Disclaimers: I do not own Bleach.
CHAPTER 1: The Masked Approach
Fading light dappled the bright orange hair of the boy lying on the bed. Pale bandages wrapped around his torso and head, barely concealing the wounds that the Arrancar Yammy had inflicted in the battle the previous day. Shadows of bruising blossomed from underneath the gauze, showing the extent that the damage went. Four broken ribs, according to Urahara, in addition to a long shallow cut on Ichigo's chest and forehead, and smaller cuts elsewhere on his body. Orihime had healed as much as she could, but the exhaustion of being in contact with the spiritual pressure of two powerful Arrancars, in addition to the injuries that she had sustained, had drained her. She had fallen unconscious during her attempted healing on Ichigo, and was still at Urahara's recovering.
My fault.
Ichigo sat up, wincing at the protests that his body made. He tried to move slowly, swinging his legs onto the floor and gripping the sides of the bed, trying to push himself up. He gasped as a flash of pain blazed through his chest, his legs giving way and flopping him back into the sitting position on the side of the bed. He couldn't even rely on his body and more.
Outside the noises of afternoon rush hour commenced. Slamming car doors, and the the beeping of horns as people made their way through the evening traffic. People who did not know about Arrancars and hollows. Defenseless when they did encounter them. The people that he was supposed to be protecting. Yuzu, and Karin...
My fault.
Chad got mangled. Orihime and Tatsuki almost died. All because I was too weak. All because I wasn't strong enough to beat them. Because I can't deal with Him.
Ichigo scooted back further on the bed until only his legs were sticking off the end.
Before my fight with Byakuya, the mask kept coming back no matter how many times I threw it away. After the fight it stopped. Since then I can hear him inside me; His voice, calling me. Every day he comes closer, getting faster and stronger all the time. He's closer now then he was a second ago. I don't need Shinji to tell me. If I don't stop him….
Ichigo turned his head, looking at the whitewashed wall. A tentative hand reached out and touched a scuff in it, picking at the bits of drywall visible in the hole. He stiffened as a floorboard creaked outside his door, and a tentative knock tapped by the hand of a young girl.
Ichigo's door cracked open; his little sister's face peering in on him lying half off the bed.
"Ichi-nii?" Yuzu questioned, her eyes wide, "Are you ok? You're not hurt that bad are you?!"
Ichigo sat up slowly, putting on a pained smile, and this time being more careful of his ribs.
"Yeah, I'm fine Yuzu. Just sore thats all."
His sister didn't know he was a Soul Reaper. In fact, no one in his family did. Sometimes he wondered if Karin had an inkling of it, occasionally seeing her glance at him differently out of the corner of her eye when she though he wasn't looking, as if to confirm that he was still there. They didn't know that he had got the bruises in a sword fight, instead victim to a post-school brawl that he was sometimes the target of.
Yuzu paused, her hand on the door-handle, "Can I bring you some food? There are some eggs and rice if you want."
"Nah, its ok. I'm not hungry. I have stuff to do this evening."
Ichigo stood up slowly, doing his best to appear uninjured for his sister. Yuzu gave him a pained look and ran back toward the kitchen, quietly closing the door behind her.
As soon as his sister left, Ichigo grabbed the his bed, leaning heavily on the rail, and scooted over to his desk where his Substitute pass was lying. Carefully picking it up, Ichigo slowly turned it over in his hands, looking at dull surface of the wood. Would there come a time when he wouldn't be a Soul Reaper? Already, if he tried to draw on his powers the hollow tried to crush him. These days he had difficulties killing normal hollows, let alone fighting an Arrancar. What had the pale one said yesterday,
"I'll tell Lord Aizen that the so-called Soul Reaper that he has his eyes on is trash. Not even worth killing."
He could barely even protect himself at this point, let alone his friends. What would happen to them if his hollow took over? What would happen to him?
Shinji knows. Shinji and all those other Visoreds. They know what would happen to me when my hollow gets too strong. Consume me. That's what they said would happen. They want me to join them. Why do they want me so bad?! Why won't they just tell me how?! How do they do it? Just put on the mask and pull it off. Like it's nothing. How can you control something that is always there waiting to throw you off? How can you control something that is so much stronger than you? How?! What am I doing wrong?!
Ichigo slumped, his Substitute pass clutched in his hand, and his head lying against the desk. He needed someone who knew about his power, about what it was. About Him.
Shinji and the Visoreds knew about Hollowfication, and how to control it. Urahara knew about Soul Reaper powers. No one knew about both. No one except his power itself. Zangetsu knew. But to see Zangestu, Ichigo would have to see Him. He was there, competing for the place as Ichigo's power. He was nearing the throne. The crown was almost his. And when it rested on his head, there would be nothing to stop him.
Fear. That's all there was. Fear for those that he loved. Fear that he could not protect them. Fear of what he could become. And an all consuming fear of himself, and the power inside him.
The Substitute pass clattered to the floor, breaking the still silence that had accumulated in the room. Empty hands quivered, as if not able to comprehend that they were now empty. An arm slowly reached down, snagging the corner of the passes strap and lifting it up of the floor. His thin fingers lingered on the wood for a second before he slipped it silently into a back pocket. Ichigo stood, walking with a quiet dejection over to the pale wood door. He pushed it open slowly, as to not let the sound be heard by the members of his family chatting and eating in the kitchen. His feet made no sound as he slipped on his shoes. Brown eyes looked back into the warmly lit house before the boy slipped out the back door into the depth of the Karakura evening.