Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, or any of its characters. Tite Kubo does. This story, however, belongs to me.
A/N: A brief Author's Note before we begin. This story was inspired partly by another Bleach Western story I read, "Spirits of the West" by Rogue Amazon Boo. You should check it out; it's a great read (it's also rated M, though, so keep the kids at home). I was also inspired by a recent marathon session of "Deadwood", which is all kinds of awesome.
The Guns of Karakura
Chapter 1: Homecoming
Ichigo Kurosaki left his horse and a small pouch of gold nuggets with the stable-hand, the kind of money that asked no questions and expected none to be asked in return. Taking off his beaten-up hat and tossing it onto the head of a passed out drunk, the orange-haired young man surveyed his surroundings and sighed.
He hoped he hadn't just made the biggest mistake of his life, coming to a place like this.
Checking to make sure that his guns were loaded and he looked at least somewhat presentable, Ichigo began to trek towards the nearest saloon. The saloon where, he hoped, his only friend in these parts was going to be there to meet him. If that bastard had shirked his promise and hung him out to dry, Kurosaki swore that the undertaker would be ordering at least three new coffins by the time the sun went down.
On his way to the watering hole, Ichigo passed by a guy about his age with red hair almost as loud as his own, pulled back into a ponytail and covered for the most part by a hat. A pair of guns sat at his hips, well-made by the looks of the grips. Not liking the kind of glance he was getting, the orange-haired gunslinger stopped cold and looked over at the stranger.
"Can I help you?" he asked sharply, and the red-haired man's eyes shifted to the guns at Kurosaki's waist before drifting slowly back up to hold Ichigo's gaze.
"You're new 'round here," the stranger said, after a few more heartbeats worth of pause, "ain'tcha?"
"What of it?" Ichigo pressed, and the other gunslinger just shrugged dismissively before walking away.
"Nothin'," he grunted, spitting out a stream of tobacco. "I'd give ya two weeks, and that's being generous."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, asshole," Kurosaki growled, of half a mind to blow the bastard's hat clean off his head before he cooled down and reconsidered. He hadn't even met up with the person he was going to be staying with, and there was no sense in riling up the law before he had a place to run to for cover.
After a few more minutes, Ichigo finally reached his destination. The saloon was called "The Black Cat", and judging from what he could see on the outside, the orange-haired young man was stunned that someone his father had held in such high esteem would frequent a place like this. Nonetheless, he had promised his pa as the old man took his dying breath that he would come here, and so he had. Sure, it had taken him a few years and more than a few unpleasant detours, but Ichigo's path had finally led him here, to Karakura, and hopefully to a few day's rest before his search began again. Sighing and gathering himself together one last time, the gunslinger opened the door to the saloon and stepped in.
His nose was immediately assaulted by the smell of whiskey and bad breath, and Ichigo would have bolted out the door immediately if not for the beautiful women bustling around the room. Some were serving whiskey, others were serving food and a few were busy wringing the last scrap of change out of poor suckers' pockets by plying the world's oldest trade, but they all had one thing in common: they were the first eyeful of the fairer sex Ichigo had gotten in way too long, and they were all gorgeous.
Blinking hard and trying not to let his eye wander too far, Kurosaki walked up to the bar and sat down. His trained eye instinctively looked towards the far end of the bar, where he saw a man sitting on the last stool in a black jacket with white leather diamonds arranged in a line on the bottom. His hair was blond and messy, covered for the most part by a white cowboy hat with a green stripe around the middle of it. A cigarette was perched lazily in his lips, and the man sat like he was wearing a gunbelt even though he wasn't. Ichigo smiled.
So his friend hadn't backed out after all.
"What'll it be, handsome?" a voice called out to him, and Kurosaki shifted his eyes back to the space in front of him before they almost popped out of his head. The dark-skinned woman currently standing before him was something out of a ranch-hand's dreams, and given how she was carrying herself, she knew it. Her golden eyes gleamed mischievously as she saw what sort of effect she was having on the young man, and she smiled a distinctively feline grin.
"My face is up here, stranger," she teased, and Ichigo's face turned a decidedly red shade as he sputtered, embarrassed.
"My apologies, ma'am," he said after a moment or two. "I meant no offense."
The woman laughed, a cheery sound that was nonetheless tainted around the edges.
"None taken, kid. To be honest, I kinda like gettin' looks like that every once in a while," the woman continued, her voice turning wistful. "Makes me feel young, y'know? But enough about me," she finished, tapping a shot glass on the bar. "What can I get ya?"
"Double whiskey," Kurosaki spoke, and the woman nodded.
"What grade you want?"
"Best you got," Ichigo elaborated, putting a pair of gold nuggets on the bar. The woman's eyes widened and she looked about ready to ask a question, before choosing not to and fetching the whiskey. After all, when strange men showed up throwing around money that seemed too good to be clean, it usually wasn't, and people with dirty money weren't the kinds who took well to prying tongues. Soon enough the orange-haired gunslinger had a lowball glass of amber liquid in front of him, which he promptly drained with a satisfied sigh.
"That's the stuff," he said happily. "None of that moonshine, low-grade cow's piss; this is liquid gold."
"Can I get you a refill, handsome?" the woman asked, brushing her long braid of purple hair back over her shoulder. The gunslinger shook his head, leaning back slightly.
"No, but you can help me find someone I'm looking for."
"Oh?" the golden-eyed bartender replied, raising an elegant eyebrow. "And who would that be?"
"I'm looking for the Red Prince."
Someone on the outside looking in might have thought a standoff had started inside the saloon, given how quickly the place fell silent. The friendly demeanor of the bartender quickly became frigid and dangerous, and Ichigo knew he had to tread carefully. Clearly, his contact had some kind of past that his father had conveniently neglected to mention.
"I don't know why you would come in here looking to start up trouble like this, stranger," the dark-skinned woman half-hissed, her voice low, "but I suggest you fuck off and ride out the way you came, before things get ugly."
"It's okay, Yoruichi," a calm voice spoke from the end of the bar, belonging to the same man Ichigo had noticed earlier. "No need to get your panties in a twist on my account." The voice turned decidedly deadly as the man turned to regard the young gunslinger, and it took all of Ichigo's nerve not to shiver at the sound of his next words.
"'The Red Prince'," the man repeated, gray eyes shining sharply from beneath the brim of his hat. "No one's called me that name in a long, long time. What're you here for, boy? Come to put a tired old gunslinger into a pine box, for some measly shred of renown that'll be gone before the whores upstairs are done turning their current tricks?"
Ichigo smiled despite himself; this guy was still as dramatic as he remembered from all those years ago, when he had been just a kid.
"You couldn't be more wrong, pal," the orange-haired young man said. "Isshin Kurosaki told me I'd find a friendly face here that went by the name of the Red Prince, but I guess he was mistaken."
The man's eyes widened at the mention of the name Isshin Kurosaki, and he took off his hat to get a clearer view at the stranger's profile.
"How do you know that name?" he asked intently, and Ichigo turned to face him eye-to-eye with a wide, genuine smile.
"Because I'm his son, Kisuke Urahara," the gunslinger replied. The blond-haired man stared dumbly for a few heartbeats, as if he'd seen a ghost, before he had a smile splitting his own face to rival the one on Kurosaki's.
"Ichigo?" Urahara asked, still reeling slightly from shock and standing up. "Is that really you?"
"Damn straight, it's me," the young man shot back, rising to his feet as well. "Who else do you know who's as good looking?"
Yoruichi looked on in amazement as the two men burst out laughing and embraced each other like long lost friends, while the rest of the patrons and workers in the saloon figured that all was well and went back to what they had been doing a few minutes previous.
"Uh, Kisuke?" the golden-eyed bartender spoke up after a few moments. "Mind telling me what the hell is going on?"
"This brash little bastard, Yoruichi," the blond-haired man said, one arm still around Ichigo's shoulders, "is my godson. Ichigo Kurosaki, meet Yoruichi Shihoin, proprietor of this wonderful saloon."
"Pleasure," Yoruichi spoke as she took Ichigo's hand in a firm grip before letting it go.
"Sorry 'bout the misunderstanding earlier, ma'am," the young gunslinger apologized. "Figured I'd throw Urahara for a loop, is all."
"Don't worry about it," Shihoin answered easily, waving her hand dismissively. "Whiskey under the bridge, as far as I'm concerned. Any friend of Kisuke's is a friend of mine, Ichigo."
"So what brings you all the way out here, kid?" the gray-eyed man asked, worry lacing his voice. Not only was Isshin nowhere to be seen, but neither were Ichigo's two younger sisters, Karin and Yuzu. That meant nothing but trouble in the older warrior's mind, and his suspicions were soon confirmed.
"My father and mother are dead," Ichigo intoned gravely, downing the shot in front of him sharply before pounding his glass for another one. "Gunned down like goddamn animals. My sisters are gone, to God knows where at this point."
Urahara's eyes turned steely and serious, but his voice retained some degree of sympathy.
"What happened, Ichigo?"
"My dad had a bad harvest a few years back, and his livestock got hit with a pox that killed off most of it off in the same week. He was desperate for scratch, seein' as how he needed to feed me and my sisters. He went barking up the wrong tree for the cash, and sooner or later he had to pay the piper. Problem was, when the piper came collecting, his pockets were empty."
Ichigo's voice broke for a moment as the memories came back to him, and Kisuke sighed.
"He should've called me, the stubborn bastard," the older man ground out. "I would'a come in there guns blazing, and he knew it."
"Why do ya think he didn't call you, Urahara?" Kurosaki answered with a hollow laugh. "He knew that's just what you would've done; my mother even suggested it one night. I didn't make out the whole conversation 'cause the door was only open a crack, but I heard him say this much: 'Kisuke hung up his irons for a reason, Masaki. He made the right choice, the choice I couldn't make until it was almost too late. I'm not about to pull him back in.'"
The blond-haired man sighed, downing his shot of whiskey and killing his cigarette.
"Stubborn bastard," he repeated, and Ichigo raised his shot glass as soon as Yoruichi had poured them both refills.
"To stubborn bastards, and all the trouble they cause," the orange-haired gunslinger toasted. "May we never forget them as long as we live."
"Amen to that," Urahara answered, killing his shot and turning his glass over, signaling he was done for the night.
"Where're your sisters, Ichigo?" he broached after a moment, and the young Kurosaki sighed.
"The fuckers that took out my mom and my dad grabbed my sisters when they ran. I tried to stop them, but they hit me with two slugs in the chest and left me for dead. I got no fucking idea where Karin and Yuzu are, even after spending all of these years looking."
Kisuke clasped his hands on Ichigo's shoulders, meeting fiery amber eyes with his own, cold gray stare.
"Trust me when I say we're going to find them, Ichigo," he said gravely, "and we're going to make the sons of bitches that did this pay. But first thing's first: you need a good night's sleep and a bath to wash the blood and filth offa ya. Go upstairs and get settled; we'll talk more about this in the morning."
As Ichigo nodded in solemn gratitude and left, Yoruichi finished wiping down a glass and looked seriously over at Urahara.
"You're gonna be wanting them back, aren't you, Kisuke?" she asked, her voice sad.
The gray-eyed man put his hat back on and stood up, stretching his tired muscles.
"Soon, maybe," he admitted, "but not yet, Yoruichi; not yet. I'll be in the back when you care to join me," he added with a wicked smile, and Shihoin feigned chucking the glass at his head as Urahara laughed and hurried from the room.
"Damn that man," the golden-eyed woman growled through her weary smile,
"He's nothing but trouble."
A/N: Well, there you have it, the first chapter. I'm writing this as sort of a diversion for when I need a break from the other story I'm working on, but if it gets enough reviews I might be swayed to update it faster. So, if you liked it, please review and tell me so.