A/N: I do not own the song "At the Bottom of Everything" by Bright Eyes. I merely took the first part of the song (including the monologue) and added a few of my own words (the ones that suck, yaknow) to make it make more sense. Dunno why I made it a Bleach fic, but for some reason when I picture this in my head I see Ichigo, with Renji comforting him. It's very sad.

Please listen to the song, and watch the video. You deserve something better than this cheap knockoff.

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Ichigo Kurosaki was on an airplane, an international flight, flying to meet his fiance for the first time. He'd never even seen a picture of the girl he was supposed to be marrying, but apparently she would bring his family nothing but luck and joy. He had protested this trip with every fiber of his being, but his father was determined to have grandkids.

They were flying high up, above the largest ocean on planet Earth. He was seated next to a strange man, with black tribal tattoos and red hair. He'd tried to start a conversation with him. But the only words Ichigo really heard him say were to order his Bloody Mary.

Ichigo was reading this really arduous magazine article about this third-world country, the name of which he couldn't even pronounce. He was feeling very bored...very despondent.

And then--

Suddenly--

There was this huge mechanical failure.

One of the engines gave out.

And they just started

FALLING

Thirty thousand feet...

The pilot was on the microphone, saying "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, oh my god, I'm sorry," and apologizing.

Ichigo turned to the man next to him and asked "W...Where are we going?"

The man took in the sight of the young, pale boy next to him. His knuckles were white from clenching the armrests so tightly, and his brown eyes were drenched in fear. The older man inhaled deeply, fighting his rising panic and smiled shakily. He cupped Ichigo's face in his rough hands.

"We...we're going to a party," he said. Firmly, resolute, with a slight waver in his voice.

"It...it's a birthday party." His voice shook a little more but his smile stayed put. He had to be brave.

"It's your birthday party. H-happy Birthday, darling. We love you very, very, very, very, very, very, very much." His hands were shaking. Or was it the teen? Was it the teen smiling tearfully at him, or the other way around?

He started humming this little tune. It kinda goes like this.

We must talk in every telephone, get eaten off the web

We must rip out all the epilogues of books that we have read

And in the face of every criminal strapped firmly to a chair

We must stare, we must stare, we must stare.

We must take all of the medicines too expensive now to sell

Set fire to the preacher who is promising us hell

And in the ear of every anarchist that sleeps but doesn't dream

We must sing, we must sing, we must sing.

While my mother waters plants

My father loads his gun

Says death will give us back to God

Just like the setting sun

That's returned to the lonesome ocean.

And they splashed into the deep blue sea.

Oh,

It was a wonderful splash.