Anti-Climactic
Nighttime in Karakura town, and Ichigo was out hollow hunting.
Or at least he would be if there was actually any spirit activity going on. As it was, the time was nearing midnight and Ichigo had yet to find and purify a single hollow.
His hollow detector was going off like it always did, but after shrieking "HOLLOW! HOLLOW!" the call would cut off abruptly and the hollow's reiatsu would disappear from the tracking system altogether, leaving Ichigo frustrated with nothing to take his anger out on. Rukia had gone back to Soul Society to complete a mission for a few days, and Ichigo was feeling strangely agitated without her terrible drawings to make fun of.
Weird. And annoying. But if there was nothing going on tonight, he might as well take his shower and get to bed...
"HOLLOW! HOLLOW!" The detector shrieked suddenly and Ichigo leaped out of his body, zanpakuto at the ready. Finally. And it looked like this hollow was just outside his bedroom, too- there was no way he could miss it. Ichigo grinned inwardly at the prospect of kicking some hollow ass (well, that didn't sound too wrong) and vaulted out of his bedroom window and down into the street.
Where he saw his father. Kicking hollow ass.
Isshin stood impressively over the quickly disintegrating hollow, his zanpakuto gleaming like liquid silver in the moonlight. The quiet glow of the street lamps outside the Kurosaki Clinic illuminated his figure, his stance filled with the ease of years -no, decades- of practice. His eyes were dark and searching, watching his son with sharpness and clarity, while the white haori that was draped over his shoulder stood in stark relief against his billowing shinigami robes.
Ichigo stood frozen to the spot, unable to move as he watched Isshin slowly sheath his zanpakuto, the metal hissing softly in the quiet suburban street. His father- Ichigo's father- was a shinigami? And from the haori, a former captain, too? Since when? It just didn't make any sense!
Well actually, now that he thought about it, it made a whole lot of sense. A little too much sense, considering this was his father, after all.
"Dad, wh-what?- How-" Ichigo stuttered, but a dark look from his father told him to shut it. Well, that was the first time that had ever happened.
"Ichigo." Isshin's voice was deep and commanding. His gaze bored into Ichigo with an intensity that Ichigo had never known his father possessed.
For once in his life, Ichigo felt afraid. Of his dad. Was that even possible?
Isshin's silence and his calm, confident posture told Ichigo that yes, it really was.
Ichigo looked at Isshin. Isshin looked at Ichigo. Tension filled the air.
And then Isshin flash-stepped up to Ichigo and bashed him repeatedly over the head. "I TOLD you not to let your guard down, ICHI-GOOOOOOO!"
Ichigo's punch sent him soaring through the air like a bird. Isshin beamed. Sometimes, he was just so proud of his son.
So proud, in fact, that he decided to take his giant roll-up poster of Masaki out of his robes and start weeping to it about how manly their son had become, wads of snot pouring eloquently out of his nose. At least he wasn't in his gigai, or their next-door neighbor would be screaming at him (yet again) to shut up.
And Ichigo? He was still stuck somewhere between being shocked and disturbed. What exactly were the classifications for becoming a Taichou again, and how the hell did Soul Society ever admit his father?
This, thought Ichigo as he dragged his tearful father home by the ear, had to be one of the most anticlimactic moments ever.
Karin and Yuzu, watching from the living-room window, could say otherwise.
end.
A/N: There are really way too few Isshin fics out there. I thought I'd try and help ffnet out a bit. Hope you enjoyed it, it was really fun to write!