So this happened. Typed it up in like two hours. I can't tell you how much I enjoy not being able to sleep. Really. It's fantastic. Utterly. Amazing.
A teenager with oddly bright orange hair staggered down a sidewalk, one hand held to his face and the other clutching his stomach. Blood dripped down from various cuts and bruises that decorated his person, and he limped with every step, favoring his right leg. A breeze pushed his hair back slightly, revealing the bruise that was just barely visible under his hand.
After a few more steps, he paused, leaning against a nearby wall and temporarily taking his hand off his face. The black eye that decorated his face was clear, and blood ran from his nose. The injuries did nothing, however, to disguise the burning emotion in the boy's eyes.
Not even the bright sunlight could hide the darkness that pervaded his every step, and the rare person that passed by kept his distance from what was clearly a dangerous individual.
The boy took a deep breath and stepped into a nearby alley, keeping his hand braced against the wall. He seemed to find the rough brick a suitable brace, and he slowly eased into a leaning position, resting his back against the wall as he tipped his head back and let the small amount of sunlight that made it into the alley wash across his face. For just a fraction of a second, the darkness lifted, only to come back the instant a cloud covered the sun.
When that happened, the boy reopened his eyes and seemed to take a deep breath, almost bracing himself.
Pushing himself off the wall, he muttered, "Sorry, Mom." His voice was rough, though whether that was from injury or emotion was difficult to tell.
The boy began limping again, but only made it a few steps before he stopped once more. This time, however, he tensed and turned slowly, each movement full of a mix of malice and trepidation.
"Who's there, and what the hell do you want?" He asked, his tone threatening. On cue, three other boys stepped out of the shadows of the alley, clearly having been waiting for the chance to get the jump on the orange-haired boy.
"You've been causing trouble again, Ichigo. It's time you learned a lesson."
"Where'd you learn that line? It's very original."
The boy who had spoken scowled. "You're not in a position to insult, kid."
"Kid? You're barely older than I am."
"Right now, that's all that matters! It's time you paid for all the trouble you've caused to my crew and I'm going to be the one to dole out the punishment!"
Ichigo grinned, the expression razor-sharp and dangerous. "Bring it on."
One of the boys darted forward, his fist in motion. Ichigo ducked and lashed out with a punch of his own, catching the other boy in the stomach only to be hit in the side by another opponent that had come forward. He lost his balance and a kick from the first boy sent him skidding on the ground, biting his tongue to keep from crying out from the pain of aggravating the wounds he already had.
"What happened to that tough attitude, Ichigo?" The original boy asked, his tone nothing short of mocking. Ichigo spat out blood in the direction of his opponents.
"That? Oh, it's still here. I just wasn't sure if I needed it, because your attacks are nothing but weak to me."
"We'll see about that!"
As Ichigo tried to get to his feet, his vision blurring in and out, his reactions were slowed. Because of that, he was unable to dodge the next punch that hit him in the jaw, knocking him out cold.
The last thing he was aware of was the cool ground pressing up against his face, and then nothing.
A few meters away, a boy clad in orange pants and a black shirt sighed. His white hair waved gently in the breeze, making a sharp contrast to the hard look in his eyes. With one last glance at the soft white clouds dotting the sky, he turned and walked into the alley, past where the unconscious orange-haired boy lay unconscious.
"Hey, who the hell're you?" One of the boys asked, raising his fists. "You wanna fight or somethin?"
The white-haired boy smiled to himself, the shadows of the alley hiding his eyes from view. Even so, his pale skin practically glowed. He did not speak, but his answer was clear.
The three boys all raised their fists. The original speaker leaped forward, teeth bared. His fist came down.
With deceptive ease, the white-haired boy dodged the punch and grabbed its source, throwing the boy behind him with considerable force. The boy hit the wall hard enough to crack the brick and fell, groaning in pain.
The other two boys looked a lot less eager to launch attacks of their own, but in a rapid, silent conversation they decided to attack at the same time from two different directions.
In theory, it was a solid plan. In practice, it was doomed.
The moment the two boys split up and began to approach the other teenager, the white-haired boy darted forward, wrapped his hand around the nearest boy's wrist, and bodily threw him into the other, knocking both of his opponents down hard. They rolled, with one hitting the wall before coming to a stop. The other was out cold, his chest rising and falling to indicate that he was still breathing.
It took them a minute, but the two boys that were still conscious managed to stagger to their feet.
"F-freak," one of them gasped, wiping blood off his face as he stared at the white-haired boy.
"Some kinda monster," the other agreed, panting and occasionally wincing.
The two froze upon hearing a sound coming from their attacker. They could see his shoulders shaking, and his lips slowly stretched into a parody of a smile. After a few moments, the two boys realized that he was laughing.
It wasn't loud, but the noise was chilling. There was something off about it, something that was distinctly wrong and had the boys wishing that they knew what they'd gotten into.
After half a minute, the laughter died to nothing, and the white-haired boy straightened, his hair still covering his eyes. He still did not speak.
He didn't have to.
"Who—who the hell are you?" One of the boys asked, his eyes wide. "Just who the hell are you?"
The white-haired boy attacked before the other boy could say anything, his fist connecting with the other's stomach and instantly knocking the target out cold. The boy collapsed, the air leaving him in a gasp. As he fell, the white-haired boy turned and hit the other boy with an uppercut that lifted him off the ground.
As the last boy crumpled to the ground, the white-haired boy's eyes finally came into view. The small amount of light in the alley reflected off their burning gold irises.
The white-haired boy stood to his full height and took a few moments to drag the three boys out of sight of the road and put them in positions against the wall. The boys' injuries were not serious, so the white-haired boy saw no need to alert anyone that the confrontation had taken place at all.
The smile dropped from his face as he turned to look at the orange-haired boy, who was still unconscious. With little ceremony, the white-haired boy picked him up and threw him over one shoulder. With a sound like a miniature sonic boom, the white-haired boy disappeared.
He reappeared some distance away, underneath a bridge by a very particular river. With surprising gentleness that contrasted heavily with his earlier behavior, the white-haired boy set the boy he had been carrying on the ground, putting him in a comfortable position. The white-haired boy kneeled over him and held out one hand, a green-blue energy swirling around it. The severity of the orange-haired boy's injuries lessened, until they were nothing more than minor scrapes and bruises.
Once that was done, the white-haired boy sat down a few meters away from the unconscious boy and stared across the river, his black and gold eyes occasionally flicking down to check on the boy he had saved.
It was a little under an hour later when the orange-haired boy finally stirred. The entire time, the white-haired boy had not moved, had not shifted a single muscle. At the sound of groaning, however, he tensed and looked to where the other boy was slowly getting up.
"My head," the boy named Ichigo muttered, blinking the spots from his eyes. His head pounded, but it was nothing in comparison to how he could remember it being. "What happened? Did I get knocked out? Damn, how pathetic . . ."
Something registered with Ichigo's sixth sense and he turned his head quickly.
"I'm surprised ya didn't give yerself whiplash right there," a soft voice commented, its double tones familiar to Ichigo.
"I know you," Ichigo said, his eyes going wide as he searched for the memories. This wasn't some random stranger, Ichigo could see that much for sure. He looked around again, taking in his surroundings and comparing them to the ones he remembered. "Did you bring me here?"
"Yeah."
The white-haired boy shifted, and Ichigo's eyes widened as the other boy threw a rock at the water. Instead of sinking immediately, however, it bounced. Once, twice, thrice, until it sank on the fourth. The familiar sight was enough to remind Ichigo, and one of his hands clenched into a fist out of sheer reflex.
"You're Zangetsu."
The other boy grinned, his oddly colored eyes staring straight up at the bottom of the bridge.
"Guilty as charged, I guess." His gaze slid over to where Ichigo was sitting, and his grin turned crooked. "It's been a while."
"A while?" Ichigo stood, his expression hostile even as he staggered a step before regaining his balance. "It's been years!"
Zangetsu's smile dropped and a far darker expression replaced it for just an instant. "Yeah. I've had things I needed ta do."
Ichigo's countenance didn't change. "I thought I imagined you! You just disappeared!"
"Sorry 'bout that. I had somewhere to be, and ya looked like ya were doin fine with that girl."
"Tatsuki?"
"Probably."
Ichigo's other hand balled into a fist. "You're an asshole," he growled. One of Zangetsu's eyebrows rose.
"No need ta be hasty. Yer still recoverin from yer other fight."
"Shut up!"
Ichigo made to punch Zangetsu, but the white-haired boy was on his feet in a flash. In an instant, Ichigo was on the ground, clutching his ribs and groaning as Zangetsu regarded him oddly from above.
"Why'd ya do that?"
Ichigo muttered something.
"I said, why'd ya do that?"
Ichigo sighed. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm a little bit frustrated." He scowled. "Mainly because some random guy that I thought I'd just dreamed about or something showed up out of nowhere like he hadn't been gone for years."
Ichigo shifted into a sitting position, wincing again at the pain of his injuries. He looked Zangetsu in the eye, not even bothering to comment on his strange appearance, Just like the previous time the two had met, Ichigo either didn't notice or didn't care about Zangetsu's appearance.
"I never did thank you for what you did for me," he said, his voice abnormally subdued. "I was in a bad place, and if you hadn't come along . . ." His voice trailed away, but the meaning was obvious.
"No need ta be so dramatic," Zangetsu replied. "Ya woulda figured somethin out on yer own, trust me."
Ichigo scowled. "I should've known you wouldn't accept that."
"Think what ya like," Zangetsu responded, reaching down a hand. Ichigo took it, and Zangetsu hauled him to his feet. Ichigo managed to stop himself from reacting at the obvious strength that Zangetsu possessed; the white-haired boy had pulled him up with no effort at all. "So, did ya ever reach the other side?"
"Huh?"
Zangetsu gestured to the river with his thumb, and comprehension dawned on Ichigo's expression, followed immediately by a grin. "You bet I did."
"Prove it," Zangetsu said, tossing a rock to Ichigo. The orange-haired boy caught it easily and walked up to the water's edge, his eyes narrowing as he began to focus. After a few seconds of minute adjustments, he let the stone fly.
It bounced across the water numerous times until, with a barely audible clatter, it made it to the opposite bank with little distance to spare. Ichigo turned, triumphant, and his smile only widened when he saw the matching grin on Zangetsu's face.
"Well, how 'bout that," Zangetsu said, crossing his arms. "Ya actually managed ta do it."
"I've been getting stronger."
"Clearly."
Zangetsu thought for a moment, staring out at the glittering water of the river. "Tell ya what. I'll offer ya a deal."
"A deal?"
"Yeah. It's pretty simple, and judgin from how ya got yer ass handed ta ya in that last fight, yer gonna want ta take it."
"What is it?" There was wariness in Ichigo's words, but he seemed to be willing to listen.
"In exchange for me teachin ya how ta fight, ya don't tell anyone about me."
Ichigo blinked. "Why don't you want anyone to know?"
Zangetsu grinned. "Let's just say that I don't like ta be well known. My appearance has gotten me into lotsa trouble in the past, ya know?"
Ichigo nodded, swallowing as he immediately thought of his own hair and the numerous thugs that had targeted him because of it. "Yeah."
"So, what're ya gonna say?"
"What's the catch?"
"I guess ya are smarter than I thought," Zangetsu said, frowning for a second. "Ah, well, that's a good thing. The catch is that ya gotta be here at this same time every day, got it?"
Ichigo thought about the offer for a few moments, taking that time to look out over the water himself. After taking a deep breath, he nodded.
"Yeah, I'll do it."
Zangetsu's grin returned as though it had never left. "Good. You've got the desire ta get stronger. I'd be worried if ya didn't have it."
Ichigo clenched one of his hands into fists and stared down at it, his expression focused. "I need to get stronger. If I don't, I can't protect Karin and Yuzu, and I'll never be able to face my dad again. And my mom . . . I won't be able to face her either."
Zangetsu uncrossed his arms, letting them dangle at his sides. "Understandable, kid. Now, let's see if ya can even put a scratch on me."
Ichigo's grin turned dangerous. "Just watch me!"
By the end of the session, Ichigo was panting, far more bruised than he had been previously. He could barely move, but his strength was rapidly returning. Zangetsu was barely breathing any more quickly than usual, and just as he had expected, Ichigo had barely been able to touch him, let alone land a solid hit.
Zangetsu was pleased to note that Ichigo's form wasn't bad. The work he had done while trying and succeeding in beating Tatsuki had paid off, and Ichigo was now a formidable fighter. What he was missing was a real sixth fighting sense, one that would allow him to react to unpredictable fighting situations and take charge of any confrontation he found himself in.
He needed confidence.
Zangetsu glanced down at the orange-haired boy and let out a deep breath, glancing up as he did so.
"Man, that guy's got a weird hat."
Ichigo followed where Zangetsu was looking, turning his head slightly so that he could see. At first, he didn't see anything, but then he noticed the man walking across the street and the rather obnoxious hat he wore. He grinned tiredly.
"Yeah. Looks weird, doesn't it?"
Zangetsu made a noise of agreement and Ichigo looked away, missing the moment when the man in the hat wavered and faded in and out of view, his ghostly form difficult to see in the sunlight.
Zangetsu sighed. No doubt, Ichigo knew that he was able to see ghosts. At this point, he probably still had a little difficulty telling the living from the dead, but Zangetsu knew that he would figure out something fairly quickly.
"Time ta go," he said, holding out his hand to Ichigo. The exhausted boy regarded it for a few moments before he reached up and took it, allowing himself to be hauled to his feet. "See ya tomorrow."
"Yeah," Ichigo said, glancing down at his shirt and brushing off some of the dust that had accumulated it. When he glanced up, Zangetsu was already gone.
A/N Heh, yeah. So this is like a Zangetsu time-travel story. I didn't see that one coming until I wrote that last chapter, really.
shinyshadowklefki: Maybe, but that might take over a year, and I don't know how I'll feel about this story at that point. Though it does sound interesting.
If I do upload more chapters to this at any point, it will be more oneshot glimpses like this. Zangetsu won't be doing much more than talking with and teaching Ichigo at random points.
Adios,
-RoR