A Whiter Shade of Pale

Summary: Let me be a boy who has never looked upon darkness, who has never watched the world through the stories from another person's mouth. Let me be a boy who never had to rely on the grudge of anger and revenge to hide the guilt of weakness, who never had to bear a hole in my soul before I was even given the chance of being whole. Let me be a boy who never had to plead for warmth behind eyes that were masked by ice and steel, a boy who never had to look at a smile and know that it was forever branded by tears…

A/N: Bloody, I bloody love you. Thank you for the review! 'Tis chapter is for you! It's Renji and Uryuu goodness. Oh, Death/Messenger might be on hiatus for a while. My plot bunnies starved from a lack of carrots.

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. The only bleach I have is the one you use for clothes. I command the Lawyers to scoot, or I shall call forth my Kinky Final Form…

oooooo

Chapter 2: Light and Air and a Gust of Wind

What is in a soul that makes one a Quincy? What is in a heart that makes a person so different from someone else? What is in a body that forces limits…?

When the Quincy said he had a last resort, Abarai had no idea. He shouldn't have let the boy out of his sight, should have known that the archer would try something deadly and dangerous and stupid. Sure what he does works half the time, but… everything the boy does always asks for something in return. Like his powers for that Quincy Final Form in Seireitei. Or that Sprenger that barely worked but depleted his energy. Stupid, stupid Renji. Even that Urahara had asked to keep an eye on him. They had all been worried about the Quincy. Something had happened to the archer that he wasn't showing anywhere near the surface, but he, Renji, just pushed it out of his mind, confident in the boy's strength too much to worry. He knew the archer wouldn't break easily. But why the hell is his spirit energy waning so suddenly? Had the boy tried that 'last resort' and failed?

Moving hurt Abarai. They were all fighting battles before this, but then the First Espada had appeared in front of them, and it was all down hell from then on.

A blood-red cero suddenly flashed in the periphery of his vision, and he knew before he felt the sensation of skin and muscles tearing off his left side.

He suddenly stumbled and lost his footing, dust flying up when he hit the ground hard. Abarai winced as he lay in that vulnerable position. He tried to flex the muscles of his left arm but the pain shooting up stopped him from trying. He knew by the smell that the cero must have burned his arm seriously. Battle wounds that raced up and down his body added to the exhaustion and the pain. He rolled to get into a supine position, the movement vehemently protested by every fiber in his body. Damn. The dust and the smoke clouded his vision, but he could feel the faint pulse of his dark-haired nakama's spirit energyin the distance, the distinct feeling of cold associated with the Quincy's energy mixed with the raging aggression that seemed to be associated with every Espada. Thankful for the brief respite from the fight, Renji's mind wandered off the events preceding the Winter War. There was something different about Ishida, definitely. The archer had not been acting as he normally did- the arrogance was cut down, the sarcastic comments were missing, and the Quincy most often looked at 

them with a faint mark of indifference in his blue eyes. That shop-owner mentioned under his breath that Ishida seemed to be acting more and more like his father. Hell, he didn't even know the archer had a father.

But anyway… Cero, check. He must be near. That fact just made him wince that if he was that near and the Quincy's aura was that weak, the boy must be losing. Badly. Why in hell wasn't he quick enough to follow the boy when he said he was going to move farther away?

Something clutched cold at his heart when Ishida's spirit energy suddenly stopped altogether. He felt the panic in his mouth rising. The boy couldn't have been-

Abarai Renji felt the pulse of reiatsu that washed over him; a feeling as soothing as a cool hand over a feverish forehead. And yet that cold seized something within his heart, for it also felt like the cold of lifeless limbs. There was something wrong. There was something terribly, terribly wrong.

Oooooo

When he told Abarai not to follow, he wished the Shinigami had enough sense in him to obey. He didn't want anyone to witness this, his fall, his rise, his descent towards immolation that never should be witnessed by a living soul. But he felt the redhead's aura flaring somewhere near, and for some frozen moment, he wondered if it was wrong for him to just be a little glad that somebody would witness this. He wished he could tell Abarai what he was doing, and why. But there was no time.

Only time enough to explain again, to himself, why he should do this.

The smell of burnt flesh reached his nose. He remembered this smell, this stench that was so familiar because it visited him in his sleep. At first it was only the corpses of his tribe that he saw in his dreams, but recently he caught glimpses of a torn flowered shirt or a scorched hairpin, and often of familiar swords stuck into mounds of soil framed in dark silhouettes, for the sun always sets in a battlefield in his dreams. And whenever he sees this, it was no longer the fear that he was not able to avenge, but rather the terror that he was not able to protect that grips his heart. And he wakes up, shaken, shivering, the forming mantra of you are weak, you have no talent, you will die runs over and over in his head. He tries not to listen. Because if he did, he knew most certainly, that if he listened, the smell of burnt flesh and the bittersweet smell of decay would no longer just be a part of his dreams.

He suffered one gaze at the shimmering cross hovering in his right palm. I have to protect what I can with these hands. Do what I must with this strength.

There was only the silent vow in his hands, and the fragment of a dream, when he closed his eyes and closed his hand over his cross. The chiming sound that resounded reminded him of bells ringing far-off…

A Quincy's cross is the focus of his energy. It was made from silver that was tempered with the person's soul itself. The cross itself is a part of the person's soul, in the very seat of his heart. The fact that it is material is a mark of a Quincy's humanity, but the fact that it is the fragment of a soul makes it more than corporeal. To shatter a Quincy cross is a symbol, a sign that a Quincy has given up on what makes him human and is ready to rise above the physical. But to put it simply, shattering a Quincy cross is equal to shattering the human heart- an act that renders what is mortal in a Quincy to die. The day Uryuu tore his Sanrei glove his being a Quincy was sealed in favor of him being 

human, but the day that he broke his cross his human part was sealed in favor of his Quincy soul. Both methods offered power. Both methods asked for something in return. Uryuu paid for the Sanrei glove with the sealing of his power, but with the cross he will pay for it for his life. Because to shatter a Quincy cross is to commit suicide in its purest form.

He knew the process, expected the pain, but was he did not anticipate was the sadness. The warmth engulfing him. The raw heat of his body tearing up and melting into silver flames. He did not expect to hear Abarai's voice in the background, telling him to stop.

A life is willingly given up to gain power. It will take a while for the transcendence to be complete. When a cross is broken, the material body is burnt away to reveal the soul purely. It will be painful. It will be sad. But it will not be something he regrets. Without the limitations of being human Uryuu would achieve the pinnacle of Quincy power and even achieve what lies beyond. But when his human body is consumed by the silver flames, he will not be able to go back.

It was a pulse of raw power that he felt, a silent roar that rang in his ears, resonated over the face of the earth, carried over by the flow of the wind. The pulse of the Quincy power that made even the Lord of Hueco Mundo look up and wonder. Spirit threads that were pure white whispered against his body.

Oooooo

When a torn piece of spirit thread dissipated against his face, Renji felt the shallow cut, but he didn't care. His long red hair billowed roughly against his face, pulled from its bonds by the wind, but he didn't push away the intrusion. Something inside him was tearing. What he was seeing just wasn't right. In that clear part of his mind that recognized that the archer was gaining power by the second, there was also that voice screaming at him that the archer is dying.

He wanted to move, to tear the Quincy from the flames, but he couldn't. Not even when he saw the Espada move to attack, he stood there, frozen, unable to accept what happened. He vaguely processed a scream; saw the shadow looming over the archer burst into pieces and dissolve within the grasps of the archer's threads. The spirit energy of the Espada disappeared so quickly, like it had never been there. But he also sees the pieces that tore away from Ishida's body and melted into the flames.

Open your mouth. Open that big mouth and tell him to stop.

"-"

What happened to you? Are you terrified you'd be absorbed too? Do something! He'll die!

"-i-"

Renji! The vision turned and smiled. The white glare had lessened to a tolerable level, a faint glow that illuminated Ishida's skin. The smile is soft and sad. The blue eyes were clear and even and still.

"Ishidaaaa!!"



Oooooo

It was the enraged yell that pulled him from his trance. It was the hand that clutched at his so tightly, the ragged breathing at his right, the wild hair and tired body nearly slumped to the ground, that made him questions his actions. He knew he could no longer control the energy whether he wanted it to enter his body or not, that he would continue to absorb from wherever source his body could find. Even if it was a living soul.

No. He tugged at Renji's hand, desperately trying to pull away. But the hand clutched his wrist insistently, with an intensity so strong it was starting to hurt. He heard Renji's breathing slowing down. A ruby eye looked out at him from the tangle of red hair. The shadow of a feral smirk.

"…not…letting go…already did that…'was a mistake…"

Oh, but you'll die. I'll kill you. He wanted desperately to say that. He wanted to slap it in the Shinigami's face. Wanted to say it out loud. And maybe he did, because the next second his eyes grew wide as the red-haired Shinigami pulled to his feet, the heavier frame and taller body looming over him.

"If…you don't want me to die… you'll stop. Inoue… the wounds… she'll heal you. No matter the extent, she'll-" Renji swayed and almost fell over him. He caught the heavier body, his mind protesting at the contact. The closer the shinigami is, the more he'll be absorbed. But any protest was stopped when he realized Renji was still whispering against his ear. Telling him that Inoue could heal him, bring him back, make him whole again. It was a nice hope, but it was impossible. She may be able to bring back even those that are dead by her will- but that in itself was the limit to her power. She couldn't turn back something that was willfully brought about. She couldn't give him back the body he chose to destroy. She couldn't save the life he chose to sacrifice.

"...no. I'm broken. I know I can't be saved."

He knows he can't, and the damage will continue to over his body, only this time from inside and all the more slowly. But he stopped the transcendence, because if he couldn't be saved, at least he could save Renji. At the very least he wouldn't lose one he wanted to protect.

He tensed with the redhead's reply. Thank you. He had said thank you.

"I'm too damaged, Renji…" He felt the darkness and the cold before it claimed him, and the frantic clutch of hands against his skin.

Oooooo

He could only hold out a bloody hand, gasp out a name. Zabimaru lay a few feet away, bloodied as well, and he no longer had any strength to will his sword to him. But that man, that traitor- the archer was prone in that man's arms, unconscious and terribly pale. Uryuu looked like a doll just waiting to be bent in those hands. How did this happen? How could that man suddenly step in, strike, and take Ishida like he had been some thing left to be picked up?



With all the strength in his body he stretched out his arm towards the traitor, who simply left him with a smile and turned his back. But he didn't have any strength. He could only reach so far…

TBC