A random story that I wrote about Ichigo and Isshin. It's a oneshot... for now.

Crying Blood

Its 3, thought Kurosaki Isshin as he stretched and yawned like a cat from the couch. Time to wake my dear son!

He thought the last bit with enthusiasm. Nothing pleased him more then annoying the hell out of his son. He enjoyed their frequent battles, be it physical or verbal. He makes it a habit to screw his son's alarm clock once in a while, then creep up onto his bed, place his face right on top of Ichigo's and say silkily: Good morning, Ichigo. He liked to launch surprise attacks the unsuspecting boy by launching himself off the landing at the top of the stairs and land like a pancake on Ichigo. Oh yes, this was the life.

Today, Isshin was going to sneak into his son's room, quietly take out his son's precious stash of magazines (hidden under the bed, beneath a loose floorboard) and open them wide to the sexiest pages and leave them lying all about in the room before tapping his son gently and waking him up. He couldn't wait to see the face on the carrot top. If only he had been born with green hair, he amused himself with the thought. Then when he blushes, he would really look like a carrot.

So Kurosaki Isshin stepped gently and swiftly up the stairs, crept to the outside of Ichigo's bedroom, and gently turned the doorknob. Quietly, he pushed the door open a crack. He paused to check on his son's even breathing. Then he pushed another crack. And another.

Isshin bent his knees a little and squinted through the crack. He could barely see anything, so he pushed the door a little more. He very nearly yelped in shock, that idiot was awake! He instinctively backed away, where he could see Ichigo and Ichigo couldn't see him. The boy was spinning around in his chair, eyes shut. The chair slowed down to a stop, and both father and son exhaled.

Isshin didn't dare believe his luck. Ichigo was just there, utterly defenseless. But he knew that if Ichigo opened his eyes just by a little, he would see him.

He would have snuck into the room and carry out his plan as intended, if he didn't see the tear running down Ichigo's face. He stopped; hand on the doorknob, feet poised for action. His son was crying.

He hadn't seen Ichigo cry ever since Masaki died. Before that, he used to cry all the time. Especially when Tatsuki beat him up in their karate lessons.

Before Masaki had died, all three of his children had been crybabies. Ichigo cried, Karin cried, and Yuzu cried. He and Masaki had been spent running around to each of their three children, trying to stop them from their tears. Then, he had been convinced that their house was going to flood.

But after Masaki died, the three of them – no the four of them changed. Drastically. Ichigo stopped crying, and he holed up in his room, not speaking to anyone, taking all the blame to himself. Karin stopped crying, not when her favorite toy broke, not when her knee broke. Yuzu stopped crying as much, and assumed a motherly role (being the only domestically capable person in the house), tending to the little things that their mother had tended to. And he, Isshin, started crying. He cried for Masaki, he cried for his children, he cried for himself, he cried for his past. It was as though the tears pouring out from his children had stopped and would no longer come out of their eyes. Instead, they found another exit, through his eyes.

The last time he had seen Ichigo so sad, he was walking on the streets shopping for tissues. He crossed by Karakara High and was thinking of whether or not to holler for Ichigo when he heard Rukia say sharply: "Don't rub it, you idiot!"

Ahhh, he'd thought. Rukia-chan! Her voice came from a turn up ahead, and he walked there and took a peek at what was going on.

Rukia was squatting in front of a boy that he recognized as his son. The both of them were on the pavement beside the river and the road. Rukia's miniature frame happened to obscure most of his view of Ichigo, who, as much as he could gather, was sitting on the floor, with a right arm raised.

"Too late" was Ichigo's reply.

"You idiot!!" moaned Rukia. "Why couldn't you have dodged that pebble?!!"

"I didn't know that boy was going to throw it. I didn't know that pebble was going to hit me. I didn't know that it would result in a bloody wound leaking into my eyes. Now just shut up already and pass me a tissue, I can't see anything!"

"I don't have a tissue." said Rukia ruefully. "I'm going to go buy one now, so sit here and cry the blood out of your eyes. And don't rub it!"

"Cry?" spluttered Ichigo. "I can'tâ€Ĥ How do I cry?"

"Like any other ordinary person in this world, Ichigo!" she snapped back. Then she hurried off down the road. Now that she was gone, Isshin could clearly see Ichigo sprawled on the ground, bleeding from his right temple. The blood was still flowing from his wound, and it had leaked into his eyes. It gave off the impression to Isshin (and the gawping pedestrians) that Ichigo was crying blood.

Isshin stepped out from behind the bend. He slipped his hand into his pocket, and felt for a small pill. Putting the pill between his thumb and index finger, he pulled the small round object out of his pocket and snapped it. The pill broke, and white, fine dust spread out from between his fingers.

He got the pill from Urahara's. Once broken, ordinary humans would walk away from the scene at the smell of it, clearing the area and allowing a shinigami to do his job.

The crowd of people immediately walk off, leaving an empty lane with Isshin and his son. He looked curiously on his son's face.

He was squeezing his eyes, the right one especially, trying his best to produce a tear that will probably remove the blood from tainting his eyes. He stopped squeezing for a moment, and Isshin knew that his son was remembering something painful, forgotten and sad.

It worked. This time round, Ichigo didn't need to squeeze his eyes, the tears simply leaked out of his eyes. One on the left, transparent, travelling slowly down his face, to his lips. One on the right, blood red, tainted, travelling as slowly, to his lips. At the same time, both tears continue their path and linger at Ichigo's chin.

For so long ever since he could remember, Isshin acted upon his instincts, and that was to walk up to Ichigo, who was crying. His brain didn't seem to be working, he didn't seem to know what he was doing, or in what point his actions would bring.

He walked, slowly and deliberately, until he was right in front of Ichigo. He squatted and stared at his son's face. His eyes covered every detail of Ichigo's face, the unruly hair, the pointed chin, the slightly slanted eyes. And the two tears on his chin.

He lifted his finger and placed it under the tears. At the merest contact, the two droplets slid from Ichigo's chin on to his finger, forming two petals. They stay side by side with one another for a second, then they merged into one. The tear mixes with the blood, and they form a heart.

The irony of that shape in this situation.

Isshin slips his other hand into his other pocket, and felt the soft cotton against his hand. He pulled out the last piece of tissue in his pocket – he was going to have to buy new ones later – and he tucked it into Ichigo's left hand. Ichigo didn't acknowledge his actions, but he squeezed the tissue.

Isshin had got up and left. Not because he was going to buy tissues, not because he was going to leave his son to cry to himself, but because there was nothing he could do.

Now, Isshin watched as the tears, every single one of them transparent, and travelling down Ichigo's face. He reached inside his pocket and felt for the tissue. Gently, quietly, he stepped in front of Ichigo and squeezed the tissue into his left hand.

Ichigo squeezed it, just as he had, all those months ago. Isshin turned around and walked out.

He wasn't sure that he heard it, on that day and on today, but a faint mumble reached his ears. Same tone, same speaker.

There was no way that Ichigo could have known that on both counts, it was him. But he wasn't sure.

Thank you, father.