Hey! This is... first fic :) I've actually been around fanfiction for a while, but never thought of writing until I found myself with several odd plot bunnies in my head. So here you are, I hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: If I owned Bleach, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction (:
Kids
[they were just two kids, crying on a lonely rooftop]
The entire 11th division was flaming drunk. Ikkaku and Yumichika led the inebriated brigade, pouring shot after shot for each other and passing sake around like water to the other division members. But this was different from the division's usual wild parties; the officers were melancholy, and sober at best, though there were not many of that variety. Tonight, they drank to acknowledge the end of the war, and to grieve for their captain, the once-indestructible Zaraki Kenpachi.
One division member was conspicuously absent.
Sake is for old men, the 11th's young fukutaichou thought, curled on the roof of the division barracks. She mulled over the death in her mind, some part of her still not entirely believing it. Ken-chan was always there for her, they'd made it through everything together; it wasn't right that he'd just gone and left, without her even noticing. She could still feel him there.
He'd died with a smile on his face, that battle-crazy grin she knew so well etched into his features like wood.
She thought of his other smile, the softer, more subtle one he saved for when she snuggled in his bed after having a nightmare, or when she came out of nowhere and jumped on his shoulder; or before, bathtime, back when she was too little to wash herself, and even before that, when he picked her up out of a bush after killing bad guys back in Rukongai. Nobody ever really saw that smile but her, it was her special smile that Kenpachi used to show he cared. He'd started using it after that first time he accidentally cut her because she'd crawled out of her hiding place while he was fighting, and her tiny body had been ripped open from the back of her shoulder to her hip. She'd woken up with her side aching days later in a strange woman's house, and the first thing she saw was that smile of relief.
She knew death well. She'd come close to it that day. Everybody died; it was normal, unexciting, ordinary for her.
Ken-chan was none of that.
It still didn't make sense, she frowned. She hadn't even seen him die.
"Foxy-face." A pair of slit not-eyes leered unreadable at her. Ichimaru Gin turned to face her as she turned to face him. Yachiru stared forward and curled her lower lip under her front teeth, she had never full-on fought another shinigami near her caliber before. It irked her to admit it, but Gin was likely more than a match.
For the first time in her life, there was a battle, no, a war, and she was by herself, fighting by herself. Ken-chan would be surprised how many Arrancar I killed, she thought, and let the corner of her mouth twitch upward a fraction of an inch. Ken-chan was fighting Aizen. I can't miss the biggest fight of his life. This one gotta be fast. In true Kenpachi style, she flicked the blood off her zanpaku-to and leveled her gaze at the man before her.
Those creepy eyelashes were pointed at a space slightly above her.
Yachiru's eyes and mouth popped wide open in surprise and, suddenly aware of a presence behind her, she suppressed her fighting instinct as a delicate hand found itself in her hair. A low, female voice ground out a single adamant syllable.
"No."
Gin visibly tensed and relaxed again at the sight of his childhood friend.
Yachiru frowned, immersing herself in the details. She'd frozen to the spot, barely catching the moment Rangiku rushed forward and plunged Haineko straight through Gin. Sharp as glass in her mind, however, was the lightning quick half-reaction and deliberate slackening of Gin's sword arm.
A chill ran up her spine as she listened to Rangiku accost Gin with questions. It felt like seams were breaking inside her. Booby-chan was like her mommy, and Booby-chan really cared for this traitor. In slow motion, bony fingers released their grip on Gin's zanpaku-to and reached to wipe tears from Rangiku's face. Not entirely sure why, Yachiru felt tears prick her own eyes. An inkling of understanding accompanied the second chill that traced its way up her spine and she looked at them in a new way, a great wave of an emotion she didn't know washing over her.
Shinso shattered on the ground and Gin pressed his forehead to Rangiku's.
Yachiru had looked away as Ken-chan's reiatsu exploded in the big battle. It would have flattened, killed, lower-level shinigami and it was more reiatsu than she'd ever felt at once in her life. It even crippled her, to an extent. There was so much more than she'd thought even Ken-chan had. Too much.
She shouldn't have been watching the other two in the first place. The only thing she'd managed to catch was Ken-chan falling down, and Aizen disintegrating like a Hollow. I didn't watch his last fight, she realized, and the thought twisted her heart so much it hurt physically. She stared down the slope of the roof, trying to find something right.
I should check on Booby-chan, she resolved eventually, a twinkle of that strange emotion returning to her chest. She got up and hopped roofs to the 10th division.
When she arrived at the barracks she found a white figure sitting on the roof, much like she had been minutes ago. She stopped a respectful distance away from the figure and looked to see if he noticed her.
"If you're looking for Matsumoto, she went drinking." Hitsugaya spoke without looking at her. The captain seemed smaller than usual, his white haori wrapped around him and overwhelming his lean frame. His eyes were fixed on the stars, as flat and toneless as his voice.
"Oh." She should've figured. Yachiru looked at the boy in front of her. "Shiro-chan?" she asked. He flinched at the nickname, it was Hinamori's.
"Kusajishi," he said hollowly. "Could you please leave me alone?"
It was Yachiru's turn to flinch. She disappeared with shun-po and found another rooftop, out of his sight. His voice echoed in her mind and she shuddered. The young captain was known for his serious side, and was more often than not downright somber; but this took it to a new level, life itself following joy and humor into the void of his personality.
He was like glass, Yachiru thought. Empty, transparent, and brittle.
Haunted, scary glass.
Yachiru frowned and decided she should cheer him up, because everyone had found their solutions, while he, not one to drink, sat up on the roof alone.
We're kinda alike, she thought, looking at the shingle by her foot. She absentmindedly worked it loose and kicked it away, formulating a plan.
Toshiro had been counting stars, trying to think of nothing. Then Kusajishi-fukutaichou arrived on his roof. It irked him that he'd been found, looking so weak and childlike curled up on the roof. At least he'd been found by the only other child shinigami, who, for once, had had enough sense to listen to him and leave.
He'd started counting again, from scratch. It kept him from thinking about Hinamori, the memories, her last words.
Shiro-chan...why?
He gritted his teeth and counted nine to fourteen out loud. He'd spent the entire night trying not to think of her. If he kept this streak for long enough, maybe the feeling would fade.
Yeah right, he thought to himself. He knew this was just a temporary solution. But what else could he do? All his friends were adults, and invariably drowning in their cups. Especially Matsumoto, whom he didn't want to burden more. He swore as he realized he'd lost count again, and started over, this time successfully numbing his mind.
He was at forty-two when an unprecedented pang of guilt struck him for brushing off Yachiru. The girl had just lost Kenpachi, and she was probably looking for company.
"Sorry, Kusajishi," he murmured to the air, relieving himself of a little bit of guilt. At that small release the image of Hinamori's blood-soaked body impaled on Hyourinmaru returned like a ghost. He held back the avalanche of remorse and forced himself to resume counting, forty-three, forty-four, forty-five...
He'd reached one hundred and seventy-four when Yachiru returned, hefting a heavy basket of peaches.
"Hitsu-kun!" she grinned with a trace of her usual enthusiasm. He absentmindedly noted her deft avoidance of the other nickname, kept his eyes trained on the sky. She skipped up to his spot and plunked the basket down between them. "Peaches for Peachy-san!" She fumbled around the basket before holding up the biggest, ripest peach and proffering it to him. "We'll remember her this way!"
Hitsugaya had successfully managed to keep his mind blank up until that point, but his thoughts broke through then. No. No. Please, no, he thought, looking away from the peach. He wasn't going to cave now, he was so close to forgetting.
Really? The small part of him that was still sane echoed in the back of his mind. He dug his front teeth into his bottom lip.
"It wasn't your fault," came Yachiru's voice from over his shoulder. He heard the peach drop and roll down the rooftop.
He cleared his throat painedly.
Thud.
He couldn't say it. That peach had rolled away and was probably splattered in the dirt under the building.
Pink hair tickled his chin and he felt his breath constrict as arms wrapped around him.
"She wouldn't want to see you like this," she said, oddly, serenely, in a voice that didn't belong to her. Toshiro choked, and felt a sob lurch from the bottom of his ribs.
"Mo-Momo."
Yachiru held Hitsugaya as tight as possible, mystified. She felt the shoulder of her shihakusho soak through, and the older boy shake as poured his heart out onto her shoulder. Suddenly the weight of his sorrow fell down around her and something broke inside her, a piece of her innocence that had been holding up against the heartache.
Her lips turned white, a single tear slid down her cheek.
They didn't have sake, but the kids of Soul Society found their own small miracle to take them away.
My brain juices have been slowly evaporating over the summer, writing this felt like squeezing juice out of a dry lemon. Might be subject to heavy editing later, but the general plot should be the same. This might end up being the prologue to a Yachiru-centric futurefic I've been thinking about, but I'm still trying to figure out what that's going to be about. Until then, I'mma leave this as a oneshot, but feel free to watch if you're interested :)
Comments/reviews? I'd really love to know what you thought about this. Either way, thanks for taking the time to read! :)
[edit: jetlag is amazing for writing; i stayed up all night rewriting this. i'm still not completely satisfied, but i think it was a lot better than the first version, which i honestly just posted because i got sick of looking at it. i'll see how this looks some other time, and edit if i need too :) ]
[moooar editing: wow, it's been about a year and I finally come back to this..to edit. I added a more detailed Gin/Ran thing, because hwohowwowow I love them and they make me cry. I've been really disappointed in how the story actually turned out but I wanted to keep the poignancy of that moment so...I tried my best. What do you make of it? :) PS expect this to be updated...possibly. ]