A/N: A little something I wrote after recovering (somewhat) from my feels after reading the latest Bleach chapter because what the hell Kubo.
Warning: Spoilers for Bleach 592. Might be OOC.
"Ikkaku!"
A cry for the name departed his lips. For the name of the man who had been his closest companion for the longest time he could remember; the man who, just a moment ago, had shoved him out of the attack's range at the expense of his leg and quite possibly his own life.
For the name of the man who was being cut down right before his eyes.
The moving corpse of Hitsugaya Toushirou wrenched the blade out of Ikkaku's chest and slashed across his back, spraying Ikkaku's blood all over Yumichika's field of vision, exploding into a cacophony of flesh being ripped apart, vessels gushing out crimson, and a hoarse yelp bursting from Ikkaku's throat.
Ikkaku, Ikkaku, Ikkaku…
Yumichika wheezed. "How dare you..."
Before more damage could be done to Ikkaku's body, Yumichika took flight and landed in the space between his friend and Captain Hitsugaya, his zanpakutou already unsheathed and blocking Hyourinmaru from meeting Ikkaku's flesh again.
There was no remorse in the captain's expression, no indication of any awareness that he had just attacked a fellow Shinigami, no sign of free will – just a blank, emotionless look that was fitting of his current status as a mindless killing machine under someone's control.
Yumichika gave him a pleading glare.
He survived, Yumichika wanted to say, wanted to yell and screech in the zombie's face, and it didn't cross his mind how ugly and unbecoming that would be of him. He got out of your attack alive, and then you stabbed him. Luck was on Ikkaku's side, but you took it away from him. How dare you...
"How dare you do that to Ikkaku...!" Yumichika muttered darkly, his voice in a low whisper. His trembling grip around the hilt of his zanpakutou tightened.
Blood pooled beneath Ikkaku's silent, unmoving body. His reiatsu, which had always been at the tip of Yumichika's senses – the fifth seat having locked into it since their Rukongai days – was burning out like a candle that no matter how Yumichika tried to cup his hands around continued to flicker and dwindle.
He didn't have to think.
"Ruri'iro–!"
An ice-capped knee pierced his gut.
Then a fistful of his hair was grabbed and tugged. Followed by the head of his enemy ruthlessly smashing into his own, and the blade of the strongest ice-type zanpakutou slicing across his face and upper torso.
Through it all, however, Yumichika bit his tongue and gave not even so much as a whimper. His body might be covered in dirt, grime, and blood, and burn marks from the zombie Quincy's explosion might have littered his body. His face might have been ruined, and his chest and head might be giving him hell, and his stomach was still sore from Houzukimaru's forceful shove and his throat was blistering from the blood and bile that he had choked on.
But Yumichika simply kept his teeth clenched and made no sound even as he fell next to Ikkaku; bleeding, wounded and dying – because of me – Ikkaku.
He had no right to, after all.