One in Spirit
Disclaimer: Bleach is Tite Kubo's.
AN: This is set a year after Deicide, but it completely deviates from the Lost Agent of the Shinigami Arc, though there will be some elements from it that I'll include. Think of the story as starting/taking place between the two. AUish, I guess.
Summary: "What I wanted to protect… was you." Tensa Zangetsu is determined to protect the now powerless Ichigo, no matter the cost. But soon he finds that even this is much easier said than done. Ichigo is a target; a magnet for trouble, and not everything can be fought…
…
"Ichigo. Do you remember what I told you when this battle began? What you want to protect is not what I want to protect."
"What I wanted to protect… was you, Ichigo."
…
The Hogyoku… the Breakdown Sphere… What was it, really?
No one knew, and no one tried to understand. The Hogyoku was simply too complex a thing. But as a sentient being, it was fully capable of intelligent thought, and deeply hidden were unknown motives and an insistent, driving force; a will of its own.
It had its plans…
And even after its destruction, its legacy lives on.
…
dream.
…
It was a dream… or was it? Ichigo couldn't tell. The line drawn between dreams and reality was very fine, the barriers indistinct, and he walked right on the brink, seeing things, hearing things, and experiencing things that were not there. Yet he was dimly aware of the real world outside; the pungent smell of the natto Yuzu prepared blasted him full in the nose while he walked. Ichigo coughed and grimaced.
But he would not give up this dream for the world. There was something important in here, something he needed to find out… something he needed to remember. He couldn't recall at all, and the occasional shadowy glimpses of dark hair and eyes did nothing to spark his memory. Ichigo found himself reaching for it, for her, with an almost frantic desperation, but the memories kept slipping away, and the woman with them.
He could faintly hear her laughter, light but gently mocking, and it was so achingly familiar he almost called out her name… except he couldn't remember.
There was no option left but to go on. And so Ichigo walked.
A wide, tranquil sea of lilac stretched as far as the eye could see, glittering under the fog. It was frozen one moment, flowing liquid the next. Snowflakes brushed against his hair, and white ribbons twined around his arms, his legs, binding him and pulling him back.
And she drifted, slow and serene, always just out of reach, rendering all his attempts futile with a tinkling laugh and a smile.
He bowed his head in despair, briefly stopped to catch his breath…
"ICH-I-GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
…
…The world shattered in a heartbeat.
Ichigo opened his eyes and sprung to his feet in a single quick movement, just in time to intercept the one and only Flying Cannonball of Doom hurtling through the doorway. Three seconds later and said Cannonball went flying out the window instead.
Hearing his dad splat onto the pavement below was strangely gratifying, but hearing the explosion of expletives was even more so. Honestly, what kind of father said that to his children? Ichigo walked to the window and leaned out, earning himself a glare and kick-starting the sobbing.
"You're such a horrible son! What did your awesome daddy ever do to you, huh? Oh, my dear sweet Masakiiii~"
"SHUT UP, OLD MAN!"
The dream was well and truly forgotten.
…
Breakfast in the Kurosaki Clinic was abnormally subdued, due to the fact that Isshin was content to quietly deathglare Ichigo under the wrappings of his bandages. Ichigo, however, was unconcerned, using the unusual peace and quiet to reminisce. The customary scowl was back in place, although the rice bore the brunt of it.
Yuzu clattered around the kitchen and busied herself with the dishes, while Karin glowered at her food as she ate, unconsciously mirroring her older brother. Said older brother watched her surreptitiously, and noted that while she kept up the pretence of eating, her eyes flicked alertly back and forth between things unseeable.
Ah. Since Ichigo had lost his powers, Karin had taken up the mantle. It was something unspoken between the two of them, a mutual agreement, and she seemed to be coping quite well. Although her own powers had not fully developed, her spirit sensing was better than ever, and she was well equipped to fight off potential dangers.
But… Ichigo was worried. He growled inwardly, and did his best to push that nagging, niggling worry down, but it continued to resurface, again and again.
Her lack of a zanpakutou left her vulnerable, even armed with the gimmicks that Urahara insisted on selling, and the high quantities of spiritual power she possessed made her a tempting target for any Hollow within the vicinity. Ichigo couldn't help fearing that a Hollow would seek her out, one much too strong, and then who would be there to protect her?
His frown deepened, and both fists unconsciously clenched.
Damn. He'd sworn to himself that he wouldn't have any regrets. But Ichigo hated feeling so… so helpless. So useless. There was nothing, absolutely nothing he wouldn't do to protect the ones he loved.
Though the point was… he couldn't do anything to protect them.
Not now.
…
This was what he wanted. Right?
Splash.
Ichigo gazed at his face in the mirror, all wet and dripping, and wished that it were true.
The sky outside was overcast. The splashing sounded almost like rain.
…
This dream was different. He could feel it straight away.
It was utterly silent. Ichigo found himself standing on a long, smooth stretch of glass; translucent rectangular panes of the stuff glowed eerily white under his feet. A gentle breeze ruffled the tips of his orange hair and dissipated into nothingness.
Something vast and incomprehensible pressed down on him subtly, almost imperceptibly. Perhaps it was the emptiness, or perhaps the strangely oppressive stillness was to blame. The sky stretched overhead into infinity, bright and almost painfully blue, studded with wisps of cloud that rotated… downwards? Weren't clouds meant to travel from side to side?
Then realization hit, his jaw dropped, and he almost fell over from the shock.
He was standing on the side of a skyscraper. Defying all the laws of gravity.
Where the hell was he?
Instinct drove Ichigo to flatten himself against the windows, and after that brief overwhelming moment of nausea and panic and dizzying vertigo had passed, he allowed himself to gingerly look around.
And felt a sudden surge of nostalgia. He'd been here before, he should remember this, but why, why, why…? It developed into a mantra, an intonation that pulsed and hammered in time with his heartbeat. Why?
His eyes lingered over the lone flagpole, and he frowned. That was…
Plip.
The first raindrop fell on Ichigo's hand.
The skies darkened even as he looked up, and the drops became a drizzle, the drizzle became a shower, and the shower became a storm. The murky clouds writhed and boiled in heavy purple-black clusters, and the wind howled forth its rage as the rain cascaded down in sheets, every tiny droplet driving into the glass with a single-minded intensity. The repetitive drumming was almost hypnotic; the steady patapatapata increased in volume and strength until it all but filled the ears with a thundering roar.
Ichigo hunkered down and watched the rain trace silvery rivulets around his fingers. Something in him, the stubborn, rebellious part, was tempted to laugh in the face of the tempest; determined to defy the wind and rain in any way possible. But this time Ichigo could not. Something about this storm was not to be taken lightly.
Soon he was shivering, cold and soaked to the bone. His hair was forlornly plastered to his head, and Ichigo's shirt seemed determined to mould itself to his skin. But ignoring all this, he sat and waited.
Ichigo sensed that this wasn't over. Far from it. And he was right.
The storm suddenly shifted, and focused into a single point. The air tightened, the tension rose. Screaming winds whipped the rain into his face, thousands of tiny stinging daggers intent on drawing blood. And the pain… the pain was excruciating.
But the emotions contained within… they were truly unbearable.
There was so much raw anger in the turmoil, all misdirected but directionless. There was fear, for him and for others. There was that horrible bitterness, that aching frustration at being helpless, and finally the overwhelming drive to protect that it all stemmed from. It utterly consumed him, made up his very being, the core of who he was.
And then, the loneliness.
But there was love. Always that love, and that happiness. It was hidden so deeply within the turmoil, but once glimpsed, it became blindingly obvious.
Images of Yuzu, so sweet, and Karin, so strong and mature. Isshin the Goatface; silly, but always laughing, always smiling. Fleeting visions of Chad, Tatsuki, and Orihime; a shared sense of warmth for the good old days. Various others that he'd met, and known. Had known.
And a small, dark-haired girl…
They disappeared into the void.
…
How long had he been here for? It seemed like an eternity.
…
Sometime in the middle, Ichigo found himself screaming. Two words. One name.
There was only one person who could protect him, after all.
…
Ichigo shot up, sweat slick on his brow and dripping. Brown eyes blinked in consternation, and a hand moved to swipe away the wetness he firmly told himself wasn't there.
He felt… empty, somehow. As if part of his soul were missing.
…
Mechanical. His whole day was mechanical.
Ichigo went through everything like a well-oiled machine. He socked Keigo for molesting him. Laughed at Mizuiro's jokes. Bantered with Tatsuki and bickered with Uryu. Smiled at Orihime, and gagged when he really looked at what she was eating.
Orihime, to her credit, actually noticed his disjointedness. "Is there something wrong, Kurosaki-kun?" she asked, brow furrowed with concern.
He hated seeing her like that, and so Ichigo hurriedly assured her that he was fine, and didn't need any help.
"Are you sure? Really sure?"
"Yeah. Thanks for looking after me, Inoue." He really was grateful.
Worries quelled for the moment, Orihime gave him one of her bright sunny smiles, and Ichigo found himself smiling genuinely in return, if only for an instant.
But he had lied to her. He was not fine; he was feeling absolutely crap and wanted to do something inane and stupid, like punch his head through a brick wall. The hollow ache had not diminished at all; on the contrary, it seemed to gnaw at him, dulling for a while before reminding him yet again of its existence. Ichigo had to grit his teeth hard and call up every ounce of self-control during those times.
He was also starting to see things, out of the corner of his eye. Hazy smudges and blurs flickered in and out of his vision, sometimes still, sometimes in motion. Strange flashes of white were everywhere, wherever he went. It all made him jumpy and extremely irritable, and was enough to put him in a foul mood.
What was happening to him? Sometimes Ichigo seriously doubted his own sanity.
The bell rang, signalling the end of another school day, and it was a blessed relief to finally sling his bag onto his shoulders and escape the stuffy classroom once and for all. It was a Friday, the Golden Day, and it showed. Smiling faces were in abundance, and most students were looking forward to nothing more than a good sleep in the weekends, or a good romp with their friends. Even Ichigo found it quite hard to keep a grin from his face as he farewelled the gang and set off home.
…
There was a prickling on the nape of his neck.
Ichigo ignored it at first, but he began to take note when the prickling grew stronger instead. There was a slight pressure in a long-disused part of his mind, a faintly ominous sensation that nagged at him and set the alarm bells ringing.
Danger, danger, danger. He walked onwards, carefully now, the grip on his shoulder strap unconsciously tightening until his knuckles were white and strained. There was no one else in sight.
Then Ichigo rounded the corner.
A blurred, fragmented shadow paced the walkway in front of him, no different from any of the others he'd seen. But Ichigo could feel it; feel the malevolence rolling off it in waves, hear the alarms shrieking, shrieking in his mind…
It charged. One moment the thing was far away, at least a few metres back, the next, and they were face to face, almost touching. But Ichigo had no time to react; he was too shocked to move. Because of their proximity, broken sounds had begun to filter through, as if heard through a thick, dampening haze.
Power… ohsooootasty… we're hungrystarvingSTARVING… power… Shinigami… feed us… feed usssss…
It took only a split second but it was enough; the creature backhanded him savagely into a pole. He tasted something liquid, something sickeningly salty and metallic, and bit back a groan as the pain abruptly escalated. Blood trickled down his temple, spreading crimson on the ground, and oozed sluggishly from three deep gashes that cut across his ribs.
Claw marks.
Shinigami? Claws… oh bloody hell, a Hollow!
It was so hard to keep clearheaded when every gasping breath sent agony flooding through his system. But Ichigo pulled himself to his feet, forced himself into a defensive position, and forced himself to ignore the pain. He had to fight, because he knew what would happen if he didn't…
He was drawn back to another time, another place. Standing in front of an undefeatable foe with only a baseball bat and his courage…
I don't even have a weapon this time, Ichigo thought sardonically.
He drew himself up and yelled at the Hollow with all the strength he could muster. Just as he had, so long ago… Such a strange sense of déjà vu.
"C'MON! COME AND GET ME, UGLY BASTARD!"
Ichigo's voice echoed loudly, defiantly in the stillness. The Hollow looked at him, and a slow grin spread across its ghostly face…
"You idiot."
White streaked past, and a colossal force slammed into his back, sending him sprawling onto the ground.
Shunk.
The Hollow paused; the blade of a black katana sprouted, quivering, from its chest. Ichigo could only stare at it in shock. Something thick and viscous seeped from the wound like smoke, as indistinct as the creature itself.
Then the sword was yanked upwards, splitting the Hollow's head.
…
Just like that, it was all over.
All over. But…
His saviour was someone Ichigo had thought he would never see again.
"Tensa Zangetsu?"
…
AN: Hello, everyone!
Basically, there aren't enough Tensa Zangetsu fics out there, so I wanted to contribute a little. I think it's sad; he's such an interesting character.
Well, I hope it was a good start! Please drop in a review. Reviews are yummy, are very much appreciated, and are pored over for hours. And they make me happy.
The next chapter is coming, so check back for updates.
Bookwormtiff.
P.S. Anyone understand that Golden Day reference? Friday is (金曜日), kinyoubi in Japanese, and as Friday is the end of the school week, it makes sense, right?
P.P.S. Should I really continue this? I was on the verge of trashing this, and only posted it because I was on hiatus for a little too long. Don't worry, Tensa lovers, there definitely will be a full-blown story fic for him, just maybe not this one.
…You can convince me with reviews! (I'm so shameless, right?)