Warnings: character death, disturbing imagery
Disclaimer: Bleach is the property of Tite Kubo.
Redemption
"Ohayō, Tōsen-taichō."
Hisagi Shūhei bent to place incense sticks in the holder, then carefully lowered himself to seiza before the massive stone pillar. The monument bearing the remains of the disgraced captain was made of an astonishingly beautiful Santa Cecilia granite, imported from the real world at enormous expense. Its predominant color was tan, like the traditional lining of Ninth Division haori, flecked with the dull orange and deep violet of Tōsen Kaname's distinctive scarf and obi.
Beyond the color symbolism, however, the tomb was completely unidentified.
Hisagi-taichō had faced little opposition when he made it clear to the Gotei 13 and the Central 46 that he and Komamura-taichō would be handling Tōsen's body, and would tolerate no interference. A blank marker and complete dissociation of the matter from Seireitei were the only concessions he would allow.
So, Hisagi and Komamura alone built the pyre, picked the bones, and gathered the ashes. They alone organized and financed the acquisition of the monument. They cleared and leveled the overgrown Rukongai hilltop where stood another anonymous grave marker, dismantling it and placing the huge granite stone in its stead. With proper prayers and ceremony, they exhumed the remains of Suzumushi's first wielder and placed them beside Tōsen's within the tomb, along with the silent, shattered Zanpakutō.
Residents of the district soon named the place saezuru oka after the hordes of crickets that would raise an outcry at the approach of any figure, only to fall into deep silence when the intruder was revealed to be Hisagi or Komamura. Sometimes, silvery, delicately scented flower petals would fall mysteriously from a clear sky and cover the grave like new snow, only to fade away in the night.
Hisagi and Komamura were the only shinigami who came to this place to pay their respects. Invariably, Komamura would stand before the monument and talk to his friend of ordinary things — skirmishes, promotions, new recruits, gossip. But Hisagi would sit formally upon the dewy grass at dawn, eyes closed, hands raised. He spoke silently, comforting the former captain and his lost love, asking for their forgiveness and understanding and for the strength of their resolve.
Many years passed, and Komamura eventually stopped climbing the hill, only turning to look in the direction of the distant stone when the force of memory struck him like a blow to the gut. Hisagi continued to visit on occasion, until one day he discovered that the blossoms and cricket songs had gone, along with the two souls that had been united in tragedy only to be divided by redemption, and the hilltop was again nothing more than an expanse of overgrown grass hiding a blank slab of Brazilian granite.
"Farewell, captain," Shūhei whispered into the lingering silence.
Tōsen Kaname screamed shrilly, consumed by a horror that was beyond all imagining. His skull had been crushed as if in a vice, and his neck stretched until it seemed his head would be torn clean off; his whole body was grotesquely twisted into positions of unimaginable pain. All that he had ever known was swiftly fleeing his mind; all his memories were fading away, taking with them the warm, secure comfort he had grown accustomed to in the past several months.
He shrieked with searing lungs and writhed and lashed out at his unidentifiable tormentors, but they just grinned and laughed. They pinched and prodded him, scraping something rough all over his raw, sensitive skin, and burned his eyes and nose with strange substances. They cut something away from his belly, causing no pain but instantly imparting such a feeling of emptiness and loss that he abruptly fell silent, resigning himself to this terrifying fate that somehow, deep inside, he knew he was destined for.
But then, strong hands lifted him and laid him down on something soft and warm, something with an intoxicating scent that calmed him and cleared his mind. He felt something placed in his mouth, and nourishment began to fill his empty stomach. He heard unintelligible voices, painfully loud but strangely fascinating. Then, he opened his eyes, real eyes that could see, and all the pain and fear and cold and distress suddenly vanished as if they had never been. He looked into the blurred, beaming face of a young woman, and wondered what it all meant.
Yes, yes, a perfect little boy!
He looks exactly like his grandmother, don't you think?
Except for the eyes. I've never seen any like them! They seem to pierce your very soul!
He watched the smiling woman's lips with his hazy new eyes as they whispered words he could not understand.
Hello, my little one.
Welcome to the world.
A/N:
I've always thought that entering this world must be the most painful and traumatic experience that a human will ever endure, far worse than giving birth or meeting death, and that is why our brains don't record that memory.
This is my tribute to Tōsen Kaname. May his soul be reborn.