Summary: Ichigo gets thrown into a seriously cracky world that resembles the pokemon world of all things. Only with Bleach characters instead of pokemon. So beware the copious amounts of insanity running rampant.

Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach and I don't own Pokemon. Neither do I make money from any of this.

A/N: This idea was spawned while RPing with Cat Streaked By Rain. All Bleach characters being turned into chibi-versions of themselves and multiplied so that they can be caught by fan-girls and their spirit-balls. This doesn't really have a plot, and I can't promise fast updates. It's taken me about three weeks to churn out a measly 8 pages, so don't expect any miracles from me…

That said, enjoy.

Bleachymon

Ichigo rolled over and groaned. What the hell had hit him?

He blinked his eyes and stared at the green grass blades tickling his nose. Wait a minute. Hadn't he just been involved in a fight with an Arrancar? Somewhere in Hueco Mundo? So what the hell was he doing lying on grass?

Had he finally managed to kick the bucket? But he didn't feel very dead, only sore all over. Then again, he had met enough shinigami to know that the dead, too, could feel like shit.

Where was he? He sat up and looked around. Grass, trees, grass, more trees, and yet again more grass. And a few measly flowers, but they didn't count on the larger scale of things. Had he woken in the outskirts of Rukongai?

He looked down on himself. He was clad in his shinigami clothes, and a shrug of his shoulders told him that Zangetsu was still with him, slung across his back. At least dying, or whatever had happened to him, hadn't parted him from his soul slayer.

With a sigh, he got up and started walking in a random direction. He had no idea where he was, and he couldn't feel any noteworthy concentration of spirit power, so he didn't know what to do to reach seireitei and his friends. The best he could do was keep walking and hope he found someone to explain to him what in the world was going on.

Irritably, he brushed the foliage aside and squeezed himself through branches and shrubbery that probably hadn't seen a human for centuries. Twigs regularly threatened to snatch his hair, and more than once Zangetsu caught on things. One especially malicious patch of thorny vines snatched at the loose folds of his hakama, and it was a pain in the ass to untangle himself from the bramble.

When Ichigo finally emerged from the trees and reached something that might be considered a path, his face was set in a permanent scowl, and his eyebrows were drawn so far together that they almost merged into one. Brushing the dirt off his black clothes, he looked left and right. Both directions looked equally good, so he shrugged and turned to his left. This was a path, and it had to lead somewhere. Hopefully somewhere where there were other humans so that he could ask for directions to seireitei.

He had been walking for a couple of hours he guessed, judging by the way the sun had wandered across the sky, and the scenery hadn't changed much. There were still trees, and there was still grass, and he still hadn't seen another human soul.

Then suddenly he heard a childish voice shout from further down the path, "Ichigooo! Come back here, Ichigooo!"

Ichigo stopped dead in his tracks, looking for who might have been calling him. He didn't recognize the voice, but apparently they knew him and were expecting him to return. To where?

Before he could decide on what to do, a soccerball-sized blur shot out of the foliage straight towards him, and he reflexively caught it. "Ichi, ichi?"

Ichigo froze. Had that soccer ball just talked? Also, it was a mightily strange soccer ball, with orange… fur covering parts of it, and the other parts feeling warm and skin-like. With growing horror, he turned the soccer ball around and nearly dropped it in shock. It had a face and the fur wasn't fur but hair, and holy shit, it had just moved!

Large brown eyes stared up at him, blinked a few times, and then closed in upside-down U's of happiness before snuggling into Ichigo's clothes. "Ichi ichiiii!"

And holy shit, it talked!

"Ichigo! Where are you?" The childish voice sounded closer now, and Ichigo could hear the panicked and weepy undertone, the one where it was sure that a tear-fest was just about to erupt.

Ichigo still didn't know who that was, but he really didn't want to deal with crying little brats, so he hollered back. "I'm here!"

The soccerball-head in his arms tilted and looked up at Ichigo, curiosity in its expression. "Ichi?"

"Oh, shut up," Ichigo grumbled but didn't throw the strange creature – thing? – away. Didn't it know how to say anything but 'ichi'? That was getting repetitive. Even Furbys, the monstrous little owl-like creatures Yuzu had been so fond of a couple of years ago, had a larger vocabulary.

Running footsteps came closer, and Ichigo could hear someone panting harshly while sniffling. Finally, a boy came round the bend in the path and halted abruptly when seeing Ichigo. Instead of doing anything sane though, the little twerp suddenly pointed his finger at Ichigo in a challenging way and started shouting, "Give me back my Ichigo, you thief! You are trying to challenge me, the great Daisuke-sama? I warn you, I'm the best trainer in all of Karakura!"

Ichigo couldn't help but blink at 'the great Daisuke-sama'. The brat looked like he wasn't out of elementary school yet, wearing hip and trendy clothes that might be considered normal for the human world but definitely not for anywhere in Soul Society, and Ichigo was sure he had never seen that combination of dark green hair and childishly determined face before. And apparently, the brat had some kind of superiority complex and was an escapee from the local mental ward. Did he really think that Ichigo belonged to him, and that the strange creature had stolen him away?

"Your Ichigo? I don't even know you." Ichigo asked bemusedly, and the head in his arms bounced up and down, tweeting its annoyingly high-pitched 'Ichi, ichi'.

That apparently was the wrong thing to say, because the brat exploded in rage. "Alright, let's do it the hard way!" He pulled out a tennis-sized ball from one of his pockets and threw it onto the ground between himself and Ichigo. "Uryuu! I choose you!"

Ichigo, who had jumped several meters back when the tennis-ball-thingy had spat out some electricity, almost fell over in shock. The electricity solidified into a soccerball-sized shape, and then suddenly, there was another head-creature on the ground. And that bodiless head had an astonishing resemblance to Ishida – same hairstyle, same glasses, same scowl. Only, everything was a lot cuter and a lot rounder and a lot more child-like.

"Ryuu?" it asked, and Ichigo stared in horror at the chibi-fied rendition of Ishida's expression of disdain. Hell, that thing even managed to get the light to reflect from its glasses the same way Ishida always did.

Fortunately, or not so fortunately, Ichigo was shocked out of his horrified fascination by 'the Great Daisuke-sama's' voice. "Uryuu, Reiatsu Arrow! Let's show that guy not to mess with us!"

Ichigo had a bad feeling what that could mean. Reiatsu Arrows were Ishida's basic weapon, so was this caricature going to imitate it?

And indeed, there was a miniature Quincy bow materializing in front of the head-creature, which revealed that it did have arms. Short and stubby ones that didn't look so much like arms than blunted tentacles with no bones and no joints and no hands. And they grew out of the sides around the chin region, much too short to touch its arms together in front of its head.

It went through the motions of drawing a bow though, and despite not touching the blue energy hovering in front of it, it followed the gestures. A Quincy arrow appeared, was pulled back together with the bow string, and then was released at Ichigo. "Uryuuuuuu!"

Ichigo almost didn't move out of the chopstick-sized projectile's way in time because he was too stunned. Hysterical laughter was bubbling in the back of his throat at the sheer madness of the situation. Nope, he was quite sure he wasn't dead – instead, he must have turned insane when he hadn't been looking. That was the only explanation for those bizarre events. Ichigo had lost his mind, and now was caught in a delusional world of his own making.

"Again, Uryuu! We'll get him!" The boy stood back with his hands aggressively at his waist, apparently being content to let the head-creature do all the work for him. That was the brat's idea of a fight?

Absentmindedly, Ichigo moved out of the way of more energy arrows, and contemplated how in the world his mind could think of something so ridiculous. The head-creature's rendition of Ishida's attack was nothing short of laughable, not only being severely undersized, but also underpowered with low accuracy, low speed, and a miserable fire rate. Heck, it took the thing nearly three seconds to create another arrow and two more seconds to aim. He imagined the real Ishida trying that toothpick-attack against some hollow, and he almost broke down laughing.

Apparently, a big part of this world had been created by his sense of humor.

The boy though didn't seem to appreciate the hilarity of the situation. "Uryuu! Flying tackle!"

And, yes, the name said it all. The thing launched itself at Ichigo, who caught it with the effortless grace of someone used to playing soccer quite often. Ichigo tucked it under his arm, and despite its angry rattles and protests of 'Ryuu, ryuu, Uryuuuuu!' it didn't take much strength to keep it in place. The other head-thingy that was still perched on Ichigo's other forearm and snuggled against his gi, bounced up and down happily, chanting 'Ichi, ichi, chiii!' over and over again. The racket the two things made was deafening.

Apparently, the brat hadn't expected that reaction because he stood there and gaped at Ichigo. "B-b-but, you can't do that! T-that's my Uryuu! And my Ichigo! G-give them back!"

Ichigo froze. Had the brat just…

If Ichigo had had a free hand, he would have palmed his forehead. He should have seen the resemblance sooner. The orange hair, the spiky style, the brown eyes, and the maddening repetitions of 'Ichi'. That head-creature he had caught first apparently was what the boy called his Ichigo. Ichigo just really, really hoped that the thing wasn't as sucky as Ishida's double, but somehow he doubted that. How in the world could a chibified rendition of himself be anywhere short of laughable? For that matter – since when did Ichigo bounce around happily and let other people fight for him?

"Let me get this straight," he drawled. "This," he shrugged the arm holding the orange-haired head-thing, "is your Ichigo. And you thought I stole him from you, so you sent Uryuu to attack me in the hopes of getting him back?"

"They're my Bleachymons, so give them back!" The boy stomped his foot on the ground and crossed his arms.

Ichigo blinked. "Bleachymon?" That almost sounded like…

Oh no. Oh, hell no.

Now he knew that he had really, certifiably gone round the bend. Apparently those few times he had watched Pokemon had come back to bite him in the ass. Hard. All signs pointed towards that: the monotonous repetition of names, the ridiculous attacks, the cute appearance (if a bodiless head could be called cute), even the Daisuke-brat and his attitude. He was almost like a carbon copy of Ash Ketchum. Not his looks, but his character.

Ichigo groaned. "Please, don't tell me that there are more of those… Bleachymons out there?"

His hopeful expression though was sorely disappointed when the boy's face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Oh, yeah, there are tons of Bleachymons out there, and some are really strong! Like Shigekuni, or Stark, but you don't find those here in Karakura…" The boy's expression fell briefly before brightening yet again. "But I'm gonna be the greatest trainer ever, and I'm gonna catch them all! That's why I got myself an Ichigo, you know? When he evolves to Vaizard-Bankai-Ichigo, he's gonna be the strongest Bleachymon ever!"

Vaizard-Bankai-Ichigo? His subconsciousness really did have an annoying sense of humor. That was pretty much what Ichigo would describe himself as, so did that mean that he ranked at about the same level of the power balances in this crazy world?

For that matter – he had suddenly a horrible suspicion. "Hey, brat, do you have a… Bleachydex, or something like that?" If this was his mind's idea of mixing Pokemon with the real world, there had to be some equivalent to the Pokedex.

And, indeed, the twerp magicked some tazer-datapad-looking cross out of his hip pouch, despite his protests that he wasn't a brat.

"Can you point that scanner at me and see what kind of reading you get?" Ichigo really, really hoped that he wasn't considered one of those 'Bleachymon'. He had his ability of perfectly normal speech going for him, but who knew how many other weird ideas his brain had come up with.

The brat looked at him like he was insane, which he probably was, but fortunately did as asked. Then his eyes almost bugged out of his head, looking from Ichigo towards whatever the readings said and back towards Ichigo.

The orange-haired teen sighed. "What?"

"Y-you – you are an unknown Ichigo-evolution! And your powerlevel – it's, it's like 500!"

Ichigo rolled his eyes. He should have known that he'd end up as one of those Bleachymon. "So, is 500 good or bad?"

"Good?" the brat screeched. "That's like totally awesome! That's stronger than Vaizard-Ichigo and Shinigami-Ichigo put together! Almost as strong as Bankai-Ichigo! No wonder Uryuu couldn't do anything against you! He's only 28!"

Almost as strong as Bankai-Ichigo? Ichigo blinked. Well, he wasn't in Bankai form yet, so maybe…

He deliberately intensified his reiatsu, noting that the two head-creatures in his arms reacted to his spirit pressure like any other underpowered shinigami – they started to sweat and breathe heavily. "What about now? Do I still read at 500?"

The brat's eyes got wider and wider. "No way! 570, 580, and it's still rising!"

Ichigo nodded to himself and stopped projecting. The two head-creatures in his arms seemed very relieved. It seemed that the scanner only sensed his basic power output, not the maximum level.

"Alright. Thanks. Here, they are yours I think." He tossed the two head-creatures towards the brat, who fumbled with his datapad before dropping it and catching the two creatures. "By the way, why didn't you look surprised that I read as a bleachymon? I don't look anything like those chibi-heads, and I can talk normally, unlike those cheap rip-offs."

Ichigo had decided to play along for a while, curious as to what else this crazy dream might reveal. After all, it was nothing more than a dream, and so it wouldn't hurt anyone if he enjoyed the fruits of his over-active imagination. He was just wondering whether there was any kind of logic in this world.

The brat glared at him, temporarily preoccupied with juggling the head-creatures in his arms. "Didn't you hear, you're an unknown bleachymon evolution. And, sure, I've never seen a bleachymon as strange as you, but the higher bleachymon evolutions look quite a bit more human-like than Ichigo and Uryuu here." Suddenly, the little twerp froze and a look of awe crossed his face. "So, does that mean that you're even stronger than Vaizard-Bankai-Ichigo? Are you a," he almost whispered, "a Legendary?"

Before Ichigo could protest the brat's conclusions, the kid already went off into a deliriously happy kind of victory-dance that ignored everything around him. "I caught a Legendary, I caught a Legendary!"

"Oi, brat," Ichigo glowered, "you ain't caught nothing! I'm still standing here." That would really take the cake. Especially coming from such a little dweeb with delusions of grandeur.

The Ichigo head-creature chose that exact moment to wriggle free of the brat's grasp and bounce towards Ichigo with a happy squeal of "Ichiiii!" Neither Ichigo nor the brat were very happy about that, Ichigo because the creature was once again back in his arms, and the brat because his Ichigo was gone. Argh, this was getting confusing with all the Ichigos running around. Ichigo was starting to think that it would be better if he went by his last name than his first.

"Oi, Ichigo, come back!" Stomping up to Ichigo, the full-sized one, the brat tried to pluck the head-creature out of Kurosaki's arms. At least he had stopped doing that ridiculous dance-routine.

The brat tried to get the thing back from Kurosaki, but wasn't met with much success. Said disembodied head steadfastly refused to return to its owner, jumping from Kurosaki's arms to his head to his shoulders to avoid being caught. And it chanted "Ichi ichiii!" all the while. It was maddening.

Finally, on the fifth lunge of 'the great Daisuke-sama', Ichigo had enough. Catching the brat by the scruff of his jacket, he hoisted the little dweeb up to eye-level, dangling him from one hand. The brat struggled a bit and screamed for Kurosaki to let him down, but he soon enough got the message and stopped beating against Ichigo's fingers in favor of crossing his arms and pouting. "Give me back my Ichigo!"

Ichigo's eyes almost crossed when the head-creature made a detour into his face, nuzzled his cheek, and then finally, finally, perched on his head. Not that this was much better, but at least it stopped hopping around like an energizer bunny on speed.

"Well, I don't want that thing, either," Ichigo grumbled. "Can't you, like, call it back into your… Bleachyball or something? Like the one you used to call… Uryuu?"

Ichigo still had trouble not laughing out loud every time he saw the Quincy's chibified head scowling up at him from the brat's arms. The expression was just so typically Ishida that it was absolutely hilarious.

To Ichigo's not so great surprise, the brat blushed and looked away. Ichigo sighed. "Let me guess – you were trying to catch it, and it ran off on you?"

No answer, which was an answer all of its own. He sighed. "So, I'm guessing that you've just started out on some kind of training trip to get stronger?"

If this insane world was really influenced that much by Ichigo's horrifying memories of Pokemon, the brat was just about the right age to be sent out into the world with nothing but a weak and unreliable bleachymon, probably that Uryuu-head, to accompany him. When he had watched the series, Ichigo had scoffed at the immature idiocy of the characters. Now though, he was kind of starting to wonder what kind of uncaring parents could just let their kids stumble around the dangers of the big, wide world at the age of ten. Nearly the same age as Karin and Yuzu.

The twerp nodded enthusiastically and struck a pose as well as he could still hanging from Ichigo's grip. "Yes! I, the great Daisuke-sama, am going to become the greatest Bleachymon trainer in all of Karakura! Now let me down and give me back my Ichigo!"

Ichigo rolled his eyes and slung the kid over his shoulder, letting him dangle down his back right next to Zangetsu's wrapped form. "There's no way I'm going to let an immature little brat like you wander around unsupervised. So, where's the next place to rest? It's getting dark out here, and tomorrow I'm going to take you back to your parents. They must be insane letting someone like you go off on heir own"

"What!?!" the twerp screeched. "You can't do that! Let me DOOOOOWWWWNNNN!"

Ichigo didn't let the volume faze him. "No can do. Now, you either tell me where the next town is, or we're going to spend the night out here without camping gear. Your choice."

Honestly, the kid should do something decent with his life, like studying to get a good job. Not traipsing through wilderness, hoping to become a member of that scant 1 percent who could make a living by training pokemon. Pardon. Bleachymon. At least Ichigo thought that this might be the success rate of pokemon - Bleachymon! - trainers.

When he got showered with the exhaust of a surprisingly potty mouth for a ten-year-old, Ichigo just shrugged and kept walking into the direction the brat had come from. Sooner or later, they'd get somewhere. Ichigo was sure of that.

A/N: More strange meetings in the next chapter, when Ichigo sees the insanity of the Byakuya festival, which is held every year in Karakura town in spring. Fangirls galore.