you, Inoue." He cut off her nervous rambling with a soft smile. "If it's from you, I'm sure I'll like it."

She was hesitant at first, but then her smile mirrored his. She looked so happy. She always did. Ichigo never knew how she achieved it. If only he could ask her now, the secret for smiling through everything.

If only…

Her face faded./i

Ichigo sucked in a mouthful of air and gulped it down into his lungs. The same dream. He'd been having it every time he slept, and sometimes when he just closed his eyes.

He could see her smiling face burned into his eyes lids. It was all he would allow himself to see. Not the tears that fell from her eyes, nor the blood that had gushed.

His progress was slow.

Very slow.

The hours crept by slower and slower each day but his injuries seemed to have their own sense of time.

Urahara came in everyday to change his bandages and wipe him off.

Ichigo could admit that he was pretty slow about certain things, but he never once asked where Tessai- san was.

On the outside, Urahara was his same old self, never shedding his calm mask and dishing out the smiles in abundance.

But for reasons unknown to Ichigo, he could tell that he wasn't alright. He was too quiet, too eager to say cheerful things and latch on to any piece of conversation Ichigo was willing to offer.

Ichigo started looking forward to seeing the man, and not because he had nothing else to do.

Something about him seemed so familiar and warm that he wondered if he had taken too many hits to the head. To be acting like that in such a short space of time and just so sudden?

He found the man's smiles comforting when they were genuine. The gentle care was welcomed, and the fact that he never brought up what happened made Ichigo more than thankful.

But it was eating him alive.

The dreams.

The thoughts.

The denial.

The sadness.

The guilt. So overwhelming that he often vomited when he even though about it.

He saw their faces everywhere. Smiling, happy, determine, laughing with him, fighting together.

Gone.

Dead.

It was during the third week, that Urahara became concerned by his eating habits. He'd been eating before because he was weak and needed nourishment, but nothing was staying down now and he was taking its toll on his body.

He felt even weaker, and he was plagued by headaches. He'd lost his appetite soon after, and refused to eat anything.

Urahara was persistent and brought food everyday and tried for hours to make Ichigo eat something. It was no use. He couldn't even look the man in the eye anymore. He just stayed curled in on himself , staring at the wall, trying his best not to let the tears overcome him

"One, two, three," Urahara grunted as he hoisted Ichigo from under his arms and put him to sit up straight so that his back rested on the wall for support.

It shouldn't have been hard. He wasn't as weak as he looked and considering how light Ichigo had gotten from the weight he lost it should have been easy. But Ichigo was resisting, refusing to sit up.

He wanted to die. He wanted to be left alone. But the former shinigami was having none of it.

Urahara lifted some rice with the chopsticks but Ichigo turned his head away resolutely.

"Kurosaki-kun, you'll be sick if you don't eat properly."

"I'll be sick, eh. What exactly would you call what I am now," Ichigo mumbled irritably.

"Grieving."

Ichigo looked into the older man's eyes which were pleading with him to understand; begging him for something he wasn't quite sure he had.

He'd been here too long. Alone without them for too long. He'd been in the strange shop keeper's company for too many days. That's why he was seeing these things; that's why he couldn't look away from the sad olive eyes trained on his.

"How? Why… I don't understand, I remember but I…" he started. He needed to talk about this. To let it out.

But he wanted to keep it inside of him. He didn't want to talk about it. It was too painful. He wanted to lock it away forever. It sickened him, that he couldn't even look at his precious sword anymore.

Ichigo grabbed a fistful of his hair and tugged it hard to make his eyes water and to keep himself grounded form the sharp sting. Too much conflicting thoughts, he felt like he would explode.

"How do you feel?" Urahara asked.

"What kind of stupid question is that!" Ichigo snapped. Urahara didn't flinch, he put down the chopsticks carefully, his hat covering his eyes. "A very important one," he answered seriously.

Ichigo took a deep breath. "Confused, disoriented. I remember some of it but I don't know, it's all fuzzy…"

Urahara was silent for a full minute before speaking.

"This war has seen many losses-" he began, " It is certainly no one's fault. Aizen's side has taken a great deal of fatalities as well. He's retreated back to Hueco Mundo though I doubt it will be for too long." Urahara took Ichigo's hand from pulling his own hair and clasped it in his.

"Everyone fought for what they believed in. The shinigami' suffered and-" he paused for the briefest of moments though his voice didn't waver and he struggled to maintain eye contact, "the vizards."

"I killed them. Ino-"

"Ichigo." Urahara said sternly, squeezing his hand. But Ichigo wasn't listening, and he didn't notice the intimate use of his first name.

"There must be something…" He was breaking out in cold sweat and shivering.

"Ichigo." Urahara grabbed his frail shoulders and shook them lightly. When he still didn't respond, the man pulled him toward him. Before he could stop himself, he buried his face in the mess of red hair.

Ichigo barely registered the feel of all the wounds on his chest reopening. This feeling, the feel of this man embracing him like this. Why was this so…

"Please don't do this," Urahara whispered in his ear.
Ichigo went rigid.

"D-Do what?" He was surprised he could even talk at this point. Kisuke, no Urahara, touched his cheek with his hand and Ichigo shivered. The older man's stubble tickled him from his closeness.

Unparalleled nostalgia swept over him.

Urahara pulled back slightly and brushed their noses. Ichigo vaguely remembered him doing it before and his cheeks burned up.

In fact his whole body burned.

"This," Urahara answered softly.

Ichigo's eyes fluttered.

Kisuke pressed their lips together. It was the last thing he felt before black dots pricked before his eyes and his head spun out of control. His lips slid away as his head fell limply onto Kisuke's strong shoulders.