I would like to once again state that I am going back on these chapters and fixing them.

Someone kindly pointed out to me that I have a lot of grammatical errors and shit like that *waves hand*

But thank you for pointing that out! I'm currently fixing up all the mistakes and everything all on my own as we speak! (because I have no beta and don't know how to acquire one) So I regret to say that it might take me a little while to get through all of them (on top of updating this story and the other story of mine on such a tiny time table as it is) but believe me when I say I'm trying my hardest! Anyways~

Hope you enjoy this new and approved first chapter of Wicked Games.

Chapter 1: And Now The Days Pass By.

December 30th.

Friday.

With his bright orange hair blowing rapidly in the chilling breeze of the harsh December wind, and with his shoulders and lower back starting to ache from the stiffness of his now freezing muscles, he glances up at the luminescent moon over-head and sighs heavily under his breath.

It's happening again.

The feeling he oh-so-despised, was beginning to churn and bubble up inside of him like festering black mold. Tarnishing his insides and making him feel immobile, unable to breathe and just that much colder.

The loneliness was creeping up on him again.

Yes it was a sad, almost pitiful emotion one human being to another experiences from time to time. Made even sadder because he felt this isn't how he was supposed to be, especially not after accomplishing so many things that no other human being was capable of ever achieving.

He had defeated one of the greatest enemies, surpassed him in strength and agility (among other things) and yet in the end, he lost his Soul Reaper powers because of it.

And the question that he now always seems to be asking himself, is...Why? Why was it only him that had suffered greatly?

He knows that he shouldn't only be thinking about himself and what he had lost, because he knows full well that others have lost something dear to them as well, during the winter war, besides only just him.

But that was always the way, wasn't it? When one is alone with just their thoughts for days on end, choosing to be alone than with others, they begin to feel like scum. Choosing to stay inside for the rest of the winter days and barely going outside unless completely necessary, not wanting their friends to see the pitiful creature that they make them self out to be. Belittling their own purpose, their own life.

And there always seems to be that one question that weighed him down at night, making him feel lower than the frozen dirt under the thick blanket of snow below.

But because he has felt this way, and because he was currently feeling this way, he now hates himself for it. Despises his own pathetic existence.

The emotion made him feel selfish, and he hated being selfish.

He was being a fool, he knows he's being a fool; but he just can't stop thinking this way. Torturing himself over it by not telling his most closest friends what it is that is going on inside his breaking apart mind because, why should he? Should he be telling others all the fear he feels? Should he tell his most dearest of friends that he's not sleeping anymore? That he barely eats, let alone hold down a decent meal?

He shouldn't tell the others, he doesn't want them to worry more than they already have.

He knows this empty feeling, he can live with this feeling and it was always right there in the back of his mind.

The powerlessness.

He's a now a nobody that everyone thought he was going to turn out to be.

"Damn it...!" Ichigo nearly shouts; growling in frustration as he grips his head inside both his hands, closing his eyes tightly with a muttered. "Damn it..." Slipping past his trembling lips.

Why can't he stop feeling this way? Why can't he stop thinking about it? It's been a whole month since he had lost his soul reaper powers, but it just wouldn't leave his mind!

He had thought he would get over this sense of loss, he thought he would over-come this feeling of dread and anxiety that comes with not being able to sense any more hollows or lowly spirits. But here he is standing on top of his father's house, nearly shouting to the heavens about his self-hate and loneliness.

And the feeling only intensifies worse at night, making him feel even more alone than ever. Always making him feel weak and vulnerable. He couldn't sleep anymore because of it, living off of two hours of rest each night since the disappearance of his powers. The questions that kept nagging at him day in and day out, constantly picking away inside his brain like tiny filthy fingers, trying their hardest to rip him apart and break him down until...

Until he just couldn't feel anymore.

Not only did he have unanswered questions harassing at him, but dreams as well. He couldn't sleep, not without the nightmares plaguing him, and the damn nightmare was always the same each night.

He can see his father's beaten and bloody body, limp on their living room floor, barely clinging onto life as his ragged breathing slows to a halt. He can see that his little sister's are always nowhere to be found inside their home. And it doesn't matter how hard he searches for them inside his dream, he just couldn't find them anywhere. The both of them are always missing by the time he finds his father half-dead in the middle of their living room floor. While he himself, is always standing there in the middle of it all, wondering who the hell would do this to his family and why. But in each reoccurring nightmare that he has, there is always that crimson color splattered everywhere upon the walls, the floor, to the ceiling itself. Blood everywhere. In puddles, in pools, in hand-prints and holes in the walls, and yet no one around to have caused it all. No one visible, no one that he could see at least, has caused this tragedy to take place. But it wasn't the blood that freaked him out, no, it was the thought of not knowing who did it, not knowing who would do this to him, not being able to see this horrible murderer; that is what always made him feel helpless, defenseless, scared and pathetic. And in each dream, there was nothing he could do about it.

His own thoughts were driving him insane, he knows this and yet...

He just can't stop thinking. Can't stop feeling. Can't stop breathing.

With a loud wail of despair tearing through the cold December night, the teen punches the hard tiled roof and inwardly flinches at the loud noise that he hadn't meant to make.

From impact alone, he knew he had ripped open the skin of his knuckles, because no sooner had he felt the blow to the shingles of the roof, felt as it reverberated through his knuckles, he sees his blood ooze out from between his torn open skin.

He sighs harshly under his breath at the familiar pain that courses through him; it was a twisted form of relief for him. Physical pain takes him away from the mental pain, at least that's what he convinced himself to believe. Convincing himself that it would help clear his senses, even if only for a while.

He wasn't going to be one of those people who causes bodily harm upon themselves, self-inflicting wounds or other such nonsense (even though a little voice whispers in the back of his mind that that is exactly what he's doing) he knows that he's much stronger than that.

Snapping back to reality, he glances down towards his hand to see the broken skin of his knuckles slowly bleed crimson. He could see trickles of blood seeping through his fingers descending down to his wrist in a red rivulet.

He merely snorts at the wound and licks away the blood, only to spit it out not long after. He remembers the tangy taste of blood, blood reminded him of battles and the smell of blood made him feel nostalgic for the rush of adrenaline during battles.

And he'd rather not think about those days.

"Licking your wounds?"

Ichigo nearly jumps out of his skin at the voice that made itself known behind him.

Quickly he turns his head over his shoulder, with his wounded hand still held close to his mouth, to see his father standing just at the ledge of the rooftop.

Still dressed in his white doctors smock with a small smile gracing his bearded face, the man was also wearing a bright purple Hawaiian shirt with floral desgins wrapped around it, underneath the professional article of clothing.

Ichigo couldn't help but squint his eyes at his father's horrible taste in clothing as he quickly tears his eyes away. "What's up?" The teenager asks instead.

It was a simple question, but right now he really just wanted to be left alone for a while.

Ichigo looks back down to his knuckle, to see that more blood was beginning to seep out from his torn skin, and again, he licks away the blood, holding his wounded hand close to his chest to elevate it after he was done with his task.

"Ichigo, you're only going to infect the wound if you keep licking it." His father chastises with a shake of his head as he walks towards his son, who is sitting near the ledge on the other side of the roof.

Ichigo snorts at the information given to him and looks back out towards the snow filled streets of Karakura town with disinterest. "Why you up here? Were you looking for me again?" He soon growls the question.

But then sighs heavily under his breath at the edge (that even he heard) inside the tone of his voice.

Isshin Kurosaki inspects the wound that Ichigo himself has caused to his own knuckles and lightly "tsk's" under his breath with a shake of his head. "You could have broken them, son." He states acerbically.

'Like that really matters…' Ichigo thought disdainfully with a roll of his eyes before looking away from the scolding man in front of him, he thought he would get used to this new and recent epiphany that seemed to have taken over his father.

But wow, was he ever wrong.

Over the littlest things he would do, whether it stay out later than he meant to, choosing to go for walks at night, never leaving his room for hours on end only because he doesn't feel like it, or if he simply trips down a couple of steps, his father would always be there to scold him as though he was a child all over again.

He doesn't know why his father chose to act this way towards him, but he gets the distinct feeling that it came with the fact that he lost his powers.

Because he can't see his enemies anymore, his father has taken it upon himself to look out for everyone inside that home. Not only because it was a father's duty to protect his children, but because Ichigo was now powerless to stop himself from getting hurt, let alone stop the everyday dangers of household items taken place.

So in other words, his father finds him completely useless and utterly defenseless.

The orange-haired teen growls under his breath as that thought flutters through his mind and forcibly he rips his hand away from his fathers. "It's fine! I'm not bleeding anymore!" He states in exasperation as he shows his father his hand as he wiggles his fingers around for his father to see.

After reluctantly showing his father his hand, Ichigo gets up from the cold roof and walks closer to the ledge. A fierce glare directed to the ground below. "What's wrong dad?" He asks again, this time sighing in irritation. "Why are you up here?"

He loved his father yeah, he was grateful to have a father like him, able bodied and all powerful as hell. But nowadays, all Ichigo wanted from his father, was to be left alone. Instead, his dad took it upon himself to pester him with question after question every single day; questions that Ichigo himself didn't know how to answer, because he just doesn't know or what he should say, or what he should feel for that matter.

And yet, his father still kept on insisting on helping him, in anyway shape or form, but Ichigo felt like he didn't need any—or want any—help.

These are his problems to deal with, aren't they? So why can't his father just see that he needs his space and needs his own time to think about, and find the answers to the questions, himself? He needed to do things on his own, before he can even think of doing anything else or ask for advice.

But no one seems to get it.

His friends certainly didn't get it, they kept pressuring him to talk about his feelings, each and every time he shows up for school. Asking him what he thinks about all that had happened, what he is going to do from here on out, how he sees himself, what it feels like. Or the most heart-breaking questions of: "Will you get your powers back?" And Ichigo...Doesn't even know what to say.

His friends are only a constant reminder of how powerless he really is.

Ichigo sighs in contempt and drags his hands through his unruly orange locks of hair after several minutes of silence has passed. Why wasn't his father asking him his annoying questions yet?

He knows that he needs a straight and level head right now, in order to get his thoughts re-organized. But in order for him to do that, he needs space and time. But with an overbearing father and with pestering, pushy friends—he couldn't break free. He was starting to feel trapped inside his own body.

Ichigo shakes his head in derision and buries his face inside his uninjured hand, holding it over both his eyes.

Looking as though he trying his hardest not to break down and cry.

Isshin looks to his downcast son with sympathy easily detectable inside his dark brown eyes and immediately he knew the look his son had on; Ichigo was trying to shoulder this whole thing by himself, trying to carry the burden. Trying to appear strong for the sake of others.

But Isshin knew better, Ichigo can't do this on his own, not with the loss he suffered. He could already see the evident changes in his son's demeanor and especially in his appearance.

They're dark circles under Ichigo's eyes where there wasn't before, the youthful glow his bright brown eyes had carried, was now replaced instead with anguish and fear. He was beginning to lose a lot of weight and muscle tone as well, he's more lithe now because of it. His hair is getting longer, to the point where his bangs are falling right over his light brown eyes and framing both sides of his face as the length of his hair reaches down the nape of his neck. His clothes aren't exactly fitting his frame anymore. As a matter of fact, his jeans are starting to look more like sweats and his form fitting tee's are now hanging off of his body. As days go on, his son was starting to look more unhealthy and malnourished.

Isshin knew that his son was more orderly, responsible and proper than this. Ichigo was actually a very finicky and obsessive person when it came to his appearance, but it looked as though his son has lost nearly, to all, interest in everything around him.

He was also beginning to notice that his son was losing control of his emotions as well.

Ichigo used to be a casual, calm individual, only getting mad when others intentionally got on his nerves (like him for instance). And he never raised his voice, unless it was for a good reason, like his sisters needed defending etc etc. And he certainly knew that his son had more respect than this.

And it was because of those reasons, that Isshin now knew that he would have to tread carefully when it came to his son's recently developed and very unpredictable behavior.

Taking a tepid step back from his son, Isshin clears his throat to grab Ichigo's attention once again and when he has it, he wastes no time in telling Ichigo exactly what he feels.

"Ichigo...Look son, I know how you feel right now. I'm still trying to come to terms with it myself, but—"

"—But what dad?!" Ichigo suddenly snaps, finally turning around to meet his father's stunned expression.

Isshin takes another step back, but this time due to shock. His son never raised his voice against him in his life and to have his anger directed at him of all people, it startled him. Surely his own son knew better than to lose his temper with him? But with the hard glare he can clearly see inside his son's eyes, and from the stern expression on his face, Isshin knew that the calm and composed conversation he originally wanted, won't get anywhere. Not in Ichigo's current state.

Growling harshly for his father to hear, Ichigo starts shifting his eyes in different directions. Not wanting to look into his father's stunned expression.

This was the same speech his father always gave him, it never really helped in the end. His father was just trying to be sympathetic towards him, it only made him feel all that much more pathetic. His father was treating him like glass that could shatter completely if he so much as raised his voice and it was irritating as hell.

Turning his attention back to his father, the stormy set of his brown eyes never wavers. "What are you trying to come to terms with?" Ichigo states in a desperate tone of voice as he glances back down to his shoes.

His father's flinch going unnoticed.

"Are you trying to come to terms with the fact that I lost my soul reaper powers? That I'm useless again? That I am just another normal human-fucking-being?" Ichigo counters, voice rising in volume as he glares down at the roof with rage rolling off of him in waves.

He was starting to lose control of his emotions, it's frustrating him to realize this, but he couldn't do anything about it anymore. What's wrong with him? He knew he was hurting his father's feelings and his friend's feelings as well, but…

Isshin takes a step forward. Wanting so badly just to smack some sense into the boy, maybe he would, on some other occasion, but right now, words are needed to be said instead of a brawl breaking out on top of their roof.

Ichigo was pushing the people that only wanted to help him, away. It's as though his son didn't care or even stop and think about the feelings of the people around him. He was even starting to push his own family away.

Why can't he see that he's being selfish? And that he's hurting the feelings of the people around him? People that only wanted to help him...?

When Isshin knew that he had Ichigo's attention again, he gives his son a stern look that any father would be proud of as he props a hand up on his hip. "Ichigo, calm down. I know you're frustrated that all this has happened, but look at it this way, you can finally have a normal life that you deserve! You can move forward in life and—"

"—How?" Ichigo shouts, furiously turning towards his father with a hard glare, he then frustratingly gestures to the small town surrounding them. "Look around dad! You can still feel them! You can still see them, but what can I do?" Ichigo presses, hands balled into fists at his sides.

What can he do?

Ichigo growls in frustration. "Nothing! That's all I'm able to do now!" He shouts, he then lowers his gaze to the roof standing between him and his father dejectedly. "So how exactly can I move forward, when I don't even know what's out there waiting for me?" Ichigo asks in a mere whisper.

'What's out there, waiting to kill me? What's out there...Waiting to take the people that I care about, and kill THEM?' Ichigo soon shakes his head at those depressing, horrible thoughts as he looks back down towards the snow filled ground in shame. "I'm useless." He deadpans.

"You're not useless, Ichigo." His father announces firmly, voice and facial expression serious as he makes his way over to his son. Slapping an encouraging hand upon Ichigo's taut shoulder, Isshin can't help but grin. "You can't sense them, or see them, but they're people out there still ready to protect this place. Remember that."

Ichigo no sooner snarls loudly as he slaps his father's hand away from him. "You don't get it!" He shouts more furiously. "Damn it dad! I just!—" Ichigo quickly snaps his mouth shut when he meets his father's worried gaze.

Ichigo's enraged expression, soon crumples to away completely as he quickly turns around and holds his injured hand to his steadily rising and falling chest; unable to look into his dad's worried eyes much longer.

He shouldn't be losing his temper so easily, especially with his father of all people. What good would come from yelling at his own dad?

Ichigo soon sighs under his breath and looks back to his dad with an apologetic look in his chocolate brown eyes. "Never mind I said anything...I'm going for a walk. I'll see you soon, alright?" He announces dejectedly as he silently turns away and heads into the direction of the front door of the house, looking straight down at the smaller roof below.

"Ichigo!" He hears his father shout after him.

But Ichigo simply ignores his father with a shake of his head as he takes the jump down onto the smaller roof before him, right by the window to the room that the patients have access to. He lands without so much as a stumble to his step and finally he jumps down onto the ground below. The impact of the landing sends shock-waves tingling from his toes, up into his legs, but he merely grunts at the dull pain it causes as he begins walking away from their house/medical clinic.

He can't even jump down from his house anymore, not without hurting his muscles and bones.

'Human senses comes with human pain…' He furrows his eyebrows at the thought and begins striding his way down the streets.

He doesn't know where he's going; he's just willing to walk where ever his legs might take him. He buries his now frozen hands into his pockets and nuzzles deeper into the collar of his jacket as he thinks back to him and his father's little squabble on the roof.

His dad always gave him that same sort of speech, from the moment he wakes up to when he goes and lies his head down on his pillow. And the speech doesn't help at all.

Ichigo needs to help himself, but how exactly can he help himself, when he doesn't even know what to do? Or where to start for that matter?

Yes he's still in school, but he's repeating his second year because of all the down time he had while doing his substitute soul reaper duties. And even when he's in school, working his hardest to get bumped up a grade, it doesn't seem to take his mind off of anything that's happening inside him. What's happening inside his head, more like it.

Ichigo coughs lightly under his breath and buries his nose deeper into his jacket, absentmindedly noticing that the weather seems to be getting colder.

He coughs again, then sneezes shortly after. He furrows his eyebrows together at the itchy feeling inside his throat and clears it away by grumbling, he shakes his head at himself and strides faster. He can't be getting sick, he's been staying indoors for the past 4 weeks. There's just no time to be getting sick, not when he needed to get things done, but then again...He wouldn't be surprised if he was getting sick.

Considering that he hardly slept a wink for the past four weeks, so all together he rounded up the hours that he did manage to sleep and concluded that he only had 8 hours of sleep altogether.

Not only does he hardly ever sleep anymore, but he barely manages to get his food down. Eating just made him feel more sick, than better. He misses Yuzu's cooking, but ever since the nightmares starting happening, he couldn't even think about eating, not without gagging at the mere thought. And because of this new development, his entire body was starting to feel unbelievably weak because of it.

And to pile worse on top of worse, he noticed that his mind was starting to get the better of him as well. He thought he saw his mom the other day, but when he blinked his eyes in shock, the image of his mother completely disappeared from his gaze.

Hallucinations are symptoms to Insomnia, he knew that much from all the stories his father had told him. He remembers his father always telling him to go to bed early when he was a kid, and getting a regular 8 hours of sleep each night will help him not get sick.

But the thought of sleeping—the thoughts of having another nightmare—is what kept him up at night.

He just couldn't take another nightmare.

Snapping out of his thoughts when his shoes makes impact with a stray empty soda can, Ichigo finally take the time to look around at his surroundings and its then that he realizes...He just walked himself into a dead-end inside a vacant alleyway, in a part of town that he doesn't even recognize or knows.

He shakes his head at his own carelessness and just as he was about to turn around and head back home, Ichigo feels a shiver race up his spine as he clasps a hand over his mouth, he suddenly feels the over-whelming urge to vomit.

He coughs in disgust at the lingering taste of bile burning inside his throat, but as soon as he coughs to relieve him of the taste, he doubles over and goes into a coughing fit.

His hackles rise, the burning in his belly doesn't cease, his eyes start to water from the coughing fit and the urge to vomit, just becomes all too real as he bends over beside an empty trash can and begins spewing what little nourishment he had left lingering inside his stomach, out onto the side of the alleyway, staining the pure white snow below a color he'd rather not scrutinize over. He dry heaves in the cold night air as he dispels what little food he had left inside his stomach.

But he still felt the need to puke.

Coughing uncontrollably doesn't help him catch his breath either, his body begins to shake in cold and wild tremors, he nearly falls forward and into his own vomit when he suddenly felt his knees go weak. He almost buckles under from his own weight but quickly he regains his balance and just as he does, he gives another hoarse cough and a empty dry heave.

All that comes out is stomach acid and warm, disgusting tasting spit.

He gags in pure repulsion then soon gasps loudly to catch his breath. He was finally able to breathe again, but that's when he starts getting scared, because once he inhaled sharply, nothing was coming back into his lungs. No air was flowing inside his lungs, he couldn't breathe.

Great, now he was choking on his own vomit.

He throws himself towards the wall in his panic and lands with a hard crack to the side of the brick building and successfully dislodges whatever the hell it was inside his throat, with a loud and painful sounding cough.

He loudly starts to gasp and wheeze once he finally gets the oxygen flowing back inside his lungs. He takes-in huge gulps of much needed air—thankful for being able to breathe once again and slaps both his hands onto his knees to help keep him upright. He wipes the back of his hand over his mouth to relieve him of the spit still clinging to his chin.

Internally, he was hoping that his vomiting fit was over, but just as he tries to breathe in more calmly through his mouth, his vision instantly becomes blurry and he starts to see tiny black dots filling his gaze, his ears start losing the ability to hear.

'What's...Wrong with me?' He asks himself as he starts swaying back and forth in a spot.

He tries taking a step forward as he repeatedly tells himself to go home. Telling himself that he needs to go home. But as soon as he takes one step forward, it only causes him to lose his balance further.

And with his body refusing to do what his brain is constantly screaming at him that he should do, Ichigo stumbles mid-step, coughing one last time and his eyes start to close without permission.

He soon finds himself falling towards the snow. Where he lands on his side with a painful bounce, and immediately he registers the pain that explodes from the side of his head. He knew he hit his head against something hard the moment he landed, but he had no idea what he smashed it against.

And finally, all the pain, the cold, the nausea and all thoughts completely, vanish as his consciousness leaves him. He's rendered immobile and vulnerable in a heap in the snow inside the abandoned alleyway.

Please keep them coming! I swear I'll get through these chapters. New and approved and all that~

Oh and if you still see mistakes, don't be afraid to point them out to me, just mention where, when and what chapter the mistakes are on and I'll try to remember what you're talking about and fix them up!

Take care!

-Hella