Summary: Alternate ending to episode one with an interesting outcome. (Warning in case you don't like it, but from here on out it's gonna be at least a one sided/creepy Aizichi.)
Also, "Tsuyokunaru, Ichigo" = Be strong, One Who Protects.
Or, it's supposed to. Honestly I just used google translate (sorry Ichi but your name literally translates into 'strawberry' your parents hate you) and messed around with a few words until I found one I liked.
Important: I know I shouldn't do this but I'm having an existential crisis almost. I'm taking the slash out of the story for now. It might come back in later, but for now—just no. I don't know why, Aizichi is my OTP, but for whatever reason it's bothering me, so I'm taking it out. This story is now GEN until expressed as otherwise. :/ Aizen will be in here in the future though, so I'll keep him tagged as a character. :3
Ichigo had always known he was different. It was more than his hair color or his name, despite how those two traits made him stick out like a sore thumb. He didn't know how to explain it, not really, he just knew that he was.
There was the obvious seeing spirits thing, which had tipped him off when he was five and his momma told him to leave them alone, that no one but him could see them and that they'd just get him into trouble. Ichigo had listened back then, because Masaki Kurosaki had been the first person to believe that what he saw was real. She didn't make fun of him, or say he was just trying to get attention like the other kids at school. She didn't dismiss what he saw as "imaginary friends" either, like dad had.
Momma had taken him aside and told him that is was okay, and to just ignore them until they went away.
Ichigo could also not recall a single instance of being hurt or sick.
He remembers being eight and stupid and climbing to the top of the monkey bars even though daddy told him not to. He slipped and fell and cried—but he wasn't hurt, just scared. Not a single cut or bruise marred his flesh. He didn't think anything of it then, but as he got older, Ichigo wondered.
Ishin never said anything about it.
Bullies pushed him around, punched him, shoved him to the ground; but Ichigo always came out unscathed, no matter how rough the treatment. He was quick too, when it came to fighting. Mamma had taken him to karate lessons when the bullying had really started getting rough, and they honed his skill and showed him how to stand and throw a punch properly. Ichigo flew up the ranks with prodigal speed, was on his way to black belt until Mamma died.
It had been her idea, for him to go. He couldn't bring himself back there after the monster killed her.
Dad never liked to talk about that either.
Ichigo had always known he was different, but the night a small girl garbed in black and armed with a katana came floating through his bedroom window, he knew everything that made him special was about to send his life careening into the unknown.
Shinigami, Hollows, Spirits—it was all so farfetched, ridiculous. And yet—and yet it all made so much sense.
A haunting roar suffocated the cool night air as Ichigo stumbled down the stairs after the strange, small woman; hands bound by some invisible force. He stared, terrified, as a monster—a Hollow—held Karin in its meaty claws, giant maw pulled back for a bite.
"Karin, no!" Ichigo screamed, pulling at the spell around his arms with gritted teeth. He would not be useless, he would not let another loved onedie.
"Stay back, you'll only get in the way!"
Ignoring the "Shinigami" with a grunt of exertion and a painful strain on his arms, the spell broke with a flourish of wind and invisible weight shattering. For a moment it was too much and Ichigo dropped to his knees panting. He struggled to pull himself up right.
The Hollow stared at him, having sensed the explosion of reiatsu and unceremoniously dropped Karin to the hard concrete, losing interest in the weaker prey.
"Found you," it hissed and lunged.
The woman grabbed hold of his arm, yanked hard and ran for the open street. For a second Ichigo thought everything would be okay now, that he and his family would be safe. In the same moment, his feet lost the ground as the Hollow swung its claws and swiped at the Shinigami, catching her at the side and sending them both flying.
"Damn it," the small woman cursed, clutching her blood soaked kimono. She pushed herself up to lean against a street lamp looking a lot worse for wear. Her free hand reached for her fallen blade, arm shaking and barely clutching the hilt.
Ichigo struggled to his hands and knees, head whipping from the steadily approaching Hollow to the broken form next to him. In that instant, Ichigo Kurosaki knew he was going to die. His family was going to die, and for the second time in his life, he would be helpless to stop it from happening.
Ichigo's conscious thought detached from his body as his hands reached for the swords hilt, grasping the woman's hand in the process and tugged the sword towards himself by instinct. The blade plunged through his gut and power began to pour into his welcoming body—"What are you doing?!"—turning a small, lit candle into a fierce, hungry flame.
"Tsuyokunaru, Ichigo."
The woman gasped, the Hollow roared; Ichigo sprung up from his knees and swung a black and gold hilted Odashi with everything he had.
