Yay! Christmas! Well, almost. With uni exams finished, school getting ready for our year's graduation, and winter holidays next week, you'd think I'll have a jolly good time lounging around and getting fat and writing fanfic. But, uh, I've ended up searching for a job because I need the money, and entering a translation school for the sake of something called my future. God, I don't know XP

On the upside, I have a new iPhone! (That's right, although I'm not sure whether to curse the new speaker thingy or not.)

Reviews would be very very nice. The last chapter got...one, to count, and I pour all my love in that one because if I didn't, I'd probably be a nervous wreck right now. Thanks goes to Queenie for that, I'll be sure to pay it back in due time. So...please? For the sake of my sanity? I promise I'll write faster!

Since I'm on a bit of a writer's block with Telling Thoughts, I pulled up an old piece and altered it to fit the story! Nothing like a good flashback to get the ball rolling again. So yeah, this was my first ever GinHitsu story that never became its own, but it was more of an experimental piece than anything else. It started with me exploring the characteristics of my version of Shiro-chan and his view on the shinigami. This is what I mangled, I mean, shaped it into.

Also, structural writing. Wait, what?

*crazy laugh*

Hope you enjoy young!Shiro-chan~

Edit: Aah, Chris Colfer, why are you so cu-ute.

One fine, sunny day, the marketplace in District 1 of Rukongai was filled with merry, busy people, greeting and calling and bargaining, left, right, and center. And one Hitsugaya Toushiro walked through the lot, head down and engrossed in the shopping list his grandmother had written for him. So preoccupied with his duty, he took little notice of a particularly sickly-looking child, deathly pale with shadowed eyes, trudging slowly through the crowd from the other way alone, dragging his bare feet as though they were ill-fitting boots.

As the two children passed each other, the littler, weaker one stopped abruptly, turned, and laid his sunken eyes on the snowy-haired boy's retreating back. There was a large ripping noise, and somebody shrieked; distracted, Toushiro turned to see what the commotion was about.

Less than ten minutes later, the streets were empty. There was a rotten smell lingering in the air, along with the almost tangible scent of kidou and raw power, mingling with the settling dust and light smoke where a Hollow attack had hit a wooden hut. The echoes of the chaos, now passed, filled with horror and screams and uncontrollable fear, still seemed to resonate through the deafeningly silent marketplace.

Even as he closed his eyes, he could still see the gleaming red boring into them. Even as he huddled in a ball against the wall, next to the stack of discarded wooden crates, kicked aside and abandoned by their owner, he could feel the spiritual pressure digging down on him, weighing down on his shoulders and torso and crumpling him to the ground. He tried to shut his mind, clear his head, focus on something that could get him out of this – imaginary, he told himself, it's all in your mind – grip, but the other force was too great, and his heart was still pounding, still sending waves of dizzying panic around his body.

In an instant, he remembered everything the village people had told him behind his protective, no–nonsense grandmother's back.

Shinigamis can kill you with a glance.

Shinigamis can burn you alive with a thought.

Shinigamis can read your mind.

Shinigamis will hurt you and the people you care for.

Keep away from the Shinigami.

Run if you don't want to die.

Don't believe them, Toushiro.

And if it's too late, hide and pray they won't find you.

Come away, Toushiro.

There was a scraping sound coming from somewhere before him, making his breath hitch and his arms quiver. Footsteps, he realized, walking across the gritty, dusty road of the now empty marketplace. Sounding louder. Coming closer.

Please don't let him find me. I am but a part of this wall. I am nothing he should be interested in. I am nothing.

Keep your eyes shut, he thought, terrified. Don't look him in the eye and he won't be able to get into your mind, he can't kill you.

But if his mere presence can make you, Hitsugaya Toushiro, tremble and blubber like a baby, do you really think you stand a chance?

He was too scared to even move a muscle, let alone lift an eyelid. He was frozen like a statue, the knowledge that the footsteps were nearing him, the sound of the sandals scuffing against the ground so loud that the Shinigami could have been beside him, shocking his brain into stopping to function in ways that could get him to run, or fight, or scream. A whimper caught in his throat and died there when the Shingami stopped, the silence deafening now, and then something whispered right in front of his face.

Open your eyes, Toushiro.

What awaits you is only death.

The two voices battled for his conscience inside of him, but fear won him over and he squeezed his eyes ever tighter. He thought he'd felt something cool rest on his cheek, and in a wild moment of paranoia he saw again in his mind's eye the gleaming edge of a zanpakuto, cold and deadly as it shot through the milling crowd, piercing a Hollow that had been wearing human skin and reemerging, splattered with dark blood, from the other side. It was only after he had flinched back slightly, as much as his paralyzed limbs would let him, when he noticed that whatever was touching his face was smaller and softer, almost like a finger.

More joined that lone object, stapling together and cupping the side of his face even as he started to tremble in fright. It started moving slowly, brushing strands of stray hair and dirt from his skin, carefully stroking along the line of his cheekbones, and only rubbing in circles, as though it was massaging the tension out of his facial muscles. He felt himself relaxing just a little bit into the comforting motion, and he stopped trying to draw blood from his bottom lip with his teeth; it was an action he had been unaware of until that moment.

Don't trust the Shinigami.

He almost jerked back, utter horror dawning on him again as comprehension returned to him. This was a killer, a god, a controller and harbinger of death that need only think to make something happen. Outwardly they all looked human – just like that Hollow, disguising itself as a human child that had been vanquished in front of his eyes. They could be warm and have perfect skin and bright, shining eyes, but inside they were also all the same; bound to their duty, to tear up the land with their brutal fights. The better ones were arrogant and kicked dirt in the faces of people from even the 1st District; the worst cared nothing of anyone, considered everyone apart from themselves insects at most, and would do and sacrifice anything to get what they want. Cold-blooded and haughty, the lot of them.

He was being touched by one of them now.

A cry of rage gurgled somewhere in his chest, he could not pull away but instead he managed to turn his head to the side, teeth gritted as the hand slid off. His eyes were kept tightly shut.

A soft voice startled him then.

"Tha's no way to thank a saviour," it said.

His breathing was shallow, the presence that had been kept at bay creeping back on him and grasping at him again with invisible, clawed hands. He tried to suck in air by parting his lips a little, but somehow it stuck and didn't reach his lungs.

"Open ya eyes," the voice said again, quietly. "Look at me."

He would suck out your soul and feast on it and make you do unspeakable things –

I was never afraid of you.

They lull you into a false sense of security and then they spring, traps and plagues and storms and droughts –

This is cowardice, Toushiro.

His long eyelashes fluttered, the harsh sunlight a mild shock after the prolonged darkness.

The voice above him sounded pleased. "Look at me," it repeated. "And look at wha' I've saved ya from."

They will bring you to your death –

Then face death with your eyes wide open.

He lifted his eyelids, revealing large, clear, teal eyes, and looked into those red ones that he had glimpsed before – only to find them hidden behind narrowed, smiling slits of the Shinigami looking down at him. The death god was shielding his view of the scene of the attack, casting a long shadow over him. Silver hair, smooth and slightly long, fell about his pointed face, around the lips that were stretched out into a discomforting smile.

Toushiro stared up at him, arms still hugging his thin legs to his chest, letting out the breath he had been holding shakily. He was suddenly very aware of the shabby, thin piece of cloth he called a kimono on his body, as opposed to the fine sheening black the figure before him adorned. The man straightened, still smiling, and took a step back, turning his body around to let him see the remains of the marketplace.

"Now," he murmured, "Look."

His grip around his knees tightened.

The area was, as he had thought, completely deserted by now, and several wooden buildings lay in ruins. Everybody had fled - not a single soul was in sight. The remains of the Hollow had been turned back into spiritual particles the moment it had ceased to retain enough power to exist, but the deep claw marks in the ground and the smatter of blood here and there suggested the ferocity of the fight. Not that the Shinigami before him seemed to be suffering any of the aftereffects – his grin was still in place, and when Toushiro turned his gaze back on him, a shiver ran down his spine when he realized the narrow, unseen eyes were turned on him.

He swallowed, and made to stand up, knees threatening to buckle from underneath him. The Shinigami made no move to help him or otherwise, merely observing him as he gasped for breath and had to support himself to stay upright, back against the wall. A wave of nausea hit him as soon as he made a sudden movement; his head was woozy and his mind disbelieving of the events that had transpired on what was supposed to have been a simple market trip to grab some groceries. Worse, the presence of the Shinigami was weighing on him far more heavily than he had thought, and now that he had witnessed the devastating aftermath of a real fight, the realisation that now it was only he and the silver-haired man swathed in black standing in what was one of Rukongai's most busiest streets just a few minutes ago dawned on him anew.

Having had enough of the disaster scene in front of him, he swallowed and turned back to the Shinigami, feigning braveness. His defiant stare made the Shinigami chuckle; a light sound, almost abnormal in the situation, and he felt chills down his spine. His grin never seemed to falter, in any case.

"Ya don't seem ta have been taught many manners," he said, almost making the boy jolt. "What do ya say when somebody saves yer skin?"

The snowy-haired boy averted his gaze to focus on a charred bit of a house in the distance, over the Shinigami's shoulder. "I thank you," he said, almost robotically. He wanted to swallow and freshen his hoarse voice, but stopped himself with one look at the man. "And apologize. I have…never seen anything like this."

He was careful with his words, choosing them to keep the emotion out of his voice, so that the Shinigami wouldn't be able to hear the shaking underneath the bravado and gloat in it. But he laughed anyway, a stifled giggle which indicated he was having some sort of sick fun at the boy's answer. He resisted the urge to scowl.

"I would s'ppose so," the Shinigami replied. "Not every day ya get a monster shedding its cute little skin, huh? Especially when ya happened ta be passing it in the streets, minding ya own business…how did it feel? Ta see the body of an ickle toddler mutate, its eyes rollin' back so ya could see the whites, its flesh bulking and tearing tha' shoddy skin full of holes?"

The boy's guts churned, sending warning signals in his head. The man was insane. The rumors were right. Not everybody was Jidanbou in Seireitei, there were freaks like these that enjoyed tormenting innocent's minds and laughed at their horror. He managed to keep silent, but his expression seemed to tell the Shinigami everything.

"I wonder where it got tha' skin in the first place, though?" he continued, obviously enjoying how he was keeping the terrified boy rooted to the spot, with no choices other than to hang on to every word. "Ya ever hear any recent news of a child tha' age disappearing? No? Well, Rukongai's a big place. Tha' Hollow could have caught the kid anywhere, eaten its insides, slipped into the leftover like it was a tight set o' clothes…"

He couldn't breathe.

The boy took a staggering step back, only to feel his heel connect with the wall, only to have the Shinigami towering over him, resting an arm above his head on the wood. He wanted to shove him away, he didn't want to hear this, he didn't want to think that that child could have been him.

"You're lying," he croaked out. The man lifted a sleek eyebrow.

"Well, tha's for ya ta decide ta believe, I guess." He raised his other arm to scratch at his own cheek. "Do ya know why I'm here, boy?"

The younger one blinked up at the shadowed leering face in confusion, taken aback by the sudden change in the subject. "Wha–? What do you mean?" he asked, completely nonplussed.

"I'm on a walk," the man continued as if Toushiro had not said anything, and as though he did not care. "Mah captain's an old fuss, he likes ta dump work on me so he can – go clean his glasses or somethin', I don't know. So I take a walk jus' ta spite him. 'Coarse, that work isn't going ta magically get itself done, so I'll have ta get back soon ta see if my captain's given up and doing it himself, or if he's losin' his patience with me and staying any longer means mah own hide on the line. Practice makes perfect, see, an' I've done this enough ta know when's the perfect time ta return and check which it's gonna be."

Toushiro made an experimental shift to his right. The man leant in closer, blocking his exit further, his grin widening to a frightening extent.

"'t's a pity," he murmured, and the boy shivered as his hot breath hit his face, "'Cause I thought I'd found myself a real gem."

He was too close. The wooziness in Toushiro's head wasn't receding, and it was all he could do to muster up his strength, and glare at the babbling Shinigami.

"Let me go," he hissed.

The smile faded a little – and Toushiro's heart jumped, making him wish he had not said anything – but the man's voice, though still too close, too low, sounded more amused than before. "When I take walks, I don't really think. It's a good change, ya know, it brings me back ta the old days. But rarely – almost never, until today happened – very rarely, I find mahself in a place I would never want ta go, 'specially when I'm searching fer some peace and quiet. Like here, sorta."

The smell was lifting, being carried by a rising wind. It did not matter to Toushiro, who's nose was filled with the smell of man and smoke and danger.

"I was drawn here," the man said, almost to himself. "I wasn't thinking, an' I was pulled here. By something strange, but strong. And tha's saying something, considering where I live now."

He finally pulled away, stepping back to allow Toushiro just enough space to breathe. The boy hadn't noticed how much he had been pressing himself against the wall until he was able to relax, although his hackles were still raised as he noted the Shinigami still watching him. The fear was slowly replacing itself with anger, for letting himself be cowed like that, and for the man spouting incomprehensible nonsense, taking his time with it and enjoying every second of it.

"Get away," he snarled, his voice raspy and shaking from excitement, "Go back to the hole you came from."

"As I said before, ya have no manners," the man mocked him, always, always grinning. "And ta think all this happened because of ya."

Something stirred within him, but Toushiro forced it down, urging himself to not get caught up with the Shinigami's riddles and lies. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he spat hatefully. "It's none of my business that – that thing wandered in here looking to feed, and I certainly had nothing to do with you showing up and–"

"That thing was here fer ya," the man said, suddenly softly. "As I am, too. Ya have power, kid. A Shinigami's power. And," his grin was back, though Toushiro didn't know when it had disappeared completely, and it stretched from ear to ear, "Things alike are attracted ta each other, ya know that?"

The sickness was back. He tried to plug his ears, and stop the words from flowing into his mind, planting its evil seeds there and corrupting his soul. But his body was rigid still, as if the death god had cast a petrifying spell upon him, rendering his limbs useless and hanging. His mouth worked, but only through pure will.

"I…I am nothing like that monster," he said harshly. "And I am nothing like you. I do not kill for leisure, or hunger, unlike you. Don't – ever – compare yourself with me, Shinigami."

He knew, in himself, that that was true - he was a boy, and he had never consciously robbed someone of their life for any reason. And yet – though he could deny the motives Hollows and Shinigamis had to murder, and ruin, he could not deny the means to do it. He could not deny – that sometimes, he felt something, coiled in his chest and roaring for the chains to be released. That maybe, maybe, there was something in there…

The reaper did not look the least offended at his insults. Instead, he chuckled, and raised an arm as if to touch the top of Toushiro's head. When the boy flinched away, glaring with green, clear eyes, he dropped his hand.

"I would never," he murmured, smiling and showing his teeth. "Ya have potential within you tha' I could never hope ta match up ta. But think about this, boy–"

He stepped away lightly, one step, two, until he was standing in the middle of the dirt road, with collapsed stalls and houses in the background, and the sun high at noon.

"Don't ya think it's a tad too coincidental fer me and that Hollow ta have been here, before ya, at the same time?"

He turned, long black robes whirling, and seemed to vanish into thin air the next moment. But that was not before Toushiro glimpsed the dark, small armband, with the word "Five", and the drooping buds of lilies of the valley engraved on it.

Not too long later, Toushiro remembered the man and his words, this time in a different sense. He had considered asking the lady – who's bosom continued to irk him, and he was glad they were not to meet again for a hopefully long time – about him, for it could not be too hard to find a man with that description.

He had decided against it, eventually, because the mere memory of the tall, fox-faced stranger made him shiver, now for reasons other than terror. He was a lieutenant, an entity far stronger and more dangerous than Toushiro had initially taken him for. If whatever that had made the pair meet truly existed, then it would work again should need be – because Seireitei was, for all its grandiose, smaller than Rukongai and packed with Shinigami. If fate said that they were to meet, it would not be as difficult as the first time.

And when that happened, he would get the man back for playing with him.

Modern World, why can't you leave me alone in my retreat and let me become a hermit. *burrows back under blankets*