This is dedicated to Mercyonthesoul. Because she gave me a funny, little whumping prompt to write on, and in the end, this depressing yet strangely resilient piece of nonsensical something or other was all I could bring myself to do.
"Remember, no matter where you go, there you are."
Earl Mac Rauch
Sunrise
It was dark.
Hitsugaya had never liked the dark. Not that he'd tell anyone. He was a captain, after all. Captains were fearless, powerful, and mature.
Captains were not afraid of the dark. Hitsugaya Toushirou was not afraid of the dark.
No, he wasn't afraid. He was just lost. Lost and blind and confused in a world that no longer made any sense. A world in which all he could do anymore was wait until his orders were given and then complete them like some sort of machine.
No, not a machine. A toy. A rook on a chess board.
Hitsugaya Toushirou was not afraid of the dark because he was a captain, and captains were not afraid of the dark. But captains were only so fearless because they never left this sheltered darkness.
Captains weren't afraid of the dark. They were afraid of the light.
Aizen, Ichimaru, and Tousen were not afraid of the light. They absorbed it, made it their own. That was why the captains were afraid. They were afraid because Aizen owned the light. They were the night crawlers, and he was the rose.
But even Hitsugaya knew that every rose had its thorns. So if Aizen was so deadly, and the captains were so lost in darkness, where was he supposed to turn? To whom was he supposed to turn? Why should he turn at all? What was the point of turning any way, doing any thing, if every pathway led to the same dead end?
Why, why, why?
Why did he see Ichimaru Gin's eyes every time he closed his eyes? Why did he see Aizen Sousuke's smile every time the lights went out? How did Tousen Kaname survive in the light, even when all he had ever seen was darkness?
The answer came to him unexpectedly as he slowly pushed off his covers and sat up in the dark.
They didn't.
They didn't survive. All of them had already died, had they not? The shinigami, the hollows. All of them were bonded by the tight, unbreakable, all-consuming threads of death.
Aizen wasn't afraid of the light, but he was afraid of the dark. The captains weren't afraid of the dark, but they were afraid of the light. Everyone was afraid of something. That was the reason this war had begun. That was the reason every war had begun. There was no escaping that fear. It burned inside of everyone, no matter whether they were a captain or not.
He stood up from his futon, slowly walking around the furniture toward the doorway leading outside. He opened the door at the same measured pace, stepping out to look up at the moon high in the sky, the small stars like snowflakes all around it. He stood there for a long time, though he didn't know how long. Soon enough, the light of the sun rise began to just peak over the horizon.
So maybe … Hitsugaya Toushirou was afraid of the dark. And maybe … he was afraid of the light as well.
But just as there would always be night and day, there would also be the time in between.
While others fought for their dominance over the skies, he would be content to wade in the twilight, to watch the sun rise and set, marveling at the intricacies of both with equal awe and contempt.
Even this position harbored its own responsibilities.
He felt for Hyourinmaru, surprised to find that the dragon was still at his side, even this early in the morning. He hadn't let go of the zanpakutou since the defectors' betrayal. He wrapped his hand around its hilt, felt the dragon's soothing breathing.
He would not allow either to step over its allotted boundaries. Seireitei had the night; Aizen had the day. If Aizen wanted the night, he would have to cut the boy down yet again. And this time, he'd have to ensure that Hitsugaya would never wake up. Because as long as he still drew breath, he would not stop.
The same went for the shinigami themselves.
He didn't care about his age, his lack of experience, or his place in the Seireitei. Perhaps Kurosaki Ichigo was the one who had things right all along. Or, at least, was the closest. Perhaps it wasn't about which side one was on, which place one could call home. Perhaps it wasn't even about the people one cared about and the people one couldn't stand.
Perhaps, sometimes, it was just nice to sit back and enjoy the sunrise knowing that, when evening came, you could watch it set.
Just as it always had.
Good morning, world.