I had this idea for a while, and finally decided to put it into words. Now I made a few characters for this, mainly because I didn't want to make all the Bleach population insane. This is written in first perspective, from both Uryu and Renji's point of views.
Renji
I never thought the dark would be a sign of comfort to me. Compared to the things that go on in broad daylight, the creatures of night seem trivial. A shriek cut through the silent night air, making me jump. There was the sound of struggling out in the hallway. More cries, and the sound of a body being slammed against the wall could be heard through the metal door that turned my room into a cell. With a grimace, I recognized the voice as the crazy, black haired, bitch that clawed my cheek open just this morning. Of course, calling her crazy would be somewhat hypocritical. I myself am crazy to some extent. If I wasn't, I wouldn't be stuck in this place. 'This place' as I so lovingly refer to it as, is the Sprinhelm Institute, a place that many suicidal, abused, and violent teenagers call home. I'm Renji Abarai, and I've been a resident for nearly six years; ever since I tried to slit my wrists down to the bone. Yeah, no lectures, I've heard way too many since I first came to Sprinhelm. I've been told by countless psychiatrists that suicide isn't the answer, I have so much to live for, blah, blah, blah. It's enough for me to want to try to kill myself all over again. With a sigh I sat up in my bed, running my hands through my long crimson hair. Thanks to the disturbance, I couldn't sleep. Call it a flaw, but I could never sleep after listening to someone being dragged away against their will to be strapped to a table in Solitary. It must have been an eventful night, because not minutes later, another voice sounded in the hallway.
"Let go of me! I don't belong in here! No! Stop! Please!" Intrigued, I made my way over to the door and pulled it open a couple of inches so that I could peek out. Two workers dressed all in white were dragging a kid a little younger than me down the hallway. He was voicing his protests and trying desperately to twist his way out of the other's strong arms. I watched, fascinated. It's always interesting-hell, sometimes it is downright funny- to watch new people get admitted. They always put up a fight before settling down once they've realized that they can't do a damn thing about their situation. But that wasn't why I was watching him. On the kid's left wrist was a multitude of bandages, signifying that he -like me- was a cutter. Other doors opened and other patients looked out to watch them drag the new kid away to an empty room. Looks like the fun was over for tonight. With another sigh, I made my way back to bed, flopping down on the not-so-soft mattress. Workers moved down the hallway, ushering patients back into their respected rooms. My door opened with a faint 'click' and the pretty nurse with braided black hair and grey-green eyes stuck her head in.
"You still awake- Abarai?" she asked in her soft voice. I decided it was better if I didn't answer her; she'd leave me alone then. With a little shrug, she backed away, sealing the cell wall behind her. Closing my eyes, I rolled over onto my back, tucking my arms behind my head. Sleep eluded me for the longest time, replaced by the image of the teenager being dragged down the hallway. There was something about him. But it was hard to tell with just a seven-and-a-half second glance. Deciding that I could think about it when the morning came, my body finally shut down and I fell asleep.
Uryu
The cold concrete floor came up to meet me as I was forcefully thrown into a room. Letting out a loud groan, I sat up on the dirty floor and stretched. I had no idea where I am or how I got there. I don't know what time it is, or why my left wrist burned like hell. As far as I know, I'm dead and this is hell. Looking around, I realized that this was not hell. I don't think people in hell live in concrete boxes with metal doors, or wear white sweat pants and sweatshirts. Then the events of yesterday crashed over me like a wave. I had been brought to a crazy bin by my indifferent father. Oh, it could be argues that he was 'just trying to help' but I know better. He had brought me here because he couldn't deal with an insane, unstable, suicidal son. 'Suicidal' and 'Manic Depressive', that's how the damn psychiatrist decided to label me as, right before two large workers- also dressed in white- picked me up and hauled my skinny ass off to this bed less box of a room. I turned over my arm to stare at my mummified wrist. It still burned like hell, but at least it wasn't gushing out torrents of red blood. For a while, I didn't move, I just sat in the middle of the room, staring at my arm. A cry in the still night air startled me. It was the kind of cry that turns blood to ice in your veins. It was cut off mid-scream, but I could still hear the muffled version. I was near the wall, so I could hear the inhabitant inside the other room. It sounded like a girl, and she was sobbing loudly. Now I like to think of myself, not as tough, more like, resilient; if a fight broke out, I could handle my own. But sitting in that room, listening to someone getting dragged away, screaming their heads off, and some girl crying uncontrollably, made me curl up, tucking my knees to my chest. I laid my head back against the wall and tried to block everything out.
"What kind of place is this?" I said to myself, letting my eyes slip shut. I've never been afraid of the dark, but this was different. Those creatures my mother used to tell me about when I was a child seemed like nothing compared to this. It took a while for my neighbor to stop crying, choosing sleep over sorrow. After that, it was thankfully silent enough for me to hear my own thoughts. Unfortunately, the voice in my head is a prick.
'Nice going dumbass,' is how it chose to start this particular conversation. 'Look what you got yourself into! You just had to off yourself didn't you? Don't you ever think?' Wow, my inner monologue was insulting me. What's more, it sounded a hell of a lot like my father. Maybe I was insane. No, if I started arguing with myself I'd be insane. I hadn't done that yet, so maybe I still had my sanity.
"Shut the fuck up." Nevermind. Sanity flew out the window at that point. I decided it was time to sleep. I really didn't feel like arguing with myself tonight; hopefully they'd give me drugs to ill the bastard in my head. I leaned my head down into my knees, and exhaustion took over, pushing me into a heavy sleep.