Dancing with Death
A Snowball's Chance in Hell
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. The manga belongs to Tite Kubo and publishers. The anime belongs to Tite Kubo and specified studios. This is a fanmade piece and I do not profit in any way, shape, of form from writing this story.
Summary: Ichigo has finally returned to the Shinigami lifestyle he's always loved. But when a striking reincarnation of his most reviled enemy appears, Ichigo must try his best to make sure he doesn't follow the path his look-alike did, and all is not what it seems, for God is not the only puppetmaster pulling the strings.
I'm pretty happy with the response Chapter One: Catharsis has received. 12 hours in and I got 2 favorites and 3 followers. Yay!
Many thank yous and cookies (::) for iliveformangaandanime as the first reviewer! (So do I :3)
K. Ichigo kinda goes crazy in this chappie. He goes sorta OOC, but I get the feeling this would happen if Ichigo ever crossed the line into hysteria. Rasgar el Cielo might have sprinkled some of his magic influence to provoke this, but it was mainly shock and PTSD.
I'm trying to push my heart and soul into chapters because NeoRyu777 is amazing inspiration and reading just one chapter is enough to get my blood going. In fact, my fingers are tingling right now.
No super-long AN this time. Just nice long reading.
See you on the other side!
Kisuke snapped his fan shut and eyed the three in his sitting room with some resignation. As he'd suspected, Ichigo was not among them. He'd been avoiding them of late; not the frantic avoidance of someone caught in the headlights, but one with a more timid shade, as though he had half a mind to keep away from them but perfectly courteous when coming across them. He figured he should inquire after his whereabouts anyway, since they might have tried to convince him to come along and only aggravated the open wound further.
"And where's our good Substitute Shinigami today?" Asked Kisuke genially, and carefully studied the three's reactions. Years in the Onmitsukidō, years of reading tells and exploiting them, years of having to stay a hundred feet ahead of the game had made him better, faster at flipping through the pages that was a person. Uryū, of course, had no reaction; the boy was better at stifling his reactions than even Soi Fon. Chad was deadpan most of the time, and all he did was exchange glances with the Quincy. Orihime, however, pursed her lips, her wide dark eyes narrowing and flickering towards the closed door. Kisuke sighed as a light weight covered with fur leaped nimbly onto his shoulder.
"I thought as much," he mumbled, tilting his head so that his hat shifted to cover his eyes. He heard Orihime huff, and Uryū's glasses click, then Yoruichi's low feline voice. "Don't leave them in the dark like that, Kisuke. You'll only end up hurting Ichigo." He's weaker than he was then, emotionally. It's not that fair, is it?
"I suppose so, Yoruichi-san." He's already broken, Yoruichi-san. Hurt. It's never been fair.
"It's only an assumption on my part, but Kurosaki's been keeping away from here, hasn't he?" Queried Uryū. Kisuke moved back to take in the Quincy. The white bandages peeking out from the corner of his shirt and rolling over his collarbone shielded the fading scars from sight. His clever blue eyes shot right towards Kisuke's own, in a deadlock, and the harsh intelligence in them cut straight to Kisuke's heart, stopping just shy of it.
Kisuke hid a small, sad smile. Uryū would be good for the Onmitsukidō even if he didn't know it. His gaze could strip a person to their core layer by layer, and his cunning was nearly infallible. It was only because that Kisuke had had over a hundred years to build wall after wall after wall over his heart, a veritable fortress surrounded by a fortress surrounded by yet another, that Uryū couldn't see all the way through. His vision was only so clear, after all.
"You are correct, Ishida-san," he admitted. Yoruichi swiftly jumped off of his shoulder and onto the table before curling up on it. Orihime, mindful of the werecat lying three inches from the tea set, carefully poured herself a cup and laced her fingers around it.
"I thought so," said Uryū, sighing. "Kurosaki started to take over every single Hollow run since a few weeks ago. He doesn't let us go, and he doesn't even try to tell us when he's leaving. We only realize when Hollow reiatsu disappears from the map. He's taking responsibility for everything."
Kisuke blinked. He hadn't known that. He had simply assumed that the group had been more uptight with the security than usual. He'd stopped testing the lingering reiatsu laying thick on the streets because he had decided not to do any more reiatsu testing for the time being, and evidently, this was his mistake. Had he snatched even one sample of the Hollow reiatsu residue, he'd have known what Ichigo was doing.
"God," sighed Yoruichi from the table, stretching. "I didn't think be would, but he's barricaded himself."
"What?" Said Orihime, startled. Uryū closed his eyes and turned to her, several explanations ready on his lips (two of which weren't even the real answer). Orihime was quite insightful, but she didn't understand the surface of someone. She was better at sensing underlying emotions. Before he'd even opened his mouth, however, Orihime cut him off with a nigh-impatient "Not that, Ishida-kun!"
The response was so vehement that Uryū drew back, just as startled as Orihime. Mainly he was bewildered at the fact that Orihime had correctly assumed what his answer was going to be.
"I mean..." She blushed, prettily, embarrassed by her own outburst, but continued fiercely. "Kurosaki-kun has people he respects in the Seireitei, even people he loves. Why would he keep away from them, as well?"
Uryū opened his mouth, then closed it, looking for all the world like a fish out of water. That hadn't occurred to him. Orihime's perceptive power was truly awe-inspiring.
"There's something in that," agreed Kisuke easily. "But Kurosaki-san has what we shall call—"
"A hero complex," inserted Yoruichi immediately. Chad snorted.
Kisuke pressed his lips together in the effort not to smirk, composed himself, and continued: "He tends to feel that everything that goes wrong is his fault, and that he must shoulder the weight of the world."
There was a grim silence, then Chad broke it by saying in a surprised voice, "Ichigo's outside."
Kisuke leaped to his feet, gathered up his robes, and bounded out of the room. Everyone was certain he would come careening back in—Ichigo did have a bone to pick with the shopkeeper, after all—but instead he walked back in following Ichigo, who entered calmly, with a kind of purposeful air bound about him.
Favoring his right side.
Everyone was immediately on guard.
"Urahara-san," said Ichigo, very evenly. The flat tone of his voice only alarmed the others further. Uryū leaned forward, scrutinizing every part of the Substitute Shinigami, trying to find the wound that he was surely hiding. Orihime's hands flew up to her temples, to her pins, though subtly, ready for the first sign of distress. Chad's hands visibly curled into fists, and he studied his oldest friend carefully, watching for any weakness.
However, Ichigo duly ignored them, his eyes steadily reaching Kisuke's. "I-I need to open a Senkaimon."
"A Senkaimon?"
"A Senkaimon! Now!" Barked the teen. Kisuke stared at him, half dubiously, half with something impossible to identify, for a moment, before reaching out, gripping Benihime, and sliding the zanpaku-tô into the invisible keyhole. The Senkaimon blew open with the usual black-hole feeling of being sucked in, and Ichigo staggered heavily, nearly toppling headlong into it, but he snatched his arm away when Yoruichi moved to steady him in concern.
"Don't fucking touch me!" He yelled, succeeding only in terrifying the rest more. Orihime sat back, stifling a sob behind her cupped hands.
"Kurosaki-san!" Cried Kisuke, trying to soothe the crazed Shinigami, closing the Senkaimon. "Please, calm yourself!"
"You want me to calm the fuck down, huh?" Shouted Ichigo, a wild, feral light in his eyes that had never once been there before, and then gave a chilling bit of insane laughter. "I can't! Not when I just got mauled by a fucking Arrancar—" a loud gasp from Orihime, "—and I was caught off guard and he nearly took my fucking head off and all I see when I close my eyes nowadays is that damned wannabe god that I put down like a dog and now all I'll think is he's after me again, after my friends and my family and now they're all gonna die one by one all because of me—"
Thwack.
Yoruichi removed her hand from the back of Ichigo's neck where she'd hit to knock him out. The boy slumped down, caught by Kisuke, whose eyes widened slightly when his hand met the area just below his ribs. He gently laid Ichigo down and shifted Ichigo's shihakushô to the side.
"Oh, shit!" Hissed Yoruichi upon seeing the gaping wound residing there. Orihime quickly summoned her Shun Shun Rikka and murmured, "Sôten Kisshun, I reject!" in a shaking voice.
"Oh, dear," said Kisuke with narrowed eyes and a lowered brim. "An Arrancar attacked him when Aizen's in Muken? I think it's time..." Kisuke's gray eyes met Yoruichi's golden ones, "...To go on a little investigation."
Hirako Shinji stared at the miles-high pile of paperwork looming over him condemningly. The Fifth Division captain sighed as he dipped his brush into his ink. Or no, not his ink.
The calligraphy set was his past lieutenant's.
A sour taste filled his mouth at the thought, a coppery scent that reminded him rather brutally of blood, of the Hollow that lurked behind his eyes, wearing his face like an actor wears a mask. Even now the Hollow brooded behind the façade that made up Shinji's body. It was something all of the Vizards felt, a kind of curling serpent of darkness, a necessary evil that they had all once defeated and buried deep within their souls and caged them there. There were permanent changes to go along with that, of course; Shinji's thin toothy crocodile grin and Hiyori's burning hatred for everything that surrounded her were two very individual examples but examples nontheless.
He glanced at the empty lieutenant's desk sitting a couple feet away and stifled another sigh. His would-be lieutenant—Hinamori Momo—was lying in the Fourth Division for over what was nearly a year now after a relapse during which she attacked and wounded Kira Izuru and Hitsugaya Tôshirô "in the name of Captain Aizen", she had screamed. She was sedated, but she had quickly burned out her meager amount of reiryoku in her fight and had was now struggling to live.
It didn't help that it was, in the end, Tôshirô himself who crushed Momo under the weight of his reiatsu, which threw his own life into danger, as she had dealt a fatal blow to him early in the battle and it was slowly leeching off of his reiryoku. Even now, his soul had a jagged scar that refused to heal.
Shinji knew what was coming. As soon as the date she lay comatose in the Fourth marked her for over a year, Retsu would pull aside her closest living relation and speak with them about pulling her off of life-support. That would be Tôshirô.
He didn't think life could be this cruel.
"Yo, Shinji-taichō."
Shinji looked up upon hearing his name, and offered his aforementioned grin to the older woman who had entered, his Third Seat Makiba Kotori. She had been Third Seat for over one hundred years now, and had been Shinji's loyal Fourth Seat before his untimely "demise".
"Hi, Makiba-san," greeted Shinji easily, tilting his chair back and waving his brush lazily in her direction—and earning a leather-bound book in the face for his troubles.
"Do your paperwork, young man!" She scolded, reminiscent of a mother compelling her child to do their homework. "I swear, I've been a Shinigami for centuries and never have I known a captain lazier than you!"
"Kyouraku-jii!" Said Shinji immediately, and another embossed cover was hurled at his face. "Shut it, Shinji! Address your elders with respect!"
"...Fair enough," said Shinji after struggling with his conscience for a few moments. Kotori picked up on it, and after a small silence, she said gently, "Are you thinking about Hinamori-chan?"
Shinji didn't even bother being surprised. Kotori's mind-reading had long since stopped shocking him. "Yeah."
"What's done is done, Shinji," said Kotori presently, picking up the the duster she had brought in from the barracks and busied herself with the empty and grimy lieutenant's desk. "Aizen has left his mark on Soul Society, so we must do our best to cleanse it. But..." She paused on her way out, then turned and raised her brows at Shinji wryly. "Some scars never heal."
White sands, black skies, with stars scattered across them like the sprinkles that Yuzu puts on her cupcake frosting...
Espada, with long limbs and angry faces and swords curved and bloody, an executioner's...
Aizen, brown hair and rimmed glasses and kind eyes with burning artifice... Aizen... Aizen...
AIZEN!
He was walking down the street, because Karin had demanded he go outside and buy the over-excess of cinnamon sugar that Yuzu needed to make her favorite bundt cake in time for the next day. He paused—he could have sworn he sensed Arrancar reiatsu—but of course there weren't any more, not after the Winter War. He continued on, whistling, with his shopping bag in hand, ignoring the pang in his heart as he though of Nelliel, the amusement in his smile when he thought of Grimmjow, the paralyzing agony in his chest when he thought of Ulquiorra.
Suddenly, a spear was protruding right through his side.
He turned back, his pupils blown wide, blood spurting from his closed lips, and an Arrancar was there, dripping blood and covered in lacerations. The Hollow-Shinigami hybrid grinned despite the scarlet staining him everywhere, and cackled hoarsely, "So you're the famous Ku-ro-sa-ki I-chi-go! You ain't much!"
Instinct kicked in before training and Ichigo didn't even know what happened in the next thirty seconds, as it was a complete blur, but the next thing he knew he was human again, the Arrancar dead on the road beside him, clutching his balled sweater to his wound with a kind of desperation he didn't know he had within him.
Urahara-san's Urahara-san's Urahara-san's.
He'd long since classified Urahara-san's as "safe".
I can hide there and I'll be safe.
And then rage bubbled up in his throat as he stumbled towards the very place he was thinking of.
Damn the Soul Society! Why didn't they tell him? There was no way they didn't know!
He had to go to the Seireitei—talk to someone, anyone. Demand the explanation he'd been denied long before.
They had betrayed him—just as they had two years ago...
"...He said he wanted a Senkaimon. He was quite... Vehement... about it."
"Wanted... Or needed?"
"'I need to open a Senkaimon' were the exact words, Isshin-san."
Ichigo garnered from this snippet of conversation he'd eavesdropped on that he had demanded a Senkaimon... "Which I still want, by the way."
"K-Kurosaki!" Stuttered Uryū, and all notions of subtlety wasted were worth the look of shock on his face. Combined with the fact that he hadn't moved his glasses higher on his nose for the last couple minutes added to the hilarity of his face, and Ichigo managed a snort before Kisuke descended on him.
"Kurosaki-san, what was that? What did you see? What—"
Ichigo was quickly smothered by both the overeager shopkeeper and an overly concerned Orihime, and over the hubbub that his father, Kisuke, and the aforementioned girl were causing, he yelped, "Holy shit! Let me talk!"
Promptly the crowd dispersed, much to Ichigo's utter bewilderment. It was as though they'd thought he'd explode. He coughed a bit to break the awkward moment and said (hoarsely, damn that cough), "Urahara-san, one question at a fucking time! For the Gotei's sake..." He muttered indignantly.
In Soul Society, the entirety of the Gotei Thirteen sneezed. It was a very frantic day.
Kisuke's lips twitched at Ichigo's choice of simile, but cleared his throat and asked, "Kurosaki-san, when you walked in, you said you were 'mauled by an Arrancar'."
Ichigo froze, lacing his fingers into the sheets of the futon. "W-what?"
Kisuke's frown deepened. "Kurosaki-san—"
"Ichigo."
One hand came up to the back of his neck, anchoring him to reality, and the other to Ichigo's shoulder. "Stay calm."
Kisuke gaped at the tall, cloaked stranger that had suddenly appeared in his shop, and at how much ease the man displayed at grounding the Substitute Shinigami. Who is this?
"Zangetsu..." That hinted to Zangetsu that something was wrong. Ichigo never addressed him by just his name. It was always "Old man Zangetsu", and no matter how many times he told himself he hated it, he ended up getting attached to the boy. It wasn't a good idea, never was a good idea to be wielded... But Ichigo had a way with him, and damn Zangetsu's paternal instincts.
"...I'm fine," said Ichigo finally, uncurling from where he'd pressed against Zangetsu's side, wincing when Zangetsu's shoulder brushed against his wound. "Ow."
"Sorry."
Zangetsu dispersed into a black fog of reiatsu, eerily identical to Ichigo's own, leaving said substitute to explain. "Uh, the Ar—" he cringed, then covered it up by rubbing his neck unconvincingly, missing the significant look everyone else exchanged. "The guy that attacked me. Right."
He took a deep breath and looked back up at the occupants of the room. They trailed over everyone's eyes and finally met Uryū's dispassionate ones, and just because they were the easiest to take—if he and Orihime's sweet, kind gray eyes met one more time he swore he would break down—he stared into the cold blue orbs to just run through his previously prepared spiel.
"Well, I think I'm gonna avoid the alleyways from now on..."
"You already should have in the first place, idiot."
"Shut the fuck up, Ishida."
Zaraki Kenpachi was lying on his back, staring up at the inky-black sky. His ceiling had been destroyed five weeks previously, but he hadn't bothered with setting it back up if it was going to go down again anyway. Besides, fresh air was good for the soul.
Yachiru laughed, a long, tinkling giggle. "You always think aloud, Ken-chan!" She tapped her unblemished left cheek with a delicate finger. "How is fresh air good for us?"
Kenpachi grunted. "Well, ain't it a big man's right to be all mysterious an' shit?" His eyes trailed to his adoptive daughter, who would be going on thirteen in the next couple of years if she were human. As it was, she had begun to mature, though her hyperactive personality would never change.
Yachiru's wide pink eyes glittered as she thought. It was one of her most charming features, thought Kenpachi approvingly. He had compiled a good long list in his head of the wonderful little things that his little girl did, and the "sparkly-eyes" was one of them. It gave her a kind of glow, particularly around other people. She was eye-catching.
"Hey, 'Chiru," he said presently. Yachiru glanced at the Eleventh Division captain from her seat right beside him on the terrace. "Yeah, Ken-chan?"
"Ya know 'bout the Hinamori an' Hitsugaya problem comin' 'round, don't'cha?"
Yachiru nodded, her expression quickly shifting to serious. "Yeah," she said. "Braid-chan is gonna have Peach-chan die if she stays too long in the Fourth!"
Kenpachi grimaced. It was brutal when Yachiru put it like that. He was used to the gore of death, the blood and adrenaline of it. A death in a cold white sterilized room surrounded by indifferent "caretakers" seemed wrong in his battle-worn mind.
"Yeah," he grunted, glaring up at the endless sky with misplaced animosity.
"And she has to tell to the person Peach-chan likes the most, so she has to tell Snowball-chan to let Peach-chan die!"
"Mm-hmm."
"Ken-chan, you're worried, aren't you?"
Kenpachi bared his teeth in a cynical grin when he realized that yes, he was worried. Poor Hinamori. Poor Hitsugaya. He'd never really felt any empathy for either, but this was the Gotei's business, and the more it was discussed, the more he felt for them. It was despicable, what Aizen had done, and everyone was suffering for it. Retsu had said Momo might recover, but it was a fool's errand to convince Tôshirô of it. He knew very well that there was a snowball's chance in Hell of Momo ever opening her eyes again. He'd taken to silence, and no one had the ability to make him speak. Except for Retsu, and when she spoke to him, he was frantic.
"How's Momo?!"
"Will she live?!"
"Is Momo going to be okay?!"
"Please, Unohana-taichō!"
"Save her!"
Hinamori Momo, who would soon leave this world.
Hitusgaya Tôshirô, who would soon decide her fate.
Kenpachi narrowed his eyes.
A snowball's chance in Hell, indeed.