A much more recent tumblr fic title prompt, prompted by anightmarefan over on tumblr! This time focusing on Sado Yasutora and strange "shadows". Honestly I have no idea what they are besides Not Actually Hollows, so... idk. It was really fun to write, though! This version's been expanded quite a bit, so I hope everyone enjoys the extra that wasn't part of the tumblr version.
Also, it's REALLY annoying to remember to type Yasutora all the time instead of Chad, lol
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Yasutora's never been afraid of the dark or the things that might lurk therein, even as a child. In his experience, those are the kindest of things, honest in their intentions and willing to give way before his bared teeth and clenched fists.
The dark things of shadows and vapor and teeth understand strength. They understand pain, and hurt, and wanting the world to be silent for once. He's spent more than one long night curled in the vapor-cold hold of beings more shadow than substance, sunken in unnatural silence and finally able to sleep in peace.
And maybe he takes a bit too much after those dark things, because anywhere he goes he's treated with wariness. Other children avoid him like the plague, and adults eye him suspiciously. Even his Abuelo gives him sad looks when he doesn't think Yasutora can see him, and tries in earnest to impart advice that Yasutora discards out of hand.
He doesn't need his Abuelo's advice. He has his shadow creatures, and knows his place in the world already. And if that place is one carved out in strength and violence, then that's okay too. It's what his experience has taught him is right.
It's how the world works.
Except it's not how his Abuelo believes the world works. The man doesn't give up on Yasutora. Doesn't discard him because Yasutora views the world differently, only attempts to talk Yasutora around to understanding his point of view. That not everything is about strength, or fighting, or claiming your place by force.
It costs his Abuelo his life. Protecting Yasutora from those who would show Yasurota his place, the man doesn't lift a hand in defense of himself. Just defends Yasutora and accepts the blows and Yasutora…
He's numb. Numb and cold and shaken, staring down at what violence — violence he brought home to roost — has come to.
(He's never seen this before. Never seen the light fade from someone's eyes and their life slip between his fingers. He's only ever seen the blood and pain and fury, only ever seen the way people grow bright and sharp and determined from the violence.)
(Not this. Never this.)
He retreats to his Abuelo's empty home and to his darkened room. He retreats into the embrace of his shadowy companions, and the story spills from his lips like a waterfall, a torrent of words that he doubts anyone can understand. His shadows drift closer, coiling about his body and holding him in a vapor-cold embrace.
He makes a promise then, to himself and to the shadowy creatures that linger all around. He will not fight for fighting's sake. He will not use his strength to cause others harm, not any more, not unless it is in the defense of others.
The shadows whisper and shiver and creep closer. One even reaches up and nips his ankle with ivory-bright teeth. Blood drips down his foot and Yasutora watches it vanish into the darkness, calmly waiting for their next action.
(Calmly waiting for their judgment.)
But they settle soon after, drifting back to their regular states, and that seems to be that. They've accepted his vow and yet continue to accept him.
Except that isn't quite it. Yasutora pulls on his shirt the next day and feels something vapor-cold all along his spine. The thing of shadow hides beneath his shirt all day, clinging tight and dirfting to and fro in order to avoid as much light as possible. And whenever his blood begins to rise, whenever he begins to lose the mental fight against habit, he focuses on the vapor-cold sensation against his skin and breathes.
The touch of the shadows against his skin becomes natural, even during the day. Yasutora changes his wardrobe to accommodate them, adds thicker shirts and darker colors, adds undershirts and layers and things that protect the shadows from the light that saturates Mexico. It earns him looks, and the occasional concerned word from adults that have not yet learned of his reputation, but Yasutora is fine.
He keeps the shadows from the light, and they keep him cool even during the worst of the day. He's never without at least one of his companions clinging to him, and often more.
His reputation doesn't change.
Yasutora no longer fights, but his place has already been carved, his fate already set. He is the dangerous boy who no one wants around, and that will never change no matter how many years pass.
He decides to return to Japan.
(Perhaps in the land of his birth he will have better luck.)
His companions do not abandon him, despite his expectations. They cling to his body until only his face and hands remain flesh-toned, and the rest flow into his luggage to hide. It's strange to realize how many can fit within his suitcase, but Yasutora supposes that they truly have no substance, and accepts the oddity with a shrug.
(It's comforting to know that he won't be alone in a country he barely remembers.)
It makes it easier to adapt, having something familiar around him all the time. Knowing that he isn't alone while he settles in. It gives him the confidence he needs in this strange country with its strange customs and stranger language. A language that comes slow to his tongue, halting and awkward and childish despite his age.
He never kept up his practice, not as much as he should have. It's hard to read and harder to understand, but the shopkeepers are kind enough and he knows enough to get by. Yasutora buys children's books and stays indoors, reading aloud to his companions and listening to their whispers.
The shadows teach him the words he cannot understand. Whisper in his ear until his pronunciation smooths out. Guide him through his transition the way no one else bothers.
(He would be lost without his companions, and they all know it.)
Yasutora curls up every night in the silent, vapor-cold embrace of his companions, in order to drown out the bustle of the unfamiliar city. Japan is a shock to his system, and there are days he feels like he has made the worst decision in his life.
But he forges on, one day at a time, and accepts that he has made a decision, and that he needs to see it through. He no longer has his Abuelo's house to return to, no longer has the funds to return, and now he simply needs to make the best of his situation.
By the time school starts and Yasutora can transfer in, he's certain that some of the shadows are truly a part of him, rippling across his skin like strange, moving tattoos and rarely leaving his person. But that's okay. He's fine with it.
The shadows are loyal, understanding companions.
Unlike his new classmates, who eye him with suspicion and uncertainty. He stands out too much, looks too dangerous, too old, for any of his classmates to feel comfortable around. He is an oni to them, strange and deadly and to be avoided at all cost.
(Some might even be able to sense the shadows that cling to him, like some of his old classmates could. He sees it in the way they watch him with wary, terrified eyes, despite him never making a move against them.)
Yasutora accepts that even here he will make no friends.
(He is resigned to this by now.)
But then a teen charges into the fray while Yasutora simply accepts the blows of the current batch of bullies. His shadow companions cushion the strikes, keep him from serious injury, but he can feel their frustration, their need to lash out building with every blow. Despite all their kindness to him, they remain creatures of teeth and claws and violence at their core, and he is theirs to protect.
They don't get a chance to strike out, for Kurosaki Ichigo strikes down the bullies for them, and frees Yasutora without question.
Kurosaki Ichigo is a strange teen, Yasutora concludes, bold and unafraid and willing to stick up for him despite not even knowing him. And when Ichigo defends him again and again, even going out of his way to protect the coin his Abuelo gave him, Yasutora has to wonder if this is what friendship means. Fighting in defense of another, while they fight in your defense.
(He thinks he could get used to it.)
Even if he makes no other friend in his entire life, Yasutora thinks he could be content with this. With Ichigo and their easy camaraderie, with the way Ichigo doesn't demand he speak, with the way Ichigo simply accepts him as he is. He's not an oni to Ichigo, or if he is, Ichigo views him the same way Yasutora views his shadows: as a trustworthy companion despite appearance and reputation.
So Yasutora thinks nothing of it when, a couple weeks later, he invites Ichigo back to his lonely apartment after their latest run-in with their usual bullies. He fetches his medical kit and brings it out, then tugs off his shirt and settles on the floor across from Ichigo.
Ichigo's gaze immediately zeroes in on his current passenger, and Yasutora stiffens. The shadow blinks open gleaming violet eyes and bares ivory-bright teeth, then darts across Yasutora's chest and onto his back.
"Huh," is all Ichigo says, before he opens the medical kit and pulls out what they'll need. "Your friend going to bite if I try to touch you?"
Yasutora blinks slowly, then raises a hand to his shoulder where he can feel the shadow lingering to observe Ichigo. "No." It won't, he knows, because his shadows have started to accept Ichigo.
"Okay." And like that, Ichigo accepts and moves on, getting to work cleaning and bandaging the few wounds that Yasutora gained in their scuffle. "I see ghosts," Ichigo admits, gaze firmly on Yasutora's skin except for a brief, wary glance upward. "Living shadows aren't much different, I'd guess."
"There are more," Yasutora informs Ichigo, accepting his friend's claim and moving on. He refuses to be any less kind to Ichigo than the other has been to him. "I've known them since I was a child."
"You only ever carry the one?"
Yasutora shakes his head and flicks up four fingers. He's carried more, on rare occasion, but four is the most that's comfortable for all of them.
Ichigo hums thoughtfully and sits back. "That's you done." He tugs off his own shirt and waits calmly for Yasutora to return the favor. "Up to four, huh? That must be a bit crowded."
Yasutora nods and tends to Ichigo's injuries, waiting for the next question his friend no doubt has. But only silence is forthcoming, and his puzzled look only prompts a shrug and a murmured, "You'll tell me when you're comfortable."
He breathes out, tension slipping from his shoulders, and begins to speak in slow, measured words. He tells his best friend about the shadows, about the way they protect him, about everything they've been through together. It feels… good… to speak of it. To be believed so readily.
Ichigo listens, attentive and accepting, and when Yasutora runs out of words, Ichigo begins to speak in turn. About seeing ghosts and being unable to tell the difference. About losing his mother and needing to protect his sisters and how their own sight is beginning to show.
And in the end, when they both run out of words and the silence settles over them again, the shadows creep out and slip over Yasutora's skin, taking their turns at observing Ichigo first hand. They let Ichigo touch them, let him observe them as much as they observe him, and one even slides over Ichigo's hand and down his arm.
Ichigo shudders at the chill, but his gaze remains open and curious, his fingers gentle as he traces the shadow's path and touches the being that clings to his skin. The last of Yasutora's worry fades at the sight, and he can't help the smile that tugs at the corners of his lips.
(This must be what friendship is, he decides.)
(His shadows whisper in agreement and coil ever closer.)