I've had the idea of doing an Asano fic for a while, and I figured I could do it today (I got to skip school because I got my braces off. Yipee!). It didn't turn out quite how I wanted it, but it works. I had fun making him a lieutenant :) Enjoy~
S c a r s
When people would hear the reason he was a shinigami, a certain something would always glaze their eyes over. It was hardly noticeable in people such as Kenpachi Zaraki and Kurotsuchi Mayuri, and the event manifested itself differently, but it was still there. Zaraki's face would slowly stretch into a smile, and he'd start cornering him in the halls, demanding matches and fights. Mayuri would just stare at him in passing, the fascinated way he stared at Uryuu Ishida whenever he visited soul society. However, they were the odd ones, from what he could gather. Most people would just give him this look akin to shock, their eyes would glaze as they began to realize just what his words meant, and then they'd come back. He wasn't sure which he hated more, the shock or the coming back.
That's when their eyes would always drift to his scars. The strait, rough ridges that sliced across his face, cutting it in half at the bridge of his nose and, if his uniform had slipped slightly undone, the ones carved from the base of his neck and down his chest. Sometimes people would ask; people like Zaraki and Mayuri who didn't care for social rules, or people like Kusajishi Yachiru, who just didn't know any better. Most of the time, however, they'd have just heard the rumors, the small whispers of captured and nearly died. They'd have needed to know, and would have stared at him sideways for weeks, trying to find some kind of sign proving what people said. These people hadn't known him before he'd become a shinigami, so they couldn't see the incredible personality transformation he'd gone through. They wouldn't have believed you if you'd told them that Asano Keigo, the Asano Keigo, had once been a loud, oblivious boy.
It wasn't to say he was completely different. He'd started to smile, and he still spent some time with the people he used to know. He was still bad at intellectual things and would let himself be teased about it by his young, blonde lieutenant. He was just less… crazy. He could remember the small look of horror on Kurosaki Ichigo's face when he'd first seen him, after making Urahara Kisuke teach him how to be a shinigami. He could still remember the awkwardness as he'd told his human friends goodbye, and left to join soul society. He had never expected to do so well, to become the head of the fifth division, his own division. He could remember the day he had been promoted; could remember as his captain fell to the ground with a scream, her black hair billowing around her as she crashed to the ground in a pool of blood. He'd liked Hinamori Momo, and sometimes he found himself feeling guilty for taking her spot after she died to protect him. He could remember, how determined she'd been, to actually become the great leader her old captain had always pretended to be.
He didn't have dreams about his capture anymore, not like he used to. He'd never been one to dream anything important, only random sets of outrageous events he'd forget in the morning anyways. Nevertheless, ever since his first night of capture he'd started having nightmares. Huge, vivid dreams of screaming bloody agony, mirroring his waking hours to near perfection. For weeks during his capture he wouldn't be able to tell when he was dreaming, and when he was asleep, it would all feel so real. Sometimes he wondered it Aizen Sousuke hadn't planned it that way from the start. The man had loved to toy with his head, playing games with him during the dark hours of the night. He could remember when the man had cut off the tip of his little finger. I'm going to send it to your friends as a present, he'd said, just to see how fast they come running for you. It was the one time he'd heard the man speak the truth. He did always love to watch people kill themselves in fear.
His new lieutenant was a small woman, her blonde hair cut flatly against her high cheeks. She was a strange girl, often found lazily reading, curled beneath her desk. She too had scars, as he'd found out, though they stretched her back in angry crisscrosses. She always told him she didn't remember how she'd gotten them, as they'd been received in her short years of life, and they both chose to believe the words, as doing anything else would mean acknowledging the pain, and they were both content as they were.
His division had taken to him after a while, though it took some time. He was quiet and narrow-eyed, suspicious by acquired nature. Nevertheless he'd been calm and accepting, grinning at his new seats brightly after he'd finished testing them. Welcome, he'd said, and they could see he was sincere. Some things he did were contradicting, his nature even more so. It was if most of the time he was a quiet man that sometimes, when he was drunk enough or alone with his lieutenant, had another, more exuberant personality that would show through. He was never pretending not to be who he'd once been; he had just acquired a different mind-set.
His younger self broke through his new personality completely for the first time on Hitsugaya Toushiro's hundredth anniversary as captain. He'd never gotten that drunk since the weeks directly after his release, as they triggered dreams similar to the nightmares that had plagued him during his months in captivity. However, tonight he'd forgotten all about that in light of the tenth captain's achievement, and the excitement all of them had taken in forcing him out for a party. Matsumoto Rangiku had been the most guilty for his intake of alcohol, berating him continuously for 'being a pretty-pooper' and 'ruining all the fun'. She'd been one of the odd ones, one of those who'd hardly let her eyes glaze at all when she'd heard, instead frowning at him and demanding that's the big secret? He liked her for it, and he guessed that was how he'd let himself get slobbering drunk with the rest of the captains.
It had started as he burst out laughing at some stupid, forgettable joke Zaraki had said loudly, his feet kicked up on the table he sat at in the corner with the sober Yachiru. How the eleventh captain had been dragged down with them in the first place he couldn't remember. They'd all laughed at him, but he had laughed the loudest, in the stupid way he hadn't since he'd been in high school. He'd snorted into his glass, nearly falling off his chair. He'd felt Rangiku's eyes on him, but ignored them, sending her only a small pout. That too, had caused her to raise her eyebrows at him, though she just leaned against the bar and settled for watching him, seeming to enjoy his strange outburst. She'd known other people who flipped personalities completely when they were drunk, and many of them were the shinigami she worked with.
Traitor! He'd finally shouted, hours into the morning, after Toushiro had given him a look. As he thought back he couldn't remember what he'd said; what stupid thing he'd said that made Toushiro correct him and give him the same look the girls at school had always given him. However, at the time he'd thrown his hands on the bar, making sobbing noises. You overly smart good-looking captain traitor! Stop looking down on us normal people! At the time they'd all been drunk out of their minds, and so the comment had done nothing but cause an uproar of scandalized shouts from the lieutenants, including Rangiku, accusing the captains of 'looking down on them for not being perfect'. The next day, however, he'd gotten curious looks, and a few hung-over chuckles as they would tease him for being such a strange drunk. He just grinned back serenely, because most of the time he just wasn't the boy he had been so many years ago.
When he finally had to fight Aizen's army again, he had to force down the feeling of cold panic that had grown in his gut. He recognized the wild look in Ichimaru Gin's eyes as the renegade stared him down with his slit eyes, smiling sadistically. They could both remember how many times the man had come down to his prison and just stared at him, enjoying the panic that had set itself into his eyes. Asano Keigo. Gin had stated his name almost as a question, as if asking if he was strong enough to dare fighting him. An encouraging look from his lieutenant, and he was.
And when his sword had finally plunged through the man's heart, the world had stopped, only his heavy breaths filling his ears. Flashes of bloody pain filled his vision as he just stood there, his own blood mixing with Gin's and seeping into his black uniform. He felt hands touch his body and pick him up, and he began to realize how the world had gone black. Fine… You'll be fine… Whispered reassurances swirled in his mind, and eventually he'd fallen asleep, his fingers numb from blood loss.
He'd woken up one last time, in the cool, crisp air of the fourth division's territory. The world was still black, but he heard them calling the verdict, heard something almost like crying. His brain was working sluggishly, pain thumping in his skull and numbing his body. For the first time in years he heard the voices of his old friends; felt their hands in his. He wondered briefly why they would be there, before remembering what the healers had said. Of course. Of course they'd find their way here, for something like this. He couldn't bring himself to speak to them, even as they called out his name and an animalistic fear surged through him. He didn't know what he could say; didn't know what he should tell them, at a time such as this.
So he just stayed silent and, after what seemed like hours, felt himself finally begin to slip away…