Title: High Windows
Summary: In a different world, Hitsugaya Toushiro dies young, merely a day after his grandmother does one sunny afternoon. Twenty years later, he reemerges in the world of living with no memories of what happened that day.
Rating: T
Notes: Priorities. Just saying
Disclaimer: Tite Kubo owns the series.

On the other side of the wall, the citizens of Soul Society were divided. They knew little of reishi and reiatsu. What they divined through black-and-white blurs passing through the streets amounted to a little more than hearsay. They knew that some of their number, a few, never very many, always children, disappeared sometimes, never to be seen again. When they saw the ice, the corpses in the snow, they thought—a curse because why wouldn't the Shinigami stop an attack so close to the court of pure souls.

A curse—agreed the men, looking at the bottom of a barrel. The brave ones, foolish and stupid, snuck down to the first district still smothered in cold. They ate the snow.

They saw things.

.

He woke and immediately understood that the bed he was in was not his own. There was a sting of antiseptic about the air and his mouth was tacky as though something had crawled in it and died. But the most damning evidence was the flower-print sheets tucked to the top of his chin. Somebody put him in bed and he didn't know, couldn't remember, what happened.

Gasping, he kicked them off, immediately regretting his decision as the sudden motion made his head spin and laid him flat on his back. Though there were no wounds that he could see, no bandages around his torso or his four limbs, pain was a familiar concept. He'd been forced to switch schools many times when he was young. After the fourth, he hadn't told his guardians about the beatings but he supposed they'd always known. He had Masaki to protect him after that.

"You're up!"

Toushiro hastily wiped his eyes when Isshin bounded in with the simple-minded joy of a dog with a bone. It all seemed innocuous enough until he spied a colorful pez dispenser on top of a tray next to the glass of water and pills. He clenched his fists unconsciously against the mattress and snapped, "What happened?"

"You passed out." Isshin answered helpfully, setting the tray aside and miming a tree falling with his arms. "Remember?"

"I...?" He squeezed his eyes shut when a wave of nausea washed over him. Isshin was lying. He didn't know why Isshin was lying but Isshin was lying and he barely clicked his teeth shut before he could scream it out loud.

"...Bullshit." He croaked, mouth trembling from the effort.

A bead of sweat slid past his temple.

"Damn." Isshin said, face creased in concern. He looked away immediately. It wasn't right, it was wrong. Isshin was a good father, a good husband and a good man. Shiba Isshin shouldn't be worried about the likes of him. "Should have called Kisuke."

"Urahara." He said sardonically. "He's involved too?"

It took effort but he placed his two feet against the ground and braced himself. The tiles were cold. His toes curled inward at the shock. But he needed to stand. He was—he felt too damned vulnerable.

On his knees, he was weak.

"Careful," Isshin cautioned him, standing beside him to offer relief. "You're sick."

"And I won't get better by staying here."

He behaved for the most part as he was dressed in a change of clothes and mismatched socks Isshin produced from his laundry bin. But he turned his nose up at the pills and the stupid contraption that required him to open his eyes and breathe in to take effect.

"You are such a brat." The older man complained and held his chin firm.

Isshin was shit at kido, had never shown aptitude for testing other than the barest minimum. But shooting Urahara's memory spray in his face did not take precision or skill. It took guts.

"You won't keep me ignorant forever." He swore. He'd have a hell of a hangover when he woke up. He always did. And he'd attribute it to becoming maudlin after an Ultraman marathon.

"I know," Isshin soothed, "But I will, for as long as I can because that's what big brothers do right?"

"...Idiot."

Toushiro breathed and life resumed its normal speed. It was hard to keep focus when he was pulling twenty-hour shifts at the hospital. But he felt, through the prickling at the back of his neck, someone was watching him. Not until did his back stop aching when he leaned back did he realize something. He had been hurt. Superficial wounds could be sealed up quickly enough but the bruises in his muscles hadn't gone away. His bones felt bowed, his fingers were stiff. He nearly burned his thumb lighting up as he admired a black butterfly and its violet-scaled wings. The little soul at his side had wanted to show it to him.

'Isn't it pretty?'

He nodded absentmindedly and she beaned at his attention before throwing herself at him. There was a brief chill as their bodies connected, a swipe of alcohol on skin.

'Thank you!'

Souls were rarely that solid. Not for him.

A shadow leaped on a shadow, playing tag across the rooftops. He knew that Isshin had sworn to secrecy—whatever it was. And Ichigo, his usual informant, was absent, no longer seeking him out to lecture him or drag him out to eat. He was relieved and at the same time, empty, wondering what he could have done to drive the teenager away.

The girl Shinigami was an enigma. He didn't know how she'd gotten to know Ichigo or roped the idiot into hunting hollow of all things. Something was wrong.

He looked at the inky dark knowing that there was only ever one way to find his answers.

.

"Hey old man! You alive in there?"

Bribing Ururu and Jinta had been simple enough. Getting past Tessai's guard had proven more difficult. Only after a full meal, tea and dessert had his guardian deigned to let him speak. Guilt gnawed at his stomach when the large man mentioned that he was too thin. He promised to take home whatever care package and candy ("no really?" "This is not up for discussion young man." "I'm twenty-five, I can take care of myself.") Tessai threw together.

In the meantime, he stared down at the hole where he could hear faint chipping noise at the end. He leaned forward, hypnotized by the black depth. Unaware of someone sneaking up behind him until it pounced and dug its claws deep in his back.

Several thoughts flew through his mind. The foremost was that he was about to fall. He didn't know how deep the hole was. It was going to be unpleasant.

A hand shot out to pull him back.

"Got ya little 'Shiro." A cat cackled, rubbing its head against his cheeks.

"Shihoin-san." He said flatly. "It's Toushiro."

"Oho." Replied a disturbingly masculine voice. "We will see."

But the feline backed off to allow the view of a familiar pair of sandals. Urahara Kisuke looked down at him under the shadow of his striped hat, lips curled in a Cheshire grin.

"Shiro-chan, what a pleasant surprise."

Toushiro simply groaned.

.

"Does this have anything to do with our newest visitor?" Urahara began, after forcing tea, biscuits and sweets on him. "Not..." the blond stressed, "that it's not good to see you but the timing could have been more fortuitous."

Biting back a smart retort, he asked, "Visitor?"

"The Shinigami. Kuchiki Rukia." Urahara hummed, adding something stronger to the tea. "She was assigned to Karakura I'm told. She and Ichigo have been patrolling."

"Ru-ki-a." He pronounced slowly and decided that he did not know the girl. "But why?" He asked. "If she needs an assist, she can easily summon help."

"She could." The blond agreed, coy behind his fan.

He narrowed his eyes. "Why Ichigo?"

"I'm unclear on the events myself." Urahara confessed when even Shihoin-san's curiosity got the best of her. "All I know is that she required assistance and Ichigo gave it. However, there was a small accident during the transfer of her powers."

"How small?" He interjected thinking damage control. Urahara waved him off. "She was supposed to give him half, Ichigo received all of it." He sucked in his breath and the other man assured him, "Don't worry. As far as I can tell, it's stable. It's not hurting him." A rueful grin. "But it is the reason why Rukia's recovery has been slow."

He frowned.

"She's alright now?"

"Quite. She will be able to return to her world in due time." Clearing his throat, Urahara asked—"I don't suppose you..."

Urahara cut himself off. Both the blond and Shihoin tense a second before the shop's door chimed and he could hear Jinta cry out a welcoming greeting. The black feline cut a swift look at Urahara but said nothing. She slunk back into the shadows as Urahara rose to his feet, his cane in hand.

Toushiro also stood, disliking the change in atmosphere immediately. Behind the screen door, he could see a short, girlish figure perusing the shelves.

"Is Urahara not in?"

Her voice. He clenched his teeth, rubbing at his temples. He remembered her voice.

The door slid open. He winced at the slash of light hitting his face. Blinded, he couldn't help but tumble out after Urahara, chasing the hem of his haori as though he was afraid, it might disappear, surprising everyone in the shop. Least of all Rukia whose violet eyes widened before she quickly schooled her expression into that of polite ignorance. Murmuring a short apology, he swept past her, face hot, heart pounding, arms full of food and candy as Tessai saw him out. Out of the corner of of his eyes, he saw Ururu wave like the little soul who wanted him to see the black butterfly.

Short flashes of images flickered behind his eyes.

Ice.

He never got to ask Urahara what he wanted.