So I have no idea what the hell I was thinking: I haven't folowed Bleach in ages, let alone ever re-read it, but if I recall correctly Izuru was put in a jail cell (as was Hinamori) for picking a fight... or something. And he had a straitjacket. BUT if I'm mistaken then let's just pretend this is some weird AU or an entirely different situation that never happened in the series, but another time...
Inspired by a fic I read reeeeeally long ago and suddenly remembered (and later, found. It's in my favorites.)
Disclaimer: Characters are (c) Kubo Tite. Wabisuke's corporeal design, however, is (c) me.
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"Izuru."
He gasps: the teal-tinted eyes glance around frantically, open wide, their irises abnormally small, the white of his orbs clearly showing, slightly reddish: his breath uneven and hasty, temples gleaming with cold sweat.
"Izuru."
Then he relaxes. He knows that voice, he's heard it so many times he couldn't possibly forget and never wants to, not ever: it's familiar, calming, safe. The quiet and humble and sorrowful noise that only he can hear, that's only meant for his ears, only him and no one else.
"Izuru."
A hand reaches out of the darkness that is his little cold cell, touches his cheek, brushes away all the sweat and tears and the bitter salt and all the paranoia as well. It's cool, reassuring, familiar: it calms him down, he actually feels safe here, even in this darkness in this place not meant for a vice-captain (monster?) like himself. It's.. it's real. To him, it is. This person-
No...
"Wabisuke..."
His voice is but a whisper, but it sounds so very loud in this ominous silence, because he knows anyone can hear it, the fear in it, see how weak he really is. But Wabisuke understands, raises another hand to his cheek, holding his face up, his grip firm but gentle and reassuring and... so real, even though he's the only one who can feel that touch, no one else could ever do the same. No one. And he knows that Wabisuke won't let go – won't let him down.
"Izuru... is hurt."
He tries to shake his head, but can't because the hands are still there, and instead trails his gaze along the scaly arm, up to the elbow, then the shoulder when the figure moves closer, into the tiny blotch of light in the dark cell, eyes the chest, then finally the face, wanting to reach out with his hand and touch the blindfold under which he knows are the milky white eyes that can see nothing, nothing at all, but he can't, can't because of the straitjacket they put on him.
"Wabisuke, I... I...!"
The blindfolded man shakes his head.
"Izuru. You've got to pull it together."
Pull it together? Izuru laughs. Cold, unhappy laugh, the sound of which is nearly metallic, like sword clashing against another.
"Wabisuke, I'm a monster! I..."
He's unable to continue. He just can't say any more. It's too... too painful.
But the snake-man understand. He doesn't say anything, but Izuru knows he understand, better than anyone else ever could: he was there, he saw everything, knows what happened, was part of it... and he cares. Most importantly, he cares. He always does.
"If you are, then so am I."
"Wabisuke-"
Something settles in his lap: it's feather-light, almost unnoticeable, but he feels it there, has felt so many times before, knows what it is even though he's unable to look, his face still facing upwards, looking at that sorrowful face: it's Wabisuke, the the ghost-like material body of the spirit of his sword, the one no one else could ever see: the figure of a humble, sorrowful young man with pale scaly skin and a snake's lower body, a blindfold over his sightless eyes. Someone... just for him.
"Izuru. I love you."
"Wab-"
"You love your captain. You will protect him, no matter what. I know."
He lets his eyes close, his brow furrowed, indicating deep thought – ot maybe worry? Anxiety? No... he's just tired. So damn tired of this worrying and troubles and self-pity that will get him nowhere, the disturbing useless thoughts that will help no one. Just... tired.
"Sleep, Izuru."
The hands let go.
"I'll watch over you."