The first time Aizen uses his bankai, he gets lost. He is taken to a foggy grey world, dropped into a swamp with twisting paths and shapes shifting in the shadows, and told that to win he had to find his opponent and kill her. His zanpaktou disappeared after telling him this cryptic message. When he tried to use his spiritual energy to locate his enemy, it was locked somewhere out of his reach. And if Aizen tried to walk the path, he got nowhere. It was like a never ending tunnel- the more he walked, the longer the path became.

It took a month for Aizen to realize that he could mold the environment to his liking. The first thing he did was to create a pillar, where he could look above the swamp to find the woman who'd trapped him here (something whispers in his mind that he's the one responsible for this mess, but Aizen ignores it. It didn't matter, really. Not when he was going to kill her.)

Finding the woman took far longer than Aizen expected. Actually cornering her took much longer. And while he was chasing her, he finally realized where he was, and what his bankai had done. I'm in her mind. This is her subconsciousness. It certainly explained the odd environment, and the shifting paths, and the way the ground was so malleable. The fact he hadn't been hungry or thirsty in days. And how she could give herself the power of flight, while Aizen remained solidly planted on the ground. It was impossible for him to leave before the environment ceased to exist, Aizen realized- and to eliminate the environment, he had to first kill the woman. Once her control on the mindscape was destroyed, then the entire place would be obliterated. And Aizen could escape.

When he finally disposed of the woman, he felt like he was being ripped apart. It hurt, when the mindscape tore. Aizen thought it was because he'd been there for so long.

Aizen was deposited, roughly, back into his body. It gasped, and a limb twitched. Aizen was still so disoriented he had no idea which limb had moved- he thought it was an arm, but it could've been a finger for all he knew. His body felt wrong: all weak and bare and unresponsive. Aizen could tell his soul was starting to get adjusted to his body again. He was starting to feel a little warm, and his skin was telling him it was being massaged. Aizen blinked. Or, well, he would've if he could figure out how exactly to do that.

And there was a faraway sloshing noise, whatever that meant.

There was a pressure in his chest that was gradually growing, too. Aizen frowned. (Or. Well.) The pressure continued to grow, and then it surged, and Aizen realized that he'd forgotten how to breathe.

Trying to control his panic, Aizen began by trying to open his mouth. It was numb and slow to move, but eventually he managed. (his throat was straining and pulsing by now, and Aizen couldn't remember a time where he more desperately wanted to breathe than this). But just as he got it open, something waxy and bitter and awful flooded his mouth.

Aizen gagged, and then gasped for air. Relief flooded through him. I remembered how to breathe! Finally.

"Whoops," said a loud voice by Aizen's head, "sorry!"

"It's not like he cares," rumbled another voice, "he's empty."

"Yeah, still." There was more sloshing of water, and then something warm and rough slid down his arm.

Aizen's mouth twitched downwards in a frown, and blinked his eyes open.

The world was bright, too bright, and Aizen closed his eyes immediately, hissing. Fucking...ow, goddamn it. That hurt.

Aizen opened his eyes again, slower this time. They still teared up, but the world was slowly coming into focus.

Someone's face swam into view above his own. It wasn't anyone he recognized, but everything was too blurry for him to see their division symbol. "Ugh," they said, high pitched and whining, "I hate it when he opens his eyes like that. It's so creepy."

"Like I said, he's an empty shell. Shut up."

"Yeah, that makes it worse. I can't believe we got assigned to taking care of him! It's like caring for a fucking doll!"

This prompted nothing but an ill-mannered grunt. Something touched Aizen's back, and he wished he could squirm away.

Aizen glared at the man above him. The shinigami remained oblivious, and continued to wipe something wet up and down Aizen's arm. ...wait.

Slowly, dots began to connect in Aizen's mind. Ah, shit. This is...unexpected.

Aizen opened his mouth again, to say something, anything to tell these people that he was alive, but the man that was crouched in front of him shoved his jaw shut. Aizen made an offended noise. The man gave him an odd look.

Aizen opened his mouth again, and made an angry noise. Or, tried. All the noise that came out was a dry ugly rasp. He cringed. I'm so thirsty. ...and my mouth tastes like shit.

The man in front of him turned to look at Aizen incredulously. "Are you…talking?"

Aizen made another pasty noise and nodded.

"Holy crap! He's awake!"

Aizen narrowed his eyes. This man was clearly a fool. And...was that a sponge in his hand?

Aizen looked around, feeling his eyes beginning to adjust properly, and found himself sitting buck naked in a bathtub full of soapy water. Someone was still scrubbing his back. He shrugged them off, feeling his cheeks start to heat up. This would be less embarrassing if I knew who these two were... At this rate...ugh.

"Captain, that you?" the gruff sounding person was still behind him. Aizen nodded.

"Well, I'm gonna finish washing your hair, since you can't manage."

Aizen bristled, about to reprimand the fool before catching himself. Annoying as it is, he's right. I can hardly speak, let alone wash myself. He nodded, not trusting his voice.

Hands began to scrub at his scalp, and Aizen realized several important things:

He was famished

He would kill for a glass of water

Where was his zanpaktou?

His head was heavier than normal.

Aizen chose to ignore the fourth thing, and instead tugged at the sleeve of the man who'd first realized he was awake.

"Hm?" The shinigami leaned close. As if I can speak. My throat is too dry. Bastards.

Aizen brought his hand up to his face as if he were drinking.

"You want a glass of water." It was a statement, not a question, but Aizen found himself nodding anyway.

The shinigami smiled sheepishly, scrubbing at the back of his head. "I'll get that right away. Should have thought about it immediately, sorry." He scrambled off.

Aizen squinted to see the number on the shinigami's retreating back. ...Ah. His shoulders relaxed. I'm in the Fourth's long-term patient ward, probably.

He found himself relaxing into the hands that were washing his scalp with rhythmic, circular motions. It was nice and besides, Aizen was exhausted. He let his eyes shutter halfway. No harm in enjoying this. It's not like he's going to kill you.

Aizen stared at himself in the mirror. He was using a chair to support his weight- his legs were thin and weak and trembling. His arms, too, were annoyingly unsteady. Aizen's ribs were prominent. He'd lost a lot of weight. And his hair had grown nearly down his back. It hung loose and heavy, a testament to the nine-month stint he'd spent in someone else's head. Aizen was not sure if he liked it or not.

He glanced to his zanpaktou on the dresser, remembering those long nights in the grey dreamscape, where his lungs had felt stuffed with cotton and his knees cramped from the endless waiting.

I do not know if I trust myself to use her again, for a while.