Written for a tumblr prompt + pairing meme. The prompt was 'I need this'.
This Blood On Our Hands
by hashtagartistlife
"I need this," she says, and that is the exact moment Ishida Uryuu realises he's lost.
"Inoue-sa—" he manages, before the desperate grip of her fists in his ruined shirt interrupts him; there is a familiar light shining in her eyes and he feels the cold trickle of déjà vu pooling with an awful sense of premonition low in his gut. He closes his eyes and looks away.
"Please," she says, and her voice is trembling. "Please, please, please, Ishida-kun, I need you to take me with you. Abarai-kun and Kurosaki-kun's gone ahead, and so has Kuchiki-san, and I can't be the only one left here—Ishida-kun, please."
He wants to say no. Wants to take her by the shoulders and shake—look at yourself, you're not well, have you forgotten what happened above the dome in Hueco Mundo—but he doesn't. He wets his lips, fully prepared to deny her request, fully prepared to chase after Kurosaki and Abarai and Kuchiki-san into the portal by himself, but then he makes the mistake of looking back at her.
And he finds his treacherous lips forming the words yes.
It's the worst mistake of his life.
Whatever he had expected to find beyond the portal, it is not this—the complete devastation of the Seireitei with Kurosaki at the epicentre, his reiatsu barely-leashed and roiling in a violent thunderstorm around him. His rage manifest so thickly around the area that they have trouble breathing— his arm goes around Inoue-san's waist automatically as her knees buckle under the sheer weight of Kurosaki's grief. Yhwach is nowhere to be seen. He looks to Kurosaki, opens his mouth to ask him what the hell happened here when—
A body, small and limp and broken in Kurosaki's arms.
Kurosaki turns his devastated eyes to his, and Uryuu understands everything.
"Heal her," he croaks, "please."
"Kurosaki, she's—"
"Heal her," he says, ignoring Uryuu, holding out Kuchiki-san's lifeless body like an offering. "Inoue, please—"
Inoue-san goes sheet-white at the sight, and Uryuu knows, instinctive, that the only thing keeping her upright is the pressure of his arm against her waist. Kurosaki stumbles towards them, and Uryuu tightens his grip on her almost possessively; there is a chill down his spine, and for the briefest of seconds he thinks:
Keep away from her.
The thought dissipates as Inoue-san rushes out of his arms, her own outstretched and already alight with the beginnings of her healing glow; Uryuu sways a little on the spot, disoriented by her sudden departure. He feels bereft without her warm body against his. He does his best to dispel the sensation as she alights beside Kurosaki, coaxes him into kneeling so she can begin the healing process.
Kurosaki does not let Kuchiki-san's body go as Souten Kisshun settles over them both.
Everything is grey, and bland, and bleeding into one another, and he loses track of time. Sweat beads on Inoue-san's brow. Kuchiki-san doesn't move an inch.
Kurosaki doesn't move an inch, either, his eyes empty and fixated on Kuchiki-san's unmoving body.
Uryuu looks away.
He claps a hand on her shoulder when he deems it has gone on long enough.
"Stop," he says, voice quiet and strained, "Inoue-san, you have to stop—"
She only shakes him off tiredly; does not spare so much as a glance at him as she refocuses the hazy edges of her power over the unresponsive body in Kurosaki's arms. She sways a little, but waves away Uryuu's helping hand; barely a minute later, her legs give out and she collapses.
A murderous rage forces its way up his throat, and he rounds on Kurosaki in fury.
"Stop her," he hisses, the material of the shihakushou slick with blood as it bunches in his fist, "She's gone, Kurosaki, and if you don't stop Inoue-san will go the same way too, so stop her right now—"
Kurosaki grips his wrist with enough force to snap it, and Uryuu releases his hold on him with a cry.
Kurosaki's eyes are wild.
"You don't understand," he snarls, but he's wrong—Uryuu does understand. Understands, with chilling clarity, that Kurosaki is too far gone to care about anything else. "I need this. I need her."
A small hand on his is the only thing stopping him from retaliating with violence. "Ishida-kun, please," a weak voice interjects, and Inoue-san struggles back into a sitting position. "It's ok. I'm ok."
The golden glow of Souten Kisshun starts up again under her fingertips, and Uryuu bites his own tongue and tastes blood.
And so here they are, the four (three) of them: Kuchiki-san motionless and lifeless in Kurosaki's arms, Inoue-san tired as she leans heavily against him for support, Souten Kisshun thin and weak, and hours and hours of silence between them. The sky above them thick with thunder and unshed rain. The ground beneath them heavy with blood.
The history books, he knows, will call this a victory. Soul Society will rebuild. Kurosaki will be called hero—
He knows the truth. Wars are not won. The price of victory is always blood—on his hands, on her hands, on theirs.
He notices the instant the soft warm yellow of Souten Kisshun fades into dark red. He feels the shift of reiatsu in the air, the slight tightening of Inoue-san's shoulders against him; panic seizes him and he wrenches her round to face him.
"What are you—Inoue-san, stop," he says, and she only gives him a wan smile.
"No, Ishida-kun," she says gently, and turns back to Kuchiki-san; Kurosaki doesn't even look up.
"Inoue-san," he hisses, but she hushes him, brows furrowed in concentration. Souten Kisshun firms, tightens; it glows brighter than it has in the past few hours combined. Dark, dried-blood red. Life-force red. "Inoue-san, you can't—"
"I can, and I will." She touches one of Kurosaki's wrists lightly with her hand. "Kurosaki-kun? There's something around her wound that's been interfering with my rejection so far, but I think this will be able to help her. You'll take care of Kuchiki-san, won't you?"
At this, Kurosaki's head jerks up; his dull eyes lighten for the first time in hours, and his lips move soundlessly a moment before he finds his voice. "You—you really can—"
"Yes," she says, even as Uryuu shouts "No!"
There's a threat in the way she says his name. "Ishida-kun."
"No," he repeats, softer; Inoue-san's eyes gentle.
"Kurosaki-kun needs this," she says, like it's an explanation, "I need this."
Something rises up in his throat, hot and bitter. "And what about what I need, Inoue-san?" he asks desperately, the words barely escaping round the angry tears threatening to choke him. "What about me?"
Please stay with me, he thinks, it's the only thing I'll ever ask of you—
There's a long silence.
And then:
"I'm sorry."
Quieter than a breath, barely audible; even in the dense silence permeating the space between them.
Souten Kisshun flares brightly, once, before dissipating altogether, and Inoue-san falls.
In his arms, Inoue Orihime breathes her last, and in Kurosaki's arms, Kuchiki Rukia inhales.
(….If it isn't 100% clear: Inoue Orihime trades her own life force in order to reject Kuchiki Rukia back to life)