[Sequel to A Darker Shade of Pale, and I think you do need to have read it for this to really make sense. This is the second of what will be a 'four part trilogy' (nods to Douglas Adams), and definitely the Empire Strikes Back instalment of the series.
Also, please note, this is a dark verse. I will included specific warnings in notes at the beginning of chapters for certain events.
Massive thanks go out to Junko for going above and beyond the call of duty with this story. She's been my beta, my sounding board and my cheerleader for months. I am not worthy. Also to my better half, for sitting and listening as I read this monster to her and argued every point of grammar and plot she felt worth arguing about. Believe when I say, without these two, you wouldn't have had anything to read.
Thank you.]
There were hundreds of them; rank upon crowded rank. Men, women, small kids, some in shihakushō, others wearing colourful kimono, more still dressed in rags and cast-offs. And in amongst them lurked other things, creatures that were neither human nor shinigami but had souls nonetheless.
And all of them were staring at him.
Plaintive expressions, open hopeful eyes, their extended hands, begging and pleading for him to do something, anything. And behind them, from the dust of the arena, rose the oncoming roar of something that would tear every one of them apart.
Ichigo woke with a gasping jerk and rolled upright to sit blinking at his knees, panting heavily.
A dream. Another freaking dream. And this one had been a doozy.
His shudder at the lingering touch of all those eyes turned into a shiver as sweat-wet silk over his shoulders lost heat to the late autumn chill. The bed was empty; there was no sign of either Byakuya or Renji, though when he ran a hand under the covers, they were still warm. Byakuya must have just got up. He'd be finding Renji to relieve him, which meant Ichigo could expect company again any time soon. He wasn't sure he wanted it, from either of them. What he really wanted was a bottle of soda, and some time off the estate and alone to gather his thoughts, but good luck finding either of those things around here.
Scrubbing his hands through his hair to try and shift a sudden pang of homesickness, he grabbed his tabi and slipped them on before shoving the quilts back. Doing it that way round was the only way to keep his feet warm, he'd discovered. Winter in Soul Society was going to suck, especially for someone like him who was used to modern houses. But Ichigo guessed he'd survive it, like he'd survived everything else this place had thrown at him so far.
"Bad dream again?"
"Eh?" Ichigo glanced round to see Renji entering the bedroom, already shedding his shihakushō. Damn it, he'd been hoping to escape before Renji got back. Ichigo shrugged a shoulder with as much nonchalance as he could muster, and might as well not of bothered. For a guy who could be denser than a concrete block, Renji was way too perceptive, especially when Ichigo didn't want him to be.
This time it came in the form of a tackle that knocked Ichigo flat. He thrashed instinctively but Renji's bear hug just tightened around him until Ichigo gave up fighting and subsided with an irritated huff.
Actually, being held like this, with strong arms pressing him tight against a big solid body and a chin resting atop his head, wasn't so bad. It took him back to just after mom died when Ichigo had been plagued by nightmares. Back then, when he'd woken up crying, his dad would join him on the bed, tuck him in tight like this and say-
"Wanna talk about it?"
"No." The reply came out in much the same way as had all those years ago. Small and resentful, but with an edge of 'make me, please'.
"Taichō used to do this," was Renji's riposte. "When I first came here, I had some real nasty dreams."
Ichigo didn't know much about how Renji had come to serve Byakuya. All he'd said about it was that Kurotsuchi had been after him for his labs and that Byakuya had saved his life. Still that was enough to give Ichigo nightmares, so Renji'd probably been the same.
"Did it help?" Ichigo asked. The warmth from Renji's body seeped through the cloth between them and he found he was relaxing into it.
He felt Renji nod and then Renji said, "Yeah, some. I think time's the best healer though and that's something you shouldn't be short of here."
That was true. As Ichigo understood it, if he was careful, he could still be alive in thousands of years. Whether or not he'd want to be was another question. He couldn't even begin to fathom what it must be like for some of the older shinigami, watching friends die and being left behind again and again. It had been bad enough losing his mom and Chad, and then Uncle Ryūken and Uryū just last year. At least this time he'd got to go with his family when they'd went.
Course, that was part of the problem.
"Was it the challenges again?" Renji asked after a moment or two, and when Ichigo didn't answer him immediately, his chin started digging into the top of Ichigo's head.
Ichigo kicked him to make him stop, though he did deign to answer. "Yeah, that and Kira waltzing off with Yuzu."
Renji stiffened at his words and Ichigo elbowed him gently, knowing Renji still blamed himself for the breach in security. "Wasn't your fault, dumb ass. He's your friend, you had no reason to suspect him. And you said yourself he was only doing what his captain told him to do. Plus it was my fault he got the order in the first place."
"I still shouldn't have trusted him."
Which was probably true and just went to show what a fucked up place Soul Society was. "So let's call it even." Ichigo huffed, "And anyway it wasn't that bit that woke me up." He was so used to reliving that day, it was almost routine by now. It was the last bit of the dream that had been new, and Ichigo even knew why he'd had it.
Performance anxiety, simple as that.
"Tomorrow?" Renji asked, doing his annoying psychic thing again.
Ichigo nodded. It had to be tomorrow. Because tomorrow Ichigo got officially installed as the 23rd head of the Shiba clan.
"Now you're just screwing with me." Ichigo held up his hands, which were covered by a heavy fall of golden silk, just like they had been at the last fitting session. His feet were no better. The legs of the hakama were way longer than they needed to be. At least they were in plain black, though he still felt like a small kid playing dress up in his dad's clothes. Or actually his mom's since he'd never seen his dad is anything other than shirts and pants.
"Screwing with you, my lord?" The tailor, a small guy with a neat pencil moustache and a tendency repeat everything that was said to him, glanced up from the pile of black and red fabric he was working on. More layers, Ichigo guessed.
"You said you were gonna cut some of this off." He waved a sleeve, the extra fabric flapping uselessly beyond the tips of his fingers.
"Yes, my lord, cut some off." The tailor bowed and turned back to his work.
Ichigo stared at him in a mixture of disbelief and confusion. That was exactly what the guy had done the last time Ichigo had asked, and Ichigo had, stupidly as it turned out, assumed he was going to make the changes later. Only now it was later. He was supposed to be wearing this get-up in three hours, the freaking sleeves were still too long, and if he tried walking in these hakama, he'd end up falling flat on his face in front of the whole of freaking Seireitei.
But no matter how hard Ichigo glared at him, the tailor made no move towards putting the clothing right. He didn't ask his assistant to do it either. Ichigo glanced at the blond woman fiddling with something behind him and wondered briefly if she'd do it if he asked. Probably not. Every time he'd tried to speak to her so far she'd just got quieter and even more nervous, so now he was just ignoring her.
He turned his attention back to the tailor and stated the obvious. "You're not gonna do it, are you?"
"My lord?"
Was that a hint of irritation Ichigo saw in the man's passive demeanour? On the off chance it was, he poked it. "I said you've got no intention of fixing the sleeves on this thing, even if I ask you to."
"Ask me to... ?" A slight frown wrinkled the tailor's forehead. "Yes, my lord. The design is very complimentary to my lord's build and colouring, and most suitable for the occasion."
Okay, now he was starting to get annoyed. Which of them was supposed to be the clan-head anyway? "Screw suitable, I want to be able to walk."
Another bow, this one much lower. "It is a skill I am sure my lord will quickly acquire."
"Fuck that! My lord learnt to walk freaking years ago and doesn't need to learn a second time!"
"Yes, my lord."
"Argh!" Ichigo's frustration hit explosion point. He couldn't stay here, not if he didn't want to end up punching the tailor. Hiking up the legs of the hakama, he clambered down off the little platform and made a break for the outside world, every other step an awkward sort of hop as his feet got tangled in the cloth.
The tailor made a panicked little squeaking sound and lunged for him, stopping short at the last moment with a horrified expression on his face as if realising who he'd almost laid hands on. Ichigo smirked at him, enjoying the sudden turn round in their relationship, and bolted off down the corridor.
He was in the manor house proper, rather than Byakuya's quarters, and the place was a sprawling maze of rooms and interlinked buildings, with multiple levels and interior walls that moved on an almost daily basis. Especially on days when the manor was hosting the investment of a new clan head, even if it wasn't their own. Today the whole place was alive with servants bustling from one job to another, humping huge baskets of food and textiles and chests containing who knew what. Ichigo dodged between them, the tailor in hot pursuit still squeaking and gesturing for Ichigo to come back.
Ichigo had no intention of doing any such thing. It was bad enough having to go through with this dumb charade without having to wear clothes that'd make him look like an idiot in front of everyone. It wasn't like Shiba was his actual name, or that he had any connection with any of this clan stuff beyond being his dad's son.
Plus it turned out the clan was pretty much defunct anyway. It had one other member, no money, no property worth speaking of, and its reputation was shot to hell. It was a bit like being handed the keys to a Ferrari only to be told it had four flats and no engine. And it was going to be up to him to fix it.
He couldn't fix it! He didn't know how. He didn't even know where to start.
The rooms around him began to merge together; he'd stepped into shunpo to escape the seething masses. The tailor was left far behind and Ichigo didn't give a damn. He needed to be away, just from everyone and everything. Just for a minute or two to clear his head.
He shunpo'd again, and this time it took him outside the main building. Another and he was beyond the courtyard. Freedom beckoned, the chill of the autumn air redolent of lazy weekends shooting the breeze with Chad or sparring with Tatsuki.
Hakama hiked up, he headed in clumsy fits and starts for the small woodland that lay at the far end of the manor grounds and from there jumped the wall. Byakuya was going to be mad with him. He wasn't supposed to leave without a guard but surely it wouldn't harm just this once. In any case, he didn't go far. A graveyard butted up against the wall at this point and in the centre was a small shrine. It seemed like the perfect place to try and find that peace of mind he was searching for.
Avoiding the dark interior, he made himself comfortable on the ground behind the shrine, leaning up against its smooth stone wall and rested his head on his raised knees. He was being selfish and juvenile, he knew, but he couldn't help it. This whole thing was bringing back memories.
While he was growing up, family had been central to Ichigo's life. And not just his parents or his baby sisters. For as long as he could remember there'd been his uncle and his cousin, as well. He might have thought uncle Ryūken was a cold fish and spent more time fighting with Uryū than he did talking, but they'd been family. And now they were all gone. Run through his fingers like sand from a child's fist beneath an unforgiving wave. No matter how hard he tried to hang on, they always slipped away.
And now he was being told he had a new family. The Shiba.
He'd had met his cousins, Ganju and Kūkaku. As scary insane people went, they were okay, but he didn't know them. Didn't want to know them. They weren't family. Was it so selfish of him to want his real family around him and not these strangers he was being told he had to care about.
"Ah, I do apologise. I didn't realise anyone else was here."
Ichigo started at the quietly spoken words, and looked up into heavy-lidded brown eyes. They belonged to a tall guy with dark swept back hair in a style that left a single lock falling across his face. He was standing at the corner of the shrine, his black shihakushō allowing him to fade into the shadows.
Ichigo scrambled to his feet, forgetting he was wearing stupid too-long hakama, and stumbled, an undignified nose-plant imminent. A strong hand caught him under the arm, stopping him falling too far, and he grabbed it gratefully, allowing himself to be tugged upright.
The guy was taller than him. Not as tall as Renji, but taller than Byakuya, and built. There was a slightly amused tilt to his lips that told Ichigo he was trying not to laugh. It made him seem very human and Ichigo felt himself flush.
"Thanks," he said, pulling himself free as soon as he found his feet. "I'm not normally that clumsy, it's these dumb hakama..." His voice trailed off. The guy was staring at him as though he'd done something amazing. Ichigo checked behind himself to see if there was anyone else around who might merit such an expression, and when there wasn't, turned back to introduce himself.
"Third Seat Kurosaki Ichigo," he said, dipping a shallow bow. "6th division."
"Fukutaichō of the 1st, but you can call me Sōsuke."
Was that name familiar? Ichigo was certain they'd never met because he would have remembered it if they had. If the past few months had taught him anything, it was a new appreciation of the male form, and this one was definitely worth appreciating.
Sōsuke was still speaking. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Ichigo-kun." There was no bow to go with his introduction, though Ichigo guessed he shouldn't expect it from a lieutenant. There was no real reason this guy should know he was a clan head. Or would be one after the 'thing' happened this afternoon.
Speaking of... Ichigo glanced up at the sky, caught a glimpse of the sun and did a quick guesstimate of the time. "Fuck! I am so late!"
Sōsuke's eyes widened at the curse and Ichigo could have kicked himself. Way to make a good impression, he thought miserably. "Look," he said, "I've gotta go. There's this thing and I'm kinda the whole reason for it happening, but um..." He wanted to suggest they went out for a drink, but that wasn't how things worked in Soul Society, and even if it was Ichigo wasn't sure he'd actually be able to force the words out of his mouth. And even if he could, why would the guy say yes? It wasn't like they knew each other or anything.
"Before you go," Sōsuke said, "There's something I'd like to show you."
His hand gripped the hilt of his zanpakutō and Ichigo was suddenly, painfully, aware that he was completely unarmed. Zangetsu was back in the main house and, dressed like this, his hakuda would be for shit. Even so, he took a wary step back, only for Sōsuke to pause. A second later his face hardened and twisted and the gaze he levelled at Ichigo made his blood run like ice.
"Your protectors have arrived. No matter. Another time perhaps." Sōsuke raised his hand and Ichigo could feel the slight build of reiatsu. Kidō. Crap, he had nothing to counter a kidō, except...
Ichigo raised his own hand, preparing to absorb the power if he possibly could -
- and woke up staring into Renji's very annoyed looking face.
"What the hell are you doing out here?" Renji asked.
Ichigo blinked and looked around. He was out the back of the small shrine in the graveyard. "Crap! I musta fallen asleep!" He scrambled to his feet, almost nose-diving when his feet got tangled in the stupid too-long hakama. A strong hand caught him under the arm and he grabbed onto Renji's shihakushō to drag himself upright.
As Renji steadied him, Ichigo was hit with the strongest sense of deja vu, followed by something that was more like mortal terror crossed with stomach flu. His skin crawled, goose bumps sprang up all over him and a bone-deep shudder worked its way from his spine to his fingertips. "Urgh," he groaned, as the nausea hit. "Gonna puke."
"Then do it that way."
Renji spun him round and hung on to the back of his hakama as Ichigo heaved and retched for what felt like forever into the grass. It wasn't and he didn't lose much, but by the time he was finished, he was still shaky like he'd eaten something that really disagreed with him.
"You okay?" Renji asked, all traces of his previous annoyance gone.
Ichigo made a note of it. Apparently throwing up made Renji forget he was mad at you. "Will be," he muttered, staggering a few feet away and sinking onto his knees. "How long have I been gone?"
"Over an hour," Renji replied, following him and hunkering down to press the back of his hand to Ichigo's forehead. "You don't feel hot. What'd you have for breakfast?"
"Eh..." Ichigo racked his brain trying to remember. He couldn't. His mind felt like it'd been through a mincer. "No idea. Possibly nothing."
"That'll be it then," Renji said with a sound of satisfaction. "Let's go. Get something solid inside you."
His smack on Ichigo's shoulder as he stood up almost knocked Ichigo over again. And when he put two and two together and made a whole lot of trouble in his immediate future, Ichigo almost didn't bother to save himself. "Byakuya sent you, didn't he." It wasn't a question. He already knew the answer.
"Oh yeah," Renji smirked down at him.
Ichigo winced. "How much trouble am I in?"
Renji's smirk widened for a second, then he pursed his lips and made a performance out of considering the question. "When I left," he said finally, "he had three members of Central 46 and the Head Captain with him, all of them expecting to have a personal audience with you before the main event."
"Oh shit. I am so dead." In the face of overwhelming odds, Ichigo gave up and sagged to the ground. The grass was cool against his cheek. It was nice. Maybe he could stay here and become a shrine attendant. It had to be an easier life that the one he was living.
"Oi! None of that now." Laughter laced Renji's voice, and Ichigo found himself dragged upright again. "Can you walk in those things?"
"No." Which was where this whole stupid thing had started. Ichigo cast a mournful look up at Renji and said, "Can you make him cut them shorter?"
It turned out the man with the magic words to control the tailor was Byakuya, of course. He took one look at the length of Ichigo's hakama and ordered them shortened. Not by having them cut. No, that would have been far too logical. Instead they'd had extras ties added on the inside so now Ichigo looked like a renegade from the set of Aladdin. But at least he could walk.
Which was helpful for getting up on the stage at the front of the huge room, but not so much for all the stuff that came afterwards. In his briefing, Byakuya had called this first part 'introductions', explaining that it was a chance for everyone who was anyone to see the new Shiba clan-head close to with their own eyes. A never-ending procession of names and faces he didn't have a hope in hell of remembering, was a more accurate description to Ichigo's mind. He'd been sat here for going on an hour now, and all he had to show for it was numb feet and sore knees.
The chilly silence emanating from the space behind his left shoulder reminded him he wasn't alone in his suffering. Karin, dressed up in clothing even stupider than his own and wearing make-up that made her look like a doll, was with him on the stage, mimicking to the exact degree each bow Ichigo made. And it was taking all of Ichigo's focus not to make an ass of himself. Thankfully he had Renji as back up. Each time a new face was presented, Renji, stood to one side of the stage and hidden from direct view, flicked up fingers to indicate how low Ichigo should go, with one being a simple nod and three for a deeper bow reserved for the older members of the other First families.
After the introductions came the gifts. Every guest had brought at least one and each had to be presented and appreciated properly. Ganju, on his best behaviour and acting as aide de camp for the day, was doing all the donkey work, fetching and carrying and holding the gifts, but Ichigo still had to pay attention. Not easy when he couldn't care less about the stuff he was getting. There was a subtlety to the choice of gifts that was completely beyond him, though Byakuya was bound to explain it all later. Probably in agonising detail.
Currently Ichigo was being shown the ugliest vase he'd ever seen in his life while the little guy who'd brought it nattered on about firing techniques and something called slip. Since the guy was a Suehisa and older than the hills he'd dug the clay out of and thus merited some level of respect, Ichigo fixed a polite expression on his face before half closing his eyes and letting his gaze drift around the room.
The guards drew his attention first. Stationed every few paces along the walls, some were in the colours of visiting clans, but most wore Shiba black and red, their uniforms printed with the same mon as the one dyed into Ichigo's ceremonial clothing. They were his personal guards, and though for the time being they would live and work alongside the Kuchiki retainers, he was responsible for their upkeep and equipment. Seeing the swords each of them carried, the lack of Zangetsu at his own side felt like a gaping void.
In theory, the guards were there to protect the audience, who sat serenely in elegant rows, each on their own cushion, looking as bored as Ichigo felt. But considering who half of them were, if anyone tried anything, Ichigo thought it was more likely the guests would end up protecting the guards rather than the other way around.
The guests themselves were seated according to a complicated plan drawn up by Byakuya's steward. He'd tried explaining it to Ichigo but had finally given up when it became obvious to both of them that, as far as the finer points of etiquette went, Ichigo was a lost cause. All Ichigo remembered was that the important people, the ones who would be his equal in rank, if not seniority, by the end of the day, sat at the front; Byakuya, Yoruichi-sama, Kyōraku-taichō in his other role as clan-head, and a wizened old lady who was the matriarch of the reclusive Towa clan. Behind them were the lesser families, each placed in accordance to their affiliation and seniority, and right at the back, separate from the nobles, sat the witnesses from Central 46 and the Gotei 13; three senior judges and the Head Captain himself.
And sat behind Yamamoto-sōtaicho, was a face that Ichigo couldn't help feeling he'd seen somewhere before. Dark haired and good-looking, the guy was wearing a shihakushō, so he hadn't been one of those formally presented earlier, and he certainly wasn't from the 6th because Ichigo would have remembered him. That lock of hair was pretty distinctive, after all. So where did he know him from?
A faint tickle of a memory worried at the edges of Ichigo's mind. A name. Sōsuke?
As though feeling Ichigo's eyes on him, the man looked up. Their gazes met and held for several moments with neither of them flinching, and then the man smiled, open and friendly. A chill crept up Ichigo's spine. His gut churned and he got the weirdest feeling that he knew exactly how this guy tasted. It was such a bizarre thought that it almost made him laugh. He covered it with a cough and when he looked back up, the man was gone, as though he'd never even been there.
The final stage of the ceremony, after all the introductions and the gifts and the speeches, was the investiture itself which, it turned out was a simple matter of Ichigo picking a tanto up from a cushion and sticking it through his obi. That no one told him he couldn't, or tried to fight him for it, made him head of the Shiba clan. When Byakuya had told him what he'd have to do, Ichigo had thought it'd be a bit of a let down, but when it actually came to it, he found himself surprisingly moved.
Ganju, as the only other male member of the clan, carried the tanto out and laid it in front of Ichigo. In contrast to its tasselled silk cushion, the sword itself was plain and so old that it bordered on ancient. The dyed leather of the sheath was starting to crack and the bindings on the hilt were stained and worn to threads in places.
Ichigo stared down at it, for a brief moment thrown back to Renji in Byakuya's tent next to the arena, and he suddenly grasped the importance of the blade he was about to pick up, and what it exactly it would mean to take it.
According to Byakuya, every head of the Shiba clan had carried this tanto since before any records began. Several had used it as a blade of last resort, either to defeat their enemies or to die with honour. And that was the crux of it. The blade itself was unimportant. It was what it represented that mattered, and that was the clan's honour. What Ichigo was doing by picking it up with his own hand, was swearing his own oath of fealty. To his clan. To those who would look to him as their leader. He was swearing to uphold their honour through his own.
It was humbling. But at the same time, kind of uplifting. It was yet another bond between himself and what was the only future he now had and, as he wrapped his fingers around the sheath and lifted the sword from its resting place, Ichigo felt as though the ghosts of his ancestors stepped into place behind him.
No longer alone, it was a stronger, older, more mature Ichigo who carefully slipped the tanto through his belt and for the first and last time, dropped into a full kowtow in front of the other clan heads. They all joined him, a gesture of mutual respect and fealty to the absent Soul King.
And then the whole damned thing was over.
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