Wow.
So, my last/first chapter got a lot of good reviews, which actually makes me exponentially nervous. Now I can only hope that my next chapters turn out as good as the first ones.
So, someone asked me if this is AU, and yes, it is. It takes place in the same universe, same characters, same setting. So, actually, it's more of a spin-off story. Don't ask me any more details than that… I never know the endings to the stories I write.
Enjoy!
"She can paint a pretty picture,
but this story has a twist.
The paintbrush is a razor,
and the canvas is her wrist."
- Amy Efaw, After
Click. Clack. Click. Clack. The sounds echoed from the friction of the bottom of the shoes slapping against the floor, and reflected off of the walls, making the once silent hall almost eerie with the abstract noise. Click. Clack. No one had fine enough hearing to delve beneath the abrupt sounds to listen to the beating heart and ragged breath. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. It was a good thing too, because no one could control the rate of their heart beat, no matter how placid they seemed. It was the only indicator to the true turmoil, other than the slight uncharacteristic twitch of his hand.
Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click… The steps came to an abrupt halt in front of a sliding door. The frame was made of a rich, deep colored wood, the shade of dark mahogany. It was easy to tell that this door itself cost more than some houses, and for some reason, that bothered him more than usual, although he could never tell why.
His hand reached out, gripping the handle with a type of stable control that left others blinking at the extensiveness of his calm. Some, however, saw this type of control as cold, as if they thought it was easier for him to react with no emotion. They only said that, though, because it was difficult to feel all the pain of life. They assumed it'd be easier to feel nothing. However, it wasn't.
No human, or Soul Reaper, was entirely without a soul. And as long as one had a soul, it meant they could feel. He wasn't unfeeling. He simply suppressed the emotions others were free to express.
Nothing was easier. Life was just as hard, simply in different ways.
He could feel each presence lingering on the other side of the door, as potent as the feel of a Hollow that stood with its jaws at his throat. As present, and as threatening. Each one was as caught up in their own egos as the next, and it made them dangerous. They looked down on those around them as most people looked at ants, insignificant and unimportant. Their problems didn't matter, nor did their ideals or cares. They were irrelevant.
They could feel him too, and his hesitancy made them irritable. He wasn't a man to reconsider just before doing anything, he always weighed his options hours before and then would act with his graceful swiftness. This time was different, though. None of them had given him time to think, and while he wasn't known for stumbling over words, each question would require deliberation.
The sound of the mahogany framed door sliding open was smooth and rather peaceful for the tense aura the man was emitting. However, all of his feelings were carefully shrouded with a calm that the elders would find annoying on a normal day. His stormy gray eyes, the color of clouds before thunder rumbled powerfully through a thick sky, were narrowed slightly by the furrow of his sharp black eyebrows. It was a face that gave him a constant look of deep thought and dark understanding. It was why most couldn't stare into that gaze for too long, that stare could make the faint cringe.
"Byakuya." The first man greeted him, his tone drawn out and gruff. Although the referred man decidedly didn't like to simply choose sides, he found his fingers twitching towards his sword and an inner anger building within his blood. It was an intense and instantaneous dislike that he felt for this man, and while he couldn't be quite sure why exactly he felt it, he didn't question it. He was rarely a man to question his gut.
He didn't respond, and the resulting silence was tense and laced with icicles. Another of the elders made a subtle motion to sit, although his jaws were set in vexation. Once again, Byakuya hesitated, but this wasn't a hesitation made of being unsure, and that was easily seen in the way he almost wrinkled his nose. Although there was no change in his face, the revolt he felt at following this man's orders was reflected in the gazes of the elders before him.
His wants, however, were unimportant. He slid downwards, smoothly sitting before them as his black robes spilled sleekly over the ground. His white haori, so proud in the way it announced his power, was noticeable and bright against the dark.
Do you understand, now? How light and shadow can't exist without the other? One creates and magnifies the other, suddenly letting you see it, when before it was invisible.
He wouldn't be the first to speak, and they all knew it. He had learned a lot from being young with these elders, and speaking quickly and irrationally led to one being made into a fool. He had learned how to be silent, how to sit for long periods of time, only accompanied by thoughts, allowing silence to touch his eardrums.
Remember true silence? Well, while for any human to reach and reside in true silence for more than minutes is basically impossible, here is a man that could probably come the closest to true silence without flinching. He was as comfortable in the presence as he was in the rush of battle, where screams of agony and fury were as rampant as the blood that splattered the battle field.
The elders, however, couldn't stand this silence. With every second that moved by, they would twitch uncomfortably, and their mouths would stretch into thin, stressed lines. The silence made them feel less powerful, as if the tables were being turned against them. It was as if, in this silence, Byakuya was suddenly the one with the power, and they were the ants.
But that was preposterous, right? Nothing could surpass them. At least, that's what their thoughts whispered onto their own ears, in a dishonest rhythm. That's when they would begin to talk. Too much silence made them doubt.
They were, however, smart enough to not to waste time on pleasantries. They'd be wasted on Byakuya, who most likely would remain silent rather than answer. The first elder, the only one to have spoken so far, was the one entrusted to deliver the message. He opened his mouth, and in his gruff, drawling manner, spoke again.
"Problems are arising around the Kuchiki House." He started out, his voice adopting a dark, grave manner. "Rumors are being spread, Byakuya, and most of us are hard pressed to believe them as true."
His face didn't change. His eyebrows didn't flicker, his lips didn't twitch, his fingers didn't even move from where they rested on his knees. If one took a quick glance into the room, they'd see a group of men having a formal conversation. They would find no danger in the coming words, and they'd pass on without a second thought.
But you're smarter than that, because words are not the most poignant part of language. It is the little things, the parts that are unspoken. The manner words are spoken, or the way a body is held, can change everything. Spoken words are not the most important, because spoken words can be change or manipulated to cover a lie. However, body language is not like that. Body language is what tells a person what they are truly feeling.
So when Byakuya had no change, not in manner, not in tone, not in movement, it was enough to make the elders snap. Only through a few cursed words in their heads and a slightly tighter gripping of their clothes did they force themselves to calm. The elder was about to demand a response, when Byakuya's cool tones suddenly sounded.
"There have always been rumors surrounding the household." He responded, his voice even and solid. Indeed, his words rang truth to them. People always made up stories about the Kuchiki's… they may have been powerful, but they were practically celebrities. Plus, Byakuya could already partially sense where this conversation was headed, and he'd rather cut it off now. "They haven't mattered before, so why would they matter now?"
Almost as if they were a being with one mind, each elder narrowed their eyes with a peeved glower. They didn't like being made fools of, they were usually the ones to make others feel idiotic. However, Byakuya wasn't stupid. His tone, although calm, carried just enough ragged edges to make it sound as if the elders were worrying about something that didn't needed to be worried about, and they were simply fussing.
The speaking elder cleared his throat slightly, bringing his fizzling thoughts to a centered calm. Byakuya's quick retaliation could easily be explained by the fact he was sitting there with no clue as to what his summons were, but the elder knew better. They pulled this trick often, and Byakuya's feathers were never ruffled over such petty game play.
No, this was different.
He wasn't stupid. He had been ever present in the past weeks. He had noticed the shifting of eyes that slipped back and forth, thought to be unnoticed, but ever glaring in their secret nature. The hairs on his arm, which never prickled even as his blood was spilt in battle, were now standing on end with the electricity of the tension that ran through his home like a wildfire started by careless campers. The murmurs didn't fall on deaf ears, and his sensitive body picked up every change.
For the first time in what seemed like a lifetime, Byakuya was truly on edge. He knew exactly what the elders were beginning to hint at- he'd experienced enough of their madness in his day to deduce their thoughts- and it made him mentally summon Senbonzakura. Truthfully, if any of these people had an inkling to the vastness of his true fury, they'd run, sobbing for forgiveness. However, the irony was that they didn't, and now they felt full and protected of themselves when they were probably the closest to death they'd come in awhile.
He couldn't say anything, though. He couldn't voice his anger, or his hatred for them and their rules. He couldn't silence the servants with anything but a cold glare, and he couldn't find any solutions. He was practically helpless, glued to the spot, and for the first time, Byakuya felt truly unable to protect what was his pride.
Don't worry, reader, this story will retract soon. However, if it stayed now, you'd find yourself reading paragraphs and paragraphs of angst filled sentences, and while they may be descriptively helpful, they are truly unimportant.
However, there is something that needs to be explained to you, simply to explain a bit more about this story.
In a perfect world, stories wouldn't exist. Sure, there'd be the verbatim stories, quick run-ons about the past of a funny experience or an inspiring tale of your mother's bravery. However, there would be no novels, no fables, no fairytales. There would be no "once upon a times" or "happily ever afters", because people would already know these existed. There wouldn't need to be a person with a fancy imagination and skill with a pen to tell others of such facts.
You do know, though, that this isn't a perfect world. In fact, it's far from it. In this world exists murder and plague and death and betrayal and all other imperfections that can make one miserable. It is, now that it is thought about, a miserable world, where people hate more than they love, and lose themselves in lost causes.
What you might not know, however, is that this world is ever changing, on a larger magnitude than most people suspect. It's an evolving world, and each minor event can cause a catastrophic metamorphosis. Adjustments are impossible to avoid, and what is it that helps people through these changes?
Many people will tell you something else, but this story believes that the answer is stories themselves.
There is a possibility this story is biased, but it's a believed truth.
Each change accumulates more obstacles, and to overcome obstacles are heroes. That's why stories are invented. A new story brings a new character that is a little stronger than the last. When the world changes again, which it will, this story will not be enough. Another story will then have to step up and spill their words for others to gobble. And that story, for at least a short period of time, will be enough to sustain until the world changes again.
With a new change comes a new hero or heroine, someone a bit stronger than the last who can better deal with these new challenges.
It's a job that can't be handled by even a few hundred. It is a job that is handled by everyone, from those who place their novels on a book shelf at a department store to the tired fathers who whisper grand chronicles to young princesses with sleepy eyes.
This story will have its time, but in the future, it will be inadequate. For now, it is time for this story to move into the real plot. It has played with scenarios and touched a bit on the characters that will be forced to adapt to rising foes, but has not yet countered what these foes are.
Consider the introduction over, reader. It's time to move on.
It wasn't just strange for him to wake up with the shivers. It was abominable, it was eccentric, it was idiosyncratic. Not only was the fact simply perplexing, but the whole sensation was.
Toshiro wasn't born rich. He wasn't born with power, respect, or money. He wasn't given a second glance until a fateful day where he, by chance, ran into that busty blonde woman who would change his life in ways that were unfathomable, and still sometimes are.
However, despite all of that, he had never felt cold. Well, he had felt it, but never had he found it unpleasant. In fact, he had always reminisced in the chill. He enjoyed the way it tickled his spine and caressed his cheeks. The touch of snow against his skin might as well have been velvet. It was one of his few inexhaustible joys, and he never minded getting a strange look when standing outside in a blizzard with only a shabby pair of pants and a mangled shirt. The feeling was bliss.
The waking up part was normal, but what wasn't was the way his skin seized and his breath hitched. The back of his neck felt damp and frigid, while his entire body was covered in a thin sheen of cold sweat.
His brain was working and screaming as pressed his forehead into the palms of his hands, eyes squeezed tightly. His diaphragm seized unsteadily as ragged breaths escaped from his mouth, and small bumps raised on his naked skin while his body shivered uncontrollably.
The thin blanket that normally fit so snug around his shoulders was now strewn along the foot of his bed scrappily. It looked as if it had been crumpled and thrown, which it probably had been in the midst of the night. And now the moon that shone its fading light through the window pressed against the fabric, throwing random shadows onto the floor, although none reached Toshiro's feet.
Each heaving gasp he threw seemed to make the air in the room quiver. Small ice crystals seemed to precipitate in the air, but it was a mystery as to why one who was cold summoned more ice. Perhaps it was simply because the whole cold sensation was a mystery to him, and it didn't occur to wrap the blanket around himself.
Or maybe his emotions were raging out of control, and he was afraid he'd snap if he dared to reach for the blanket.
Either way, he sat motionless, save for his contracting and expanding chest. His knees were pressed up against his front, while he balanced his head against his hands, making the flesh cool. Although the air in the room was toxically cold, tiny beads of sweat pooled against his upper lip and neck. The iciness of his hands against his forehead was numbingly delicious, as the shivers of his body began to fade into an uncomfortable prickle.
He wasn't sure how long he sat there, and he didn't much care. It could've been hours, but it felt like minutes. His mind was too scrambled to make much sense of what he should have been feeling. Instead, his body simply felt, while he didn't try to think about why.
He felt his hands beginning to indent against his skin. He felt the goose bumps begin to fade and press back into his skin, as the hairs on his arm lay flat. He felt his breathing slow, and the sweat begin to dry. He felt the rub of sheets beneath his bare feet, and the alarming cold that spread through the room, so frigid that as he exhaled, his warm breath caused condensation to gather on his wrists.
Slowly, his mind began to regain power over his senses, in order to keep from feeling raw. However, he kept distance from the nightmare that tugged at his memory. At the moment, it was a wisp, a murmur of a thought, and he didn't want to remember. If he remembered, he might plunge back into despair, and he spent his days avoiding such an incident.
So he kept his focus on what was current. His thoughts magnified on slowing his breathing and warming the room. Although he enjoyed the temperatures, it certainly wasn't healthy for his body. He didn't, however, remove his head from his hands. He knew that as soon as he took his head away from the numbing ice of his hands, the headaches would take over, and even the powerful Captain was unwilling to face that blinding agony head on.
His breaths took on a steady rhythm, and his heart finally found its old routine. It no longer fluttered in panic, and his body began to take on the still calm of the world around him.
He grit his teeth as he slowly unfurled his body. He separated contact from his hands to his forehead, and stretched out his legs. Immediately, his bones began to ache and his head split with a pounding that mirrored a leaf at the bottom of a rockslide.
His fingers clenched against the sheets as he bit back a groan of agony, his teal eyes still shut to the world around him. He didn't dare open them, knowing that if he was met with any type of light, he just might start screaming, and the last thing he wanted was for another nearby worker to come running to his room in panic. He didn't have the patience, or the ability, really, to deal with that, and the unfortunate soul would probably end up frozen.
Outside of his room, the moon continued to sink lower in the sky. Dawn was closer than Toshiro expected, but luckily, only slight remnants of his headache would remain when he would notice a turquoise light entering his room. However, the headache would keep him bedridden past the morning patrol he was meant to go on, leaving the lesser individuals to sort themselves and go off on their own business. Perhaps they would wonder about his absence for a short while, but they'd soon shrug it off with a slight sigh.
However, many others would awaken with the rising sun. Slow muscles would creak and snap as they were stretched into warmth, while eyes thick and heavy with sleep would blink away the grog to greet the morning light. Feet would immediately be put to work against thick soled shoes, and fingers would flex with the ability to complete the day's work.
The city was awakening, livened by the breath of a fresh morning air. People didn't stop living, moving, or being, despite the pain endured by a few too many. The stones of buildings and streets warmed slightly underneath the sun's glare, and a moth fluttered its wings until it landed gracefully on the edge of a window sill, gray-patterned subsidiaries pumping up and down, practicing in case a quick take-off was needed.
A thin sheet of clear glass separated the moth from the inside world, a place that seemed to breathe all on its own. A place that seemed quite and finite, but when an emotional scream suddenly pierced the air, the surprised moth bowled into the air, flapping clumsily against the slight breezes as it took to the thermals.
The scream didn't actually start in that room, it started three doors down, where a woman with thick hair and shiny eyes opened her mouth into a gaping hole and let out a piercing shout. Doctors and nurses stumbled in surprise, while the few that were quick-thinking in these situations ordered themselves to the source, knowing that no such action went without more physical explanation.
The lights in the room flickered slightly as the woman, gasping with panicked breath, attempted to yank the needles out of her arm. Her normally tan skin was ashen with the lack of sun and her declined health. Her hands shook uncontrollably, and for a reason she wasn't quite sure of, tears continuously leaked out of her eyes. She was terrified.
However, that wasn't the concern of the doctors and nurses that advanced into the room. All they saw was a patient who was forcefully cutting away her own life lines, and in quick decision, they leapt at her. Some used their hands to push her shoulders and arms and legs back into the mattress, trying to assure her it'd be alright. Such efforts were futile, though. Her gray eyes were alive with panic and fear as she attempted to rip out of their grasp. Every now and then, she'd thrust her stomach into the air, as if her back were being pierced by pain. Her eyes were stretched impossibly wide, and every few seconds, a yell of agony would be admitted from her esophagus.
The doctors noted with a sort of alarmed observance that she didn't even look human. Her face had contorted into one of instinctual ferocity, and she looked ready to gnaw her own arm off if it meant escape. Her features were animalistic, and it didn't help that her grand spiritual pressure made some of the doctors or nurses go weak in the knees. A couple even fainted underneath the power, and their bodies were clumsily shoved to the side so as not to be trampled.
Only a few minutes passed before it became apparent that this woman wouldn't calm with their words. A quick order was issued from a brusque mouth, and in moments, the needle full of sedative was injected expertly into her arm.
Another piercing scream emanated from her throat as she felt the needle enter her skin. Her struggles became more frantic, more furious. She managed to rip her legs away from one of the nurses holding her down, and with a well aimed kick, she caught the nurse dead in the stomach, sending her flying backwards as the wind was knocked from her.
The doctors called for someone else to hold down her leg, but as they did, they realized it was pointless. The sedative had been injected, and while she still struggled, her limbs were beginning to be weighed down with sleep. Her yells were reduced to mere murmurs of shrieks, and her ferociously lit eyes were shadowed as they began to droop. Her efforts grew smaller and smaller, until the doctors were able to release her. They stepped back, panting slightly, as they began to reapply the IVs and set her up to monitor her heart beat again. The remaining doctors began to pick up those who had fainted, while the nurse who had been kicked waved away help, insisting all she needed was a moments rest. Her breath was beginning to return.
Outside of the room, Rukia watched with slightly widened violet eyes. They had long willed Orihime's body out of the hospital, and she had been initially following. At first, she hadn't really thought to stop at the screaming patient's room, until she had noticed exactly whose room it was.
Rangiku Matsumoto.
The lieutenant of the tenth squad.
At that thought, her feet had become rooted to the spot. She watched as the doctors fluttered around her, not truly noticing her, as they filtered in and out of the room, yelling orders and moving as a functioning unit. Rukia was just a road bump on the side. They were too immersed in work to really care about her.
It wasn't until everything quieted down and the last doctor exited the room that Rukia's feet began to move as if on their own accord. She took a few steps, as her hand reached out, slightly trembling fingers coming in contact with the cold metal of the door knob. Her heart beat a dull thud in her chest, and for a moment, she considered the fact that she most likely shouldn't enter the room. It probably was a place forbidden to patients, and it occurred that she could get in trouble for crossing the wooden barrier.
However, her mind was nearly numb to caring about such repercussions. Feeling slightly as if she were set on autopilot, her hands turned the knob and pushed the door open. To her slight surprise, it didn't stop as if some invisible force halted it, and it didn't let out a harsh grating sound that seemed like it should belong in the moment. It opened silently, with hardly any resistance. The wood shimmered slightly from the transcendence in light, as the latch clicked silently back into place after she released the door knob.
The room was identical to Orihime's. There was the same tiled floor, the same single window, and the same incessant beeping of the heart monitoring machine. It made her stomach summer-salt slightly, and she had to swallow hard to resist the sudden, rapid urge to puke. If she did, most likely someone would hear her retching and shoo her out, and she really didn't want to have to leave.
Leaving meant she had to continue to face the real world, and at the moment, it seemed too large for her to handle.
The door, heavy with the thick wood, slid back shut behind her, closing off the room with a satisfying click that made Rukia jump slightly. Suddenly feeling very cold and lonely, she crossed her thin arms over her stomach, and took in a deep breath.
Trying to summon her courage, she took a few steps, faltered some, and then resolutely took a few more until she had been carried to Rangiku's bedside. As she walked, she refused to keep her eyes below straight. She bit her lip, nervousness making her need to do something as she tried to close her nose to the smells of perspiration now laced with the bedside's cotton sheets.
Her eyes continued to stare forward, too nervous to look down at the sedated woman. Instead, she kept her violet gaze firm on the window, where all she could see was a thin wall of trees that shimmied ever so slightly in a bitter breeze. There still was some residual dew laced across the leaves, and the constant wind caused the dew to catch the sun's light, making it shine a gold briefly, before dulling back into the shade of the leaves. The effect was an iridescent look that temporarily blinded Rukia.
She looked down on impulse, since she wouldn't have been able to force herself to do it knowingly. Instantly, she began to bite a little harder on her lips, as her fingers dug into her arms. The woman below her… she couldn't be Rangiku. There must have been a mistake, she hoped fervently. There was no way that brash, buxom, bubbly Rangiku could be this shriveled speck of a human that was tucked in these awful white sheets.
But there was no denying that pointed chin and thick eyelashes, that thick blonde hair that cascaded in ripples. Her skin was ash and looked dry and almost grotesque. Although her face was pinched peaceful into her sleep, Rukia could almost feel the waves of angst rolling from her. Her cheeks were slightly red and damp from perspiration, which caused thin tendrils of hair to stick unceremoniously to her flesh. She looked gaunt and hollow, and Rukia was unable to stop tears from stinging the bottom of her eyes, although she refused to let them escape her tear ducts.
She had to get out. This hospital was suffocating her, drowning her in pain and misery and life. With an urgency that belied her graceful movements, she was out of the room in mere seconds, her feet barely making sound as her eyes contacted with the nearest exit and she forced herself outside.
Immediately, the smell of green and a faint, cold wind, still bitter from the morning's freeze, slivered her cheeks red and set her stomach gurgling and churning. With hardly any time to move from the walkway, she escaped into a clump of bushes and emptied the contents of yesterday's dinner upon the dirt. Her retching was loud and vile, but luckily no person stood near enough to see or hear her. She was alone as the bile was regurgitated through her throat and onto the ground, the awful, stinging sensation making her nose and eyes burn.
She was done in a matter of seconds, but she hovered in the keeled over position until she regained the strength enough to straighten again. Each movement caused her empty stomach to slosh, forcing another wave of nausea to roll back over her. Feeling dizzy, she stumbled a few steps until her hands felt the safety of a thick trunk, and she allowed herself to lean on it, turning her head to face the sun.
Her already pale skin was slightly sticky and now whiter than normal. She felt zapped of energy, and she wanted, more than anything, to just lay down and sleep. However, a flicker of white caught her eyes, and she turned rapidly, more because of instinct than anything, in order to see better.
A bad mistake for her. Her stomach immediately churned and yawned in protest, and she felt her knees go weak. Her grip on the tree tightened as she fought to hold herself up, not wanting to seem too weak in front of whoever was going to appear in front of her. A futile attempt, really, as her ghostly white skin and wide eyes gave it away.
A pair of surprised teal eyes met her wide eyes stare, accompanied by tan skin and a sloppy mess of mussed white spikes that were also hair. His white haori, draped so easily over his shoulders, only made Rukia want to curse her fate a little bit more. The last thing she wanted to deal with right now was another person, let alone Toshiro Hitsugaya. Her mind was too tired for this, she was trying her best to ignore what had just barely happened before she broke down into hopeless tears.
"Kuchiki? Are you alright?" His voice called out, questioning in his manner, but pain-stakingly polite, as was required of the captains. It almost made her wince, if she wasn't busy trying to focus on how to disappear into thin air. Each second of focus was forcing more waves of nausea, and for some reason, the color orange kept flashing into her thoughts, making her want to crawl back into the hospital and curl up on a bed. Maybe then she'd just die there, and the pain would leave her alone.
But reality was ever-present in life, and it has no intention of being denied. His voice called out again, and this time, she simply had to swallow a dry lump down her throat and answer. Her fingers tightened a bit on the silvery bark, small slivers getting caught on the ridges of her flesh, but the slight pain did good to clear her mind a bit.
"Yes, Captain Hitsugaya, I'm fine." She answered with the same bland tone of voice she knew her brother to use with all others that attempted to pry into his business, which was daily. She attempted to mask the set of pain that sweated onto her brows with an easy, business like look, but to him it looked like a pained grimace. Her skin was a sickly shade of pale, and the rim of her eyelids were a blotched red.
In short, Rukia Kuchiki was a mess.
Perhaps if he knew the girl any better than he did, he would have insisted on more information, or maybe he even would have ordered her home. As it was, though, his mind was completely distracted from her, and when he acknowledged her answer with a slight nod before turning and stepping onto the hospital, white haori flickering after it, she had practically been erased from his memory.
Some might have found his behavior rather rude, but the raven haired girl couldn't be more thankful for his quick acceptance and leave. She didn't know if she could stand to talk to one for long without either heaving again or letting the tears that were now fighting so desperately to get out appear, and the last thing she wanted was to show herself as weak, especially in front of a captain.
She didn't need any more people whispering to each other and falling silent with meaningful looks as she passed.
Now that peace had returned to the outside, she relaxed against the tree trunk, closing her eyes and forcing herself to breathe evenly. She still had to show up at the division today, ready to report. She still had to have sharp eyes and a quick mind if she were sent on any missions. She couldn't afford to be distracted… distraction could lead to a dangerous situation.
With a half groan of commitment, she pushed herself off of the tree, and took a few unsteady steps forwards. Her head spun momentarily, but she couldn't tell if it was due to her earlier heaving or the fact she had slept only a few hours of terror last night.
Either way, it cleared up momentarily. She found reserves of strength hidden in her muscles, and with that bit of unused energy, she pushed her feet to start walking. Her eyes found the road, and her body turned to keep with her head as her shoes rapped against the stone ground, every so often crunching as they stepped on a piece of gravel.
She'll return to Ukitake's division, and she'll immediately be assigned a mission. She'll be sent out with a small squad of shinigami that won't be quite sure if they should look up to her or feel pity. They know quite well what Rukia has done for Soul Society, that without her, Ichigo would have never killed Aizen, and who knows what would have happened then? Thanks to her strong bond with the powerful boy, he had risked his life in order to protect them all.
However, in the end, Rukia was the one that lost the most. In the end, she was left more alone then ever, caught in a vast, empty space of shadow, where no light could find her.
Remember what was told to you. Shadow is not evil. However, humans can't see very well in shadow, and when they are shrouded in it, they tend to get lost. It's not because shadow doesn't try to help them get out, but because people that are lost in shadow tend to be too terrified to reach out for what's in front of them and grab it.
That's usually why those subordinates whispered about her. They knew she would only be angry if she knew they felt pity for her. A Kuchiki was supposed to be cold, outstanding to the outside world, unfeeling to their own hearts. Anything less than that was unacceptable. Anything less meant failure.
So she would carefully wrap her face in the blank expression which easily mirrored Byakuya's cold stare. She would force her hands to move calmly, without shaking. She'd blink when necessary, swallow when her mouth filled with saliva, and breathe like any other person. And she'd lock away all of her sorrow, sadness, and hatred within a tiny box and swallow it into her stomach, where it would open as her dreams took over to taunt her with visions of fear. Then, with that in mind, she'd grip Sode no Shirayuki a bit too tightly as she brought the gleaming blade downwards on a shrieking Hollow, feeling a sudden bliss as the adrenaline took over her body and the feel of shredding flesh and bone bet her sword.
The area would then be drenched and blood as the dying Hollow dissolved into the air, as her subordinates watched her with a mix of mortification and admiration. Yet, with all of that effort, all of that will that she put into her actions, nothing could feel the hole that had been gnawed away in her heart.
In a sense, she felt no different from the hungry Hollows. Yet, the difference was, in the face of ever pressing reality and grief, she still stood.
Still stood, with the weight of the world on her shoulders, and a few too many cracks that would begin to leak before long.
Don't worry too much about Rukia, she won't be hurt too bad today, or even tomorrow. The blood on her uniform won't belong to her. All of her wounds will be located on the inside, too carefully hidden to see.
However, attention is going to shift away from Rukia, back to the captain that managed to roust himself from his blinding headache in order to step outside of his home. Truthfully, he probably wouldn't of tried if that damn butterfly hadn't fluttered into his room, completely unwanted, and landed gracefully on the tip of his finger. Without being able to protest, the words filled his mind as the message was relayed, and before he could retort smartly, the slight pressure of the light insect's legs disappeared as its near soundless wing beats swished the still air as it fluttered away.
For a brief moment, Toshiro had wondered if the butterflies ever really understood the messages they carried. If they did, did they sag when they knew they had to carry words of death and destruction to others? Did they fly a little faster with urgency in dangerous situations? Did they care a whit for their own lives, or was their only care to serve? Did, at the end of their lives, they weep slightly for such a weak existence?
Perhaps, perhaps not. The mind of a butterfly is yet to be understood in any human's eye, so that story is one that can't be told. Not accurately, at least. Sure, it's a story that exists, but not one that can be told with any sort of ease a story teller needs in order to make their readers understand.
Moving on, this story will skip through the dull morning, although Toshiro's heart beat a little louder with anxiety. It'll move past his brief meeting with Rukia, as it won't matter much until later. Besides, Toshiro didn't really give a second thought to the unseated officer of the 13th Squad. Sure, she had affected Soul Society a lot, but at the moment, she just didn't really seem to matter.
What did matter was the reports saying that Rangiku had woken up for the first time in several months that morning. Plus, not only had she waken up, she had caused quite a scene. She had tried to rip out her IVs, and had kicked a nurse in the stomach, and… well… you know this part.
The point is, Rangiku was not well, and Captain Unohana had requested that he come in to see her. She was panicked and terrified, and perhaps seeing a familiar face would calm her down. That, and he hadn't been by in awhile to see the coma patient Momo, and perhaps he'd like to pay a visit.
The message had been a little too diplomatic for the hectic events Toshiro knew had conspired earlier in the morning. However, he didn't expect anything less from the level headed Unohana, who reported news in a detached way, and often asserted herself, unexpectedly, into situations where she was needed. Plus, every patient knew that the tender-hearted woman had a tendency to be intimidating, and Toshiro didn't want to have to deal with her upset demeanor if he didn't show.
Not that he wanted to.
Sure, he had the duty, of course, to go and see both of them. Rangiku was his lieutenant, and Momo had been his best friend since he could remember, for Heaven's Sake! So why was he being so cowardly? How come he cringed every time he neared that hospital, and he had refused to see Momo once after the Aizen incident?
The answer really isn't cowardice. Toshiro isn't, and never will be, a coward. In fact, most know he's much too headstrong for his own good. He tends to rush into situations, despite his mature tone, and often allows his anger to fuel his movements. Of course, it's not all bad. While this would make many others sloppy in their fights, it seemed to define Toshiro. He had the power of a dragon, of course, and what kind of dragon didn't fight with fury?
No, the answer is plain and simple: guilt. Guilt keeps him away from that hospital. Guilt transpires him into believing that the whole mess was his fault. He acted too quickly, took too many risks, and in end, both of his most trusted friends ended up in the infirmary for it. Only one had woken up, and she had gone near berserk upon consciousness.
He was a god damned nobody, that was for sure.
He had no real use. Sure, he was a said prodigy, and he tended to act with a leveler head then most of the captains in the Gotei 13. He was diligent on his paperwork, and he often acted so as to protect as many subordinates as he could.
However, despite his best efforts, people had ended up wounded and dead. His best friend and lieutenant were practically unreachable, and suddenly Toshiro felt as if he were walking on needles, and if he dared to jump or wince from those needles, he'd land on broken ice.
That is why he never dared to enter that hospital. He didn't feel worthy enough to stand by their sides and ask them to wake up. He wasn't a good enough friend. He had stabbed Momo and failed Rangiku. What other faults could a captain have?
A good captain would honestly tell you not many.
His thoughts accompanied by his footsteps came to a halt in the hallway. The place seemed so bleak and grudging, as if it were barely standing on its own accord. When he glanced sideways, he could spot a small dark stain on the wall, where somehow blood had been splattered and not completely washed away.
"Come in, Captain Hitsugaya." Called a voice, making his turquoise gaze snap back to the wooden door that was the barrier between him and his sedated lieutenant. He didn't want to go in. He wanted his feet to turn and flee, to flash step out of that building as quickly as he could. However, his body betrayed his moaning mind, as his arms reflexively reached out, and allowed his fingers to wrap securely around the door knob. With a flick of his wrist and a gentle shove of his shoulder, the door swung soundlessly open, and created nothing.
He hesitated at the door only slightly, before taking a few steps in, allowing the heavy door to swing shut behind him. For such a vast room, it seemed exceedingly empty. Besides the beds and the machines, the only other items taking up space were him, Unohana, and a couple of chairs that had been placed in the corners.
His eyes traveled from Rangiku to the tall captain, who regarded Toshiro with dark, piercing eyes. Her long braid, as always, was settled down the front of her body, and her hands were clasped in a way that seemed to suggest a demure nature. Her rather pale skin seemed all too fitting against the white-green tile, and even she didn't dare try to smile at Toshiro, as if reading his pain.
"I'm glad you came." Her soft, thrumming voice took over the room, and it made Toshiro blink. It wasn't the word choice that surprised him, rather it was her tone. There wasn't the same calm expectancy that usually resided in her words. Instead, it had been replaced by a feeling of bone-exhaustion, as if her body were ready to give out on her.
His curiosity wanted to ask her if everything was alright, but fortunately for Toshiro, he had never been one to act on his curious impulse. Instead, he opted to say, "I didn't have much of a choice," in a flat, almost cold manner. The sound of his chipped tone rebounding off of the walls practically made him wince, and for a second, he caught a glimpse of what type of cold, heartless bastard he seemed to be.
However, Unohana was never one to see and believe exactly how another appeared. Her sharp eyes could easily read Toshiro's gruff actions, but she offered him nothing in return. Not a kind smile, not any reassuring words. What could she tell the kid prodigy that wouldn't make him snap or feel guiltier?
So she simply waited by the bedside, until Toshiro seemed to summon up enough courage to take the last few steps, until he was looking down at Rangiku as well.
Her appearance hadn't changed much from when Rukia had visited her, so that's a part that can be skipped. However, the overall effect on the observer was completely opposite. Toshiro felt no urge to puke, nor was he suddenly over taken with emotion. Instead, he felt strangely numb, as if seeing her in this bed made a cold wave of reality wash over his body, and after the wave left, the feeling was still there. It soaked him to the bone, so heavy that it was practically impossible to deal with. In response, his mind attempted to turn off slightly, refusing to clearly process what was before him.
The captain of the 4th squad watched Toshiro carefully. His lack of any reaction at all wasn't very surprising, but it was alarming all of the same. It was as if he were shutting down right in front of her, and that wasn't really something that could be beneficial to his squad or himself. Suddenly feeling as if she had to break the silence, she spoke up.
"She woke up this morning." She said, even though he was quite aware of these events. "She was in a frenzied state, but if she woke up once, that means she'll wake up again."
She then fell silent, as she watched Toshiro practically digest these words. He was an interesting person, that was for sure. He seemed to swallow each part of her sentence individually and with great care, as he completely broke down what she was saying. Then, as he began to comprehend, she saw a physical reaction for the first time. He balled his hands into tight fists, as his head lowered somewhat, allowing his white bangs to shadow his eyes. Rage was pulsating from his figure, and outside, she could hear the wind beginning to pick up.
"Tell me." He spoke quietly, his voice dripping ice, "will she wake up exactly the same as before?"
Unohana blinked at his question, her pink lips turning down slightly as she pondered his question. "As before?" She repeated a little bit, wondering if that was what Toshiro exactly wanted. Before the accident, or before Aizen? Each of those circumstances boasted two very different women.
He didn't bother to answer her question. Instead, he turned on his heel, exiting the room with a swiftness that belied his outraged state. Unohana felt herself sigh, as she looked down at the face of the drugged patient. She found herself wondering how exactly Rangiku did wake up. Would she wake up as the Rangiku right before the accident happened?
And if she did, Captain Hitsugaya, would you be happy with what she was?
She let out a small sigh, before turning off the light as she exited the room. Outside, the world was darkened by thick storm clouds, as the first few drops of rain splattered against the glass window.
"Miss Rukia, I'm sorry to inform you that your brother will not be returning home tonight." The clipped voice of an elderly maid was directed at the pale, raven haired girl as soon as she stepped inside of the house. "He is away on business, but will be expected back upon the eve of tomorrow."
Rukia stopped slightly, before nodding at the maid, who immediately turned and bustled away to finish whatever chore she had left undone before she prepared for bed. Indeed, that was exactly like her brother, she thought to herself bitterly. Always marching away on some business, and never letting her know where he went.
Not that she was curious or anything, but she always felt a little more vulnerable when he wasn't in the house. He may not make much effort to know exactly what was going on in her mind, but his strong, powerful presence sometimes made the ghosts stay away.
Tonight, they wouldn't though. They would take full advantage of her in her sleep, and she already knew tomorrow was going to be difficult.
Tomorrow was the day that Ukitake was going to promote her to lieutenant, ahead of Kiyone and Sentaro. She wasn't supposed to know, it was meant to be a surprise, however those two, in their bumbling excitement, had let it slip. And now, Rukia felt like she was falling mercilessly into a dark pit.
Oh, of course she knew her captain only meant well by his decision. She had proven herself rather strong during the course of Aizen's fight. Not many, well, actually, that needs to be corrected. Not any unseated officers could slay an Espada. That was an incredible feat, and she had only been growing stronger.
However, hadn't the events in the months after Aizen's death proven that she was in no way worthy enough or strong enough to take that post? What exactly was he thinking, suddenly promoting her when she spent her sleepless nights trying to capture the light with her hands?
Her furious wondering turned to slight rage as she moved down the corridors and into her room. Emotions bubbled and stirred up inside of her, seeping over and consuming her as she slammed her door behind her in distress. This was all too fucking much!
With her sudden savage ire, her hands sought the closest, breakable item they could salvage, and without much thinking, she flung as hard as she could at the wall.
The sound that resulted was a giant crash, as thick glass splintered and suddenly rebounded across the room, stinging her arm as one piece flew backwards with enough velocity to cut her skin. From outside her room, she could hear a few maids running about in a slight panic, voices raised in alarm as they tried to decide if they wished to journey into her room, but most were too scared of being hit by flying shrapnel to try.
And Rukia? She was left trembling in the center of her room, blood trickling down her skin, and with furious tears that had been swallowed for months beginning to fall down her cheeks, landing soundlessly upon the floor. She wanted to let out a furious scream, she wanted to pull out all of her hair, to knock down these walls, and rip her heart out of her body. Then she'd become the ugly, heartless monster she saw herself to be.
Then her appearance would reflect who she was.
However, she wouldn't scream. She wouldn't pull at her thick tresses, rip out her own heart, or do anything else to damage her brother's walls. If she did, then the Kuchiki family would be the laughing stock of the Soul Society. If their name was mentioned, one would no longer think of nobility and power. They would be met with a vision of the terror of a little sister who'd Byakuya adopted on a whim, and they'd laugh.
Perhaps you'd think that at this point, Rukia wouldn't really care for her brother who seemed so cold. However, you'd be dead wrong. He was, really, the closest person she had left. He was one who she knew didn't talk about her behind her back, because he was above such silly manners. And now, as icy reality began to chew at her again, she realized what a disgrace she had become.
Trying to sniff back pitiable tears, she moved towards the end of the room where the poor, shattered victim of her impulsive anger lay scattered on the ground. She pulled some tissues off of her bedside to wipe up the blood that had spilled down her arm, and, with shaky fingers, she began to pick up the pieces of glass.
Indeed, she had thrown at the wall a glass figurine she had received once on her birthday. She remembered how wide her eyes had been as she had unwrapped the present, and held it so tenderly in her hands. She recalled the large, bright eyes and the calloused grin of the guy who had presented it to her, seemingly so proud of his gift.
And she had gone and shattered it. In seconds, an item that had been cherished for what it was and the memories it elicited now lay in ruins amongst the floor. Her face flushed a bit with even more self-hatred, as she tried to pick up the pieces as kindly as she could. All the while, the room stayed stone-cold silent, and the maids opted to leave the corridor as if they had never heard a thing. The only sounds were the scraping of glass against wood as she picked up the pieces, and the slight shuffling of feet.
Of course, this sound was, in a few seconds, interrupted by a sudden, quiet yelp as Rukia stepped one of her bare feet upon a tiny shard of glass she had neglected. Biting her lip, she hopped over to the trash can in her room, and carefully dumped the glass inside, before turning over and landing on her backside, pulling her foot closer to take a look at the shard that had nestled inside her flesh.
The adrenaline from her sudden anger had now completely dissipated, and the cut on her arm began to sting uncomfortably, as her foot ached every time she pinched the skin. Unable to stop herself, more tears began to spill from her eyes. They blotted her vision and caused her cheeks to sting as her grimy hands attempted to wipe them away. She tried to summon a sort of anger, in order to keep the tears away, but failed miserably. They continued to fall, and at a rapid pace. She had no more fury, instead, all the resided within her was a massive, yawning hole that demanded it was paid attention to.
And she couldn't face that hole on her own. So, with her arm continuing to bleed, and her foot screaming out in pain, she ignored both and curled up in a small ball. She buried her head within her arms and let out a silent wail, unable to stop her sobbing.
In that position, Rukia leaned herself against a wall, refusing to move for the next few hours as she, for the first time in months, allowed herself to wallow in self pity.
Of course, that action only made her feel more despicable. However, it wouldn't matter much, for soon, in a blear, she would drag herself over to her bed in exhaustion. She'd close her eyes, only to be met with sights of blood and terror.
Rukia would not sleep for more than one hour that night, and for the whole seven hours she stayed in her bed, never once would she stop crying for more than five minutes.
However, tomorrow, Rukia will find her in more of a position than just being a lieutenant. She'll find herself placed in a mission that will change her in ways she can't fathom, and let's just say these actions weren't an accident. Think of it as a gift from Rangiku.
You know, the one before the accident took place.
Well, there you go. An update. Rather dark, huh?
Don't be taken aback, I told you it was going to be dark. A lot of people are either dead or in the hospital, and no, it's not because of the Aizen incident.
If you have any grammatical corrections for me, let me know. I don't have a beta, and I don't really care to read my writing after it's been written, so it tends to stay in its raw form.
I'd expect my next update to most likely be a couple months from now, don't expect anything sooner. Sorry, but it was really thanks to a break in school that I was able to hash this out.
Like it? Hate it? Want to make it into cookies? The drop a review by!
