Title: Ishida Dies at the End
Warnings: language, heaps of angst, major character death
Summary: When Ichigo learns one of his closest friends is dying, it hits him harder than he ever imagined it could. Then he realizes that it's his fault and there is absolutely nothing he can do to save him.
AN: Shoutout for ToulouseD's story "Blood Stutter", a major inspiration for this fic! Title shamelessly nicked from the film "John Dies at the End" but that's where the similarities end.
Theme songs: "Watch Me Bleed" by Scary Kids Scaring Kids, "The Ides of March" by Silverstein, and "Autumn Leaves Revisited" by Thursday
Ishida is dying.
Ichigo hears the gut-wrenching news from his own father, of all people.
"What? No."
"He doesn't know," Isshin solemnly adds. "Ryuuken requests it remain that way, for Ishida-kun's sake."
"Shut up! Don't mess around about something like this!"
"…I'm sorry, son."
Sucking in an angry breath to keep yelling at his dad, to demand why he would lie about such a serious topic, Ichigo pauses at the man's mournful expression. The single most idiotically jovial person he has ever known appears to be on the verge of genuine, sympathetic tears. Even if Isshin could bring himself to make this type of horrible joke, he wouldn't go that far. Not when he can see what it's doing to his kid.
"What the hell are you even saying? Ishida's fine," he stubbornly insists, "I just saw him the other day. He didn't look sick at all."
"That's because it isn't a physical ailment, but a spiritual one."
Ichigo vehemently shakes his head. "You're not making any damn sense, old man. I think I would notice if something was up with his reiatsu."
Glancing down, Isshin spreads his fingers and raises his eyebrows in a clearly dubious gesture. The transformative ordeal Ichigo underwent during the Quincy Blood War improved a lot of his abilities, but it didn't randomly grant him mastery over everything reiatsu-related. He still misses things, especially with the interference of his own considerable spirit clogging the works. But he wouldn't miss this. Would he?
"Think about it, Ichigo. Out of all your friends, Ishida-kun's powers have changed the most. He has crossed over the natural limits of mortal capability more than once, taken dangerous steps to control more energy, and sacrificed his own life force to achieve all-important ends."
"And I haven't? If Ishida's dying, I must be a walking corpse."
"You're different. You were born with most of your talents already in reserve. You didn't gain power so much as you grew into it."
"No, you're wrong. I've seen how quickly he can learn. I've witnessed the strength of his resolve. I've heard him logic the fuck out of a tough situation. There's no way he'd endanger himself like that for the sake of…"
"For the sake of saving the world?" Isshin quietly finishes. "With you at his side he did exactly that, burning far brighter than he was ever meant to. Now he's paying the price."
Denial swells in his chest, eager to come bursting out of him. Ichigo knows his friend better than this. He has gotten out of more than his fair share of impossible situations when anyone else would have failed. Ishida has even saved his ass more than a few times. Yet, he also knows the ambitious Quincy has a habit of taking on more than he can handle. His captain-class battle with Kurotsuchi is an irrefutable example.
Squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, he relents, "Even if…even if it's true, wouldn't he just become a normal human again? Unable to kill Hollow or sense reiatsu, but perfectly healthy?"
"Restoring his powers the first time combined his soul and his reiryoku inextricably. One cannot exist without the other. Whatever Yhwach did to bolster his abilities seems to have destabilized the delicate balance of spirit power and soul."
"There must be a way to fix it. There's always a way."
"Not this time. Ryuuken would have found it if there were."
"I don't believe that. He just didn't look hard enough. I'll ask Urahara. I'll scour Soul Society. I'll storm Hueco Mundo if I have to!"
A firm grip on his shoulder has him staring into Isshin's apologetic gaze with a burgeoning sense of unease.
"Ryuuken would have found it, Ichigo."
Dread blooms in his heart. "No."
"There's nothing anyone can do for him. Not even you, son. I'm so sorry."
Two days later, he's sitting in class staring at the back of Ishida's head like he can develop x-ray vision on the spot and peer into his brain to read his thoughts if he tries hard enough. Ichigo hasn't told anyone else. Inoue and Chad remain blissfully devoid of the roiling monsoon of emotions shredding him from the inside out. If he tells them, they will react the same way he did. They'll deny it, suggest a cure, and grieve when they come to the devastating conclusion that there isn't one.
They are better off not knowing. Ichigo almost wishes he didn't know. Then it wouldn't be this excruciating just to be in the same room as Ishida, having to pretend everything is fine when all he wants to do is grab him by the shoulders and scream at him for doing this to himself. Why did his father have to tell him?
Worst of all, however, is the guilt bearing down on his shoulders like a craggy boulder because Ishida would be perfectly fine if he had never met a reckless, bull-headed Shinigami Representative nearly three years ago. It's merely an amplified version of the shame Ichigo suffered after they fought the Menos together and Ishida's arms were decorated in an array of faint scars. And again after Ishida returned from the skirmish in Seireitei as a scorched husk, utterly depleted of any reiryoku. And again after his rampaging Hollow lodged a sword in Ishida's gut during the battle with Ulquiorra. And again after a murderous bookworm working with a pathetic has-been who was searching for Ichigo sliced Ishida nearly in half for getting in their way. And now this.
He is Ishida's own personal poison.
"Kurosaki?"
Lowering the shaky hands scrubbing over his face, Ichigo twitches to see the object of his inner turmoil standing in front of his desk. Everyone else is gone, having hurriedly fled school for the day. His guilt quadruples the instant calm blue eyes lock with conflicted brown.
"Yeah?"
"Are you all right?"
He takes it like a jab to the diaphragm, gasping. "Am I all right? Ishida, you…"
"I…what? Class let out five minutes ago; why are you still sitting there?"
"Why are you still here?" he recovers enough to deflect. "Don't you have club activities or something?"
"I quit most of them this semester so I'll have more time to study for university entrance exams."
Shit, he really doesn't know. Ichigo's jaw clenches on its own as he shoves his books into his bag and screeches to a stand. They start to walk out of the building and across the lawn together. All this time they've known each other and they've done this maybe a handful of times. There's not much point trying to walk home together when they live on opposite sides of town. They also aren't the sort of friends who frequent each other's homes after school. Maybe they should've been.
"Can I come to your place and study?" Ichigo abruptly appeals. The predictable look of confusion is countered with, "My sisters are having friends over and it's gonna be pandemonium all evening."
It's a total lie but he sells it well. Desperation can do that for you.
"I suppose so. I don't have much to offer in the way of dinner, though."
"Let's stop for food on the way. I'll buy."
He gets another questioning glance for that but Ishida's sense of frugality is far stronger than his suspicion. After a brief visit to the convenience store down the street from his apartment, they are shuffling socked feet across hardwood flooring to collapse on top of a narrow sofa with a bag full of neatly wrapped foodstuffs. The hush that accompanies their meal is unexpectedly oppressive. Only the crinkle of plastic and the rustle of paper dare disturb it.
Ichigo swallows the last of his onigiri a few minutes later and releases a controlled exhale. He wants to ask how Ishida is feeling without sounding the alarm. Wants to touch him to confirm he's really still here. Wants to meet his eyes and apologize for everything. Wants to watch that bland frown morph into an easy smile. Wants to give back every last second he stole.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"Huh?"
Gathering their trash into the empty convenience store bag, Ishida replies without looking at him, "Whatever it is that's been plaguing you all day. It's obnoxiously apparent. Would you like to discuss it?"
"N-no," he stammers, caught off-guard by his perception. "It's nothing major."
"Suit yourself."
Ishida shrugs and rummages through his messenger bag to pull a textbook into his lap. He tucks loose fringe behind an ear and props his head against a lax fist, settling in to read. Ichigo wonders if he would bother studying if he knew his days are severely limited. Isshin admitted they can't say for sure but Ishida's father estimates he has a couple of months left before the last wisp of his spirit withers away to nothing. Pale as he always is, it's not difficult to imagine him just falling over at any moment, lifeless and cold.
His breath hitches painfully at the notion.
"Ishida," he begins, swallowing back a sour splash of panic, "this is kind of weird, but bear with it. Okay?"
"What are you talking about?"
Rather than answer in words, Ichigo lays his hand on a shoulder and closes his eyes. He concentrates on shutting out everything but the familiar pulse of Ishida's reiatsu. It's been a while since he actively searched for it but he clearly recalls the specific minutiae composing his unique signature. Memory firmly in mind, he locks onto the boy's spirit with minimal effort.
Ichigo delves deeper, analyzing the quality and the scope of it. Compares it with what he expects to be there. He curses aloud at what he finds. The significant reservoir of his potential is practically empty, like a massive well a few drops of water away from barren. Ishida makes a startled noise and shoves him back. Brown eyes fly open to stare incredulously. There's no chance he hasn't noticed such an excessive ebb in his own tide!
"Why didn't you tell me!?"
"I wasn't aware you needed to be notified every time I'm having a dry spell," snipes Ishida with an accusatory glare.
"Dry spell? You're running on fumes!"
"It's not your problem, Kurosaki."
"Not my—not my PROBLEM!?" he roars, leaping from the couch to face him with irate hand motions. "Are you fucking crazy, Ishida? You've known about this all along and you didn't tell anyone? I had to hear it from my father!"
His eyebrows scrunch as he asks, "Why is your father monitoring my reiatsu?"
"That's not the point!"
"Then what is your point? Why are you shouting at me? Stop overreacting!"
Oh, fuck, he seriously doesn't know.
Snapping his gaping mouth shut, Ichigo's heart labors under a fresh wash of horror. Ishida thinks this is temporary, harmless. Maybe his father even told him it is. Inoue and Chad probably already noticed, inquired, and were confidently reassured about it by Ishida himself. From his perspective, it appears as though Ichigo is merely the last to make a critical observation, as usual.
"I…" he tries, temporarily rendered speechless by his own conclusions.
He slowly sinks to the couch cushion from sudden fatigue. It's all true. Ishida is dying much sooner than later and he has no clue. Ichigo turns to regard him once he has composed his features into something carefully blank. The slight furrow in his brow proclaims he is still pissed but the flat purse of his lips suggests he's doing his best to contain it. An annoyed sigh is reflected in Ishida's posture as he visibly lets it go.
"Don't tell me that's what you've been brooding about all day."
"Actually, yeah. It is."
The admission eases remaining ire from his countenance. His eyes slide from Ichigo back to his book.
"No one asked you to concern yourself with such trivial matters."
Trivial. Right.
It feels like he's going to puke. A fine sweat has broken out across his forehead and down the back of his neck. His hands are shaking again. Until a minute ago, part of Ichigo was convinced it was a mistake. He can't pretend anymore.
"You know, I…Yeah, I think I'm gonna head home after all. I bet my dad is on his last nerve trying to handle all those kids under one roof. I should be a good son and help him out."
Since he never got around to unpacking anything, all he has to do is grab his school bag and stand up. Ishida doesn't say a word as he walks over to the door and slips his shoes on. He doesn't stop Ichigo when he pauses in the open doorway. And when he glances back one last time, Ishida doesn't even look up from his book to watch him go. Ichigo shuts the door behind him with a wavering exhale.
A heavy knock on the chief of medicine's door promptly yields a muffled word of invitation from within. Ichigo strides into Ishida Ryuuken's office with an ill-tempered scowl already in place. The man glances up from a file he holds and immediately sets it down. Judging by his expression, Ichigo doesn't need to say a word.
"Your father mentioned you might stop by. May I assume you're here to discuss my son?" Again, his face speaks volumes. "In that case, let me save us both some time by assuring you there is no cure."
"You fixed him once before. Why is this time any different?"
The man releases an impatient sigh and interlaces his fingers above the glass desktop. It's the first time Ichigo is looking closely at him. The longer he appraises the father, the less he resembles his son. There is something inherently rigid about this man that contrasts strikingly with an endearing softness in Ishida—albeit a softness he rarely deigns to show, least of all to Ichigo, but still.
"It is precisely because I once 'fixed' Uryuu that he is beyond help now. That instance was a one-time reversal, an incredibly perilous last-ditch effort to restore in him the power he believed he so desperately needed. It cannot be duplicated."
"Then try something else! You owe him that much."
Shrewd eyes narrow indignantly. "What I do or do not owe my son is not up for debate."
"Listen, I don't care if you adore or despise each other, but you don't get to give up on the last of your family just because you disagree with his lifestyle."
"Are you suggesting I am refusing to save Uryuu's life solely because he continues to associate with you against my wishes? Why do you think I originally set that stipulation?"
There is a razor-thin, acid-laced warning concealed beneath the casually intoned questions. It's enough to make Ichigo hesitate on his reply. "I'm just wondering whether or not you're really motivated to keep searching for a solution."
A loud smack resounds as he slams a palm onto his desk and rises from the chair with a fiery glower.
"There is no solution," he states so vehemently that Ichigo takes a step back. He reins it in and addresses him with forced composure, "You are just as headstrong as your father…I will say this clearly so that you understand: despite our petty disagreements, I love my son. I would trade my very life for Uryuu's if that's what was required. I have dedicated months to his salvation."
"And…?"
"There's nothing." He wilts into his seat as his stern visage crumples in bitter misery. "There is just…nothing."
They don't speak to each other for an entire week.
It's four in the morning and Ichigo is lying awake far too late for the eighth night in a row, laden with a pervasive regret. Each day he doesn't talk to Ishida is a precious day wasted. Yet, each day he tries to talk to Ishida is a brand new torment. What can he possibly say? What can he do to make the situation marginally less unbearable? Sometimes Ichigo thinks he shouldn't say anything at all. That he should just keep pretending everything is normal for Ishida's sake as his father intended. Wanting to reach out to him now feels selfish, like an imposition.
At school, he has been compulsively checking the boy's dwindling reiatsu and hoping it goes unnoticed while knowing it won't. Ishida is much better at upholding the farce, electing not to confront Ichigo about his nosiness even once. Instead, he goes through the motions and refuses to acknowledge the spiritual tail he has acquired in the form of a Shinigami's futile concern. That is so like him.
Ichigo is at his limit.
Reaching for the badge at his bedside table, he abruptly splits from his physical body and leaps from his open window. Ishida's place is only a few flash steps away. The window has been left open, as well, though he knows he could just phase through the wall if it wasn't. He has learned some neat tricks since the night he met Rukia.
Ichigo slips through the opening and props Zangetsu against the wall once inside. Ishida is fast asleep in his bed with a hand dangling over one side of the mattress and the covers half kicked off. A light breeze teases dark hair, subtly shifting across his snoozing face.
A wry smile tugs at his mouth when he realizes this is the only way Ichigo could ever sneak up on him. He doesn't think he has ever been able to watch Ishida without him knowing he was being watched. He doesn't think he has ever seen a side of Ishida that he didn't want seen. It's as if he's allergic to vulnerability. Ichigo can't say anything when he acts the same way. He is no stranger to masks, and catching Ishida without his firmly in place feels like a rare treat.
His fingers spread out to delicately brush back the fringe covering closed eyes. The instant Ichigo's skin touches his, Ishida snaps sharply awake.
"Kurosaki?" he skeptically calls, bewilderment pinching his features and fatigue weighing in his words, "What are you doing here?"
He waits for Ishida to sit up and slide his glasses into place before responding.
"There's something I need to say."
"It couldn't wait until morning?"
"No."
An exasperated noise communicates what he thinks of that. Regardless, he obligingly scoots sideways to make room for Ichigo to perch beside him on the bed. Ishida rubs at an eye before blinking wearily at him.
"All right. What is it?"
"I can't ask your forgiveness," he gravely launches straight into it, "but I need you to hear my apology just once: I'm sorry, Ishida. For every bad thing that ever happened to you because of me, I'm sorry. I would take it all back if I could, I swear."
Sentiment sticks in his throat and smothers whatever else would otherwise be tumbling from his lips. Ichigo seals them shut as he turns away. Although he said all of that with no real expectations of how Ishida would react, it certainly wouldn't have been what comes next.
"Are you out of your mind, showing up in the middle of the night to accost me with this nonsense!?" The modest space isn't broad enough to contain the shockwaves of his unleashed fury. "If you think for one second that you can take credit for any facet of my life…Don't flatter yourself, Shinigami! How dare you think so little of me that I should be deserving of your pity? I don't want anything that useless from you!"
Too stunned to reply at first, Ichigo blinks dumbly in the wake of that energetic tirade. The beginnings of relief tingle along his spine. It is quick to dissipate, however, as he guesses the cause. That Ishida is still this spirited seems like a very good sign but it doesn't change anything. It merely reaffirms his total lack of awareness.
"It's not pity, it's remorse. Big difference."
"Not from my perspective." He points at the open space between fluttering curtains and snarls, "Get out!"
Resolutely ignoring the command, Ichigo forges on, "It might be too late to say this but I want to spend more time with you."
"It is way too late," harshly agrees Ishida. "Not to mention pointless."
"Why did we stop eating lunch together at school every day? We should start doing that again."
"I would rather starve."
"Let me walk you home from school."
"I'll risk terrifying bystanders with hirenkyaku first."
"We can take turns studying here or at my place. Yuzu will invite you to stay for dinner and my dad won't take 'no' for an answer."
"I'd sooner flunk out of high school."
"Let's drag each other to lame events on the weekends."
"Why don't you just drag me back to Hell?"
It is grumbled alongside a roll of his eyes but Ichigo feels the flippant phrase shatter something fragile and hurting inside of him.
"Don't fucking say that!"
His sudden outrage startles Ishida into tense silence. The weight of his bemused stare is added atop the invisible monolith compressing Ichigo's heart. It is precariously close to bursting. His head is pounding, swollen with the things he can't say. Hands ball themselves into helpless fists in the black of his hakama. Sweat drips down his cheek.
"Kurosaki…?"
The shell-shocked quality to Ishida's tremulous call as he stands and backs away jerks Ichigo out of the thick, despondent fog enshrouding him. He opens his eyes and twitches to feel two more drops slide down his face.
"Shit," he hisses, wiping them away.
"O-okay," the astonished boy stammers, "Okay, Kurosaki, w-we'll spend more time together. Just stop…I-I don't know what to think if you're like this."
He springs upright, grabs his swords, and goes to the window. Pausing with one foot on the ledge, he hoarsely repeats, "I'm sorry, Ishida."
The trip to school the next morning is like a gallows march. He is dreading the very sight of Ishida, much less what he will or won't say after last night's mortifying debacle. Ichigo still can't believe he actually started to cry in front of the boy. It completely blindsided him. Then again, maybe it isn't so strange considering the last time he felt this anguished over someone was when Rukia was almost killed right before his eyes.
Shoving those thoughts to the back of his mind, Ichigo holds a deep breath and walks into the classroom. He trains his gaze on his designated desk and nothing else. Ears attune to the familiar clatter of his chair gliding backwards as he drops into it. Then his stupid reiatsu ruins these valiant efforts by instinctively seeking Ishida's. A book is promptly yanked from his bag so he can poke his nose into the open crease and feign literary immersion.
"You're not fooling anyone, Kurosaki." A scar-studded hand presses at his wrist to lower the book and Ishida's unperturbed visage is revealed behind the binding's sinking edge. "You look terrible. Did you sleep at all last night?"
Ichigo tries to project an air of defiant irritation for about two seconds before he wearily shakes his head. "You?"
"Not since your visit."
"Sor—"
"I believe you've already exceeded your quota of apologies," he sternly interrupts. "You're not due another one for quite some time."
He's too tired to argue like he wants to. Ichigo sets down his book on a lengthy inhale in preparation for this conversation.
"Ishida, I would be eternally grateful if we could just forget everything I said in your apartment."
"Not a chance," he evenly declines. "Unless you're doing a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde routine, you're still the same person now as you were then. Emotions that strong don't disappear overnight."
"Doctor who?"
He snorts and taunts, "Read a book sometime, Kurosaki."
They both look at the discarded novel in the center of his desk. Ichigo leans forward to lay his head against it instead. His eyes instantly slip closed. Ishida hums disapprovingly.
"But they make better pillows."
"Someone with a skull as thick as yours would say that. Come on."
"Huh?"
Ishida hauls him away from the desk, out of the classroom, down the hall, and up the stairs to the roof. He grows more puzzled with each step, culminating in full-blown disorientation when Ichigo is tugged to sit beside him in a shady patch against the fence. Belatedly, he notices Ishida holding the book he evidently swiped from his desk. Ichigo watches him flip to page one and start reading.
"We're skipping first period," he answers the question Ichigo doesn't voice without moving his eyes from the text, "and you're taking a nap. You'll never make it through the day otherwise."
His tone brooks no argument. Ichigo can't conjure one, anyway. The surprise fades slowly as he stares at Ishida's profile. He strives to drink it all in: brow, eyes, nose, mouth, chin, jaw line. Memorizing the features of a close friend. Ichigo realizes he doesn't have any pictures of him. Not a single snapshot. How would he feel if Ishida died and there was nothing left to remember him by?
A brutal wave of sadness bowls him over, sliding sideways to rest against Ishida's shoulder. It's a little uncomfortable and a lot awkward but he doesn't care because Ichigo can smell his skin and feel his warmth and it means Ishida is still alive, lingering in this moment with him.
Even though the brilliant blaze of his reiatsu has since dimmed to a feeble flicker.
Urahara takes one look at his downtrodden expression and tucks his fluttering fan out of sight. He invites Ichigo into the quiet shop with a welcoming gesture. Hot tea is served at the usual table but no pleasantries are exchanged. The man he loosely calls his first mentor patiently waits for the questions he knows are inevitable.
"Can anything be done?"
"You already know the answer to that, Kurosaki-san."
His fist tightens around the steaming clay mug. "Ishida's dad came to you a while ago, didn't he?"
"Two months ago this Wednesday, I'm afraid."
The fact that an obstinate old Quincy would deign to beg a shady-as-hell Shinigami for help is more telling than anything else the man said to Ichigo in his office. It tastes like condensed despair on the back of his tongue.
"Will he…Do you think he'll go to Soul Society?"
"It's possible," Urahara reluctantly concedes. "Even if he does, the chances that Ishida-san will remember any of this life once he crosses over are astronomical. He may not appear or sound the same. His personality could be immensely different."
"Well, don't sugar-coat it for me."
"One thing is certain: due to the cause of death, he will never become a Shinigami. He simply won't have the reiryoku for it."
"He'll be happy about that, at least." Ichigo attempts a dark laugh but it comes out as a short sob instead. Urahara's gaze lowers, respectfully granting him a sliver of privacy as he struggles not to fall apart. "Will you keep looking? It's too much but I have to ask."
"It's not too much, Kurosaki-san. Of course I will."
"Thank you," he sincerely murmurs. His head bows.