He dreams.
In the waking hours as he sleeps on the edge of alertness and exhaustion. He can feel the blood dripping down to pool on the soft earth. He can feel the wind, dry and scented with the bitter taste of iron. He dreams of blues and greens, of screams and tears, and his scars ache.
He dreams of white sands.
As his eyes slide shut and he breaths deep, he can feel the world stop and the dark fall. He can feel the water pressing down. He isn't drowning. Not in water, not in blood, he refuses to drown. He's only dreaming, after all.
He dreams of red.
Painting the sands, the walls, the remains of a ruined city, he sees so much red. He tastes it in his mouth. Of blood and sand and dirt. His hands are dripping red and his body is shaking. Is it exhaustion or fear? Is it both? Does it matter? He's only dreaming, you know.
He dreams of fire and rage and madness.
He hears the agonizing screams and smells the smoke. He feels the heat of flames, feels them as they die. He feels hopeless and lost as he stares into a smiling visage. Again and again he raises his arms, raises his sword, to protect, to defend, to win. Because he has to, for their sake, for peace. He doesn't win, but then again, he's only dreaming.
The moon still hangs in the sky when Kurosaki Ichigo bolts up from his bed, choking off a scream of pain, of desperation. He stills instictively, listening to the silence in the familiar setting of his bedroom. With a shaky exhale, he closes his eyes and wonders if he'll hear a voice from his soul. He knows he won't, but he does it anyway. Another exhale and he turns his attention to look out his window.
He is only dreaming.
The sky is blue. It's still dark, but there is light and the sky is very obviously blue. There are the fainting lights of stars and he can't see the moon. There is no sand. The world is more than black and white.
He already knows he cannot go back to sleep, but he lays down anyway. He is pretending, just pretending to be normal. Normal people aren't haunted the way he is.
The scars lining his skin ache with phantom pain. He thinks there's a pulse in his head. But it's gone within milliseconds.
He could still be dreaming.
Exhale.
He is normal.
Everything he has every wanted to be.
Kurosaki Ichigo does not possess a Hollow. A Zanpakuto. He cannot walk on air. He is not a Shinigami, Substitute or not. He does not see ghosts.
It's only been a week.
Normal is all he ever wanted to be.
You never really appreciate something until it's gone, a part of him whispers, That was your 'normal'. Seven days and you only resigned yourself. Not happily accepted.
Shut up, he whispers back.
He's still dreaming because he never wanted to be able to see ghosts, to fight against a Shinigami aiming for godhood, to fight a war to stop him. He never wanted that. Never wanted the pain and the sorrow and white sands. He wants to be normal.
He is normal.
And a part of him weeps.
.
.
She mourns.
In the dark, alone and safe, she mourns. She sobs silently to herself, clutching at her chest, grasping at her clothes. Her heart burns, her soul aches. It hurts and she forgets to breath, she can't breath. But she inhales. Exhales. And she remembers she can. She remembers much more, laying in the darkness. She remembers smiles and laughter and freedom. And she knows.
She knows it can never be quite the same.
Goodbye, Halcyon Days.
So she mourns.
For her lost innocence. For the lost peace and the easy smiles and the bright shine of life and she wonders if her smiles look as fragile and brittle as they feel. She remembers the last smile that stretched her lips, without thought, without effort. She remembers when her determination shone brightly as the sun and she thinks of green eyes. Hollow, dead, green, black-
Breath, she reminds herself.
Inhale.
Exhale.
She was strong. She stood and did not falter. She walked and did not stumble. She built a wall that only fell when she let them, even though they smiled so pleasantly at her as they played with her life in pale hands. But her walls still stood, though crumbling and fragile, they still stood 'til the end. They only shattered when the world was reduced to a single person.
Black and white and green she remembers and she forgets.
And she mourns.
For what was lost, for what was found, for the dead and the living, Inoue Orihime mourns for what she has seen and what she has done.
She wishes she was stronger. She knows her weaknesses and she knows her strength. Now, she does, now that they've been thrown in her face, but she is determined to get stronger. Because she has lost a part of her and gained another and she knows something will come again, something will come to take away the light. And war will come again.
So she will get stronger and she'll fight and heal and protect. And she'll stand tall and proud, determined in the sun and she'll be ready.
Just as soon as her tears stop.
Just as soon as she can remember to breath.
Just… just as soon as she knows she has mourned enough.
She is the Healer. She is not meant to be a warrior, but if she must, she will return her enemies to dust. She will reject their existence as she erases the scars her friends carry.
And just for now...just for now Inoue Orihime will mourn.
.
.
A/N There aren't enough stories about how Ichigo and The Group adjust to fighting and almost dying and Ichigo resigning himself to losing his powers. Sadly, Disharmony: Notes and Scars is the only I could find, although the sheer awesomeness of that fic doesn't make up for the lack of similar ones, I just wanted to point it out to you.
QUESTION: Does anybody think that Orihime might have developed a form of Stockholm Syndrome? Or Ichigo slight PTSD? What about Chad/Sado and his vow to only protect and then he goes and manifests a power solely meant to attack? And Ishida with seeing a friend turn into a monster and run him through with his sword? Seriously! These are only teenagers, there has to some sort of mental or psychological issues that come from this!