Disclaimer: I'm fooling no one into believing I have any right to this, I'm sure.

The Butterfly Effect

A Bleach Fanfic

Chapter Ten: Stabilize

Uryū sat on the narrow edge of the Fourth Division hospital bed, both sides of his shihakusho dropped to his waist, exposing the half-healed cuts on his back from his fight with Kuchiki. They still stung every time he moved, and the medics had deemed his injuries severe enough to call for additional treatment.

Despite being in Soul Society, the room they'd put him in wasn't that different from any other hospital. The walls were stark, sanitized white, with pale green curtains on the windows and the same starchy sheets as his father's facility had. He clamped down on the desire to scowl.

The woman working on him, Unohana-taichō, was far above Hanatarō's level of ability, considering how much she accomplished in a short time, and the utter lack of further pain from the healing process. "You're just about done," she informed him, her voice mild and pleasant. "I'll do the reiryoku restoration next."

Uryū lifted his head sharply. "I still have reiryoku?"

She blinked at him, and then dipped her chin. "Ah, yes. Quite a bit of it, in fact. I assume you must be referring to the loss of your ability to filter reishi, but I assure you, the two capacities are completely separate." Her hands glowed a soft jade color as she passed them an inch above his skin, the myriad cuts on his arm closing over completely, leaving not even scars in their place.

He'd… sort of known that, but maybe he hadn't understood it as well as he'd believed. "The technique I used… it was supposed to seal off all my spiritual power."

Unohana gestured for him to offer his other arm, which he did. "Well, misunderstanding is to be expected, when one is only first learning. It doesn't help that different people use the words in different ways, and spread the misunderstandings. What I mean to say is that you still have power within yourself, like we do. What has been impaired is your ability to draw power from outside yourself. Do you understand?"

Uryū nodded, watching idly as more sections of his broken skin melded together, smoothing out into new flesh, slightly pink compared to the rest. "I just thought that I'd lose them both, when I did it."

For a long moment, Unohana studied his face. "I'm sorry to say I'm not an expert on Quincy techniques," she said, "but you should not dismiss the possibility that it is the explanation that is typical and you that is strange, rather than the other way around."

He compressed his lips, but elected to change the topic. "I don't want to seem rude, Unohana-taichō, but you're the captain of the entire division. I don't really understand why you're healing me."

"As opposed to what? Letting you die?" Uryū's brows knit. It was hard to tell, but she seemed almost amused somehow.

"Actually, I just meant that you probably have more important patients to work on. Hanatarō did enough work that I wasn't in any danger of actually dying, and besides that, I'm both a ryoka and a Quincy, so—" He pushed his glasses up his nose where they'd slipped down.

The kidō in her hands changed color, gaining a golden tinge, and she moved her gloved hands to his temples. "Your instincts in such matters are not entirely mistaken," she agreed, conspicuously making no apology for it. Uryū found he didn't mind that—for someone so polite, she made her meaning very clear between her words.

Where before she had merely been repairing his wounds, now she seemed almost to be restoring something else, something he would call energy or vitality if he didn't already know the name. It felt oddly like a mild electric shock, or the pin-and-needle sensation after a limb had fallen asleep, only over his whole body. "But you are also, now, someone with powerful friends. You have two of the Seireitei's most senior captains firmly insisting upon your value, and the support of three of the four great noble houses, even if one is only indirect."

"Three of the four…?" He'd been with her until the bit about nobility, and raised a brow, though he held still under her hands.

"Mm. Yoruichi Shihōin is technically disowned, but the current head of that family is still quite fond of her, you see."

Yoruichi was nobility? Uryū thought of a cat, curled up on Urahara's shoulder, and a woman with absolutely no shame coarsely informing him that he was an idiot, and wondered just what nobility was supposed to be like, here.

"And of course, you quite impressed Shunsui-san."

No, nobility was not what he thought it was like at all.

"And, naturally, the Kuchiki family as well."

Uryū blinked. That tracked better, but had Kuchiki really…? "If that's true, I suppose I could see why someone else might heal me," he conceded. "But…" He considered Unohana. Was she really the sort who would just cave to that kind of external pressure? His instinct indicated otherwise.

Her eyes crinkled faintly at the corners. "I'm flattered, Ishida-san," she said, removing her hands from his temples in a fluid motion. "But even I respect my orders."

He frowned, but this didn't seem like the time to argue about it. Unohana was helping him, after all, and he had a little more grace than that.

Handing him a clean shihakusho, she tilted her head towards a screen in the corner of the room. "You have a visitor waiting to see you, Ishida-san. She will be outside when you are prepared to receive her."

"Thank you, Unohana-taichō." He accepted the garment, lamenting the loss of his uniform, and stepped towards the screen.

"No thanks are necessary," she replied. "Farewell."

When the door to the room closed behind her, Uryū shucked off the torn and bloody uniform and stepped into the new one, tying it more quickly than the last time he'd had to don it. "You can come in," he told whoever was outside—there was so much reiatsu in this place it was hard to tell who was who, exactly.

The door slid open again, and Rukia stepped in, wearing a dark purple kimono with small flowers printed on it. He could tell the silk was expensive, but she demonstrated no discomfort moving in it, her stride as sure and confident as it had been in Karakura town.

"Ishida."

"Are you feeling well?" he asked her, dropping his hands to his sides for lack of anything else to do with them.

"I think I should probably be asking you that," she replied evenly, and he glanced away, his eyes lingering on the curtains for a moment before they shifted out the window. Bright sunlight streamed in from the afternoon outside; the quiet was foreign after so many days of tension and noise.

"I'm fine." He felt heavy and uncomfortable around all this reiatsu. He felt like a puppet with its strings cut, completely disconnected from the energy of the world around him. He felt like a stranger in his own body. He felt dull in all the ways he had once been sharp, sleepy in all the ways he'd been awake.

He did not feel Lucia.

"Are you sure?" She didn't know, though—it was in the little crease between her eyebrows, genuine confusion rather than knowing pity. He didn't think he could stand pity from a shinigami, even her.

Uryū nodded.

Rukia sighed, taking a seat on the hospital bed, since it was the only object in the room one could reasonably sit on. She patted the spot next to her, and he obliged, both of them now looking out the window. Members of the Fourth ran around on the ground below, some of them carrying supplies, others what looked like messages. Knots of other people milled around, presumably those with friends or comrades among the injured.

"How are Renji and your brother?"

Rukia shifted, leaning back slightly and bracing most of her weight on her palms. "Recovering. Renji's up and moving already. Nii-sama has to take it easy for a while still." He made a small sound of acknowledgement, and they lapsed into silence for a few heartbeats.

"He married my sister, you know." Uryū blinked, tearing his eyes from the tableau in front of him and moving them to her face. "That's why he adopted me. She… Hisana abandoned me in Inuzuri, when I was just a baby. She couldn't support me on her own. He said… nii-sama said that she always regretted it, and looked for me almost every day."

Rukia's eyes fell half-lidded. "When she died, she made him promise to find me and adopt me, so he did. But… he'd broken the rules of his family twice by then, and so he also swore to his parents that he'd never break another law. When I was sentenced to death, he…"

Uryū turned his head back towards the window. "Two promises in two different directions."

"Yes." A pause. "In the end, you helped him decide to come back for me."

"Me?"

"Mm. I'm not sure he'd ever admit it to anyone else, but… nii-sama told me that you reminded him that sometimes we have to think about what pride and duty really are." Rukia straightened, folding her hands into her lap and staring down at them.

"I think, somewhere deep down, I hated you. More than you hated me, even. Because you had something that I could never find in myself." She pulled in a deep, audible breath. "You stood or fell, succeeded or failed, lived or died on your own terms. Nobody told you what was right and wrong. Not your father, not Urahara or Yoruichi. We were opposite in every way."

Rukia's eyes fell closed, and she shook her head faintly. "I always thought that living proudly, living well—that there was only one way to do it, and I never felt like I could. So I lived by duty instead, and told myself that it was better." A smile tilted her mouth, just a fraction. "Even when I was going to die, I really believed it was the right thing. The thing I should do, no matter what."

Uryū swallowed, something in his throat constricting. "And now?"

Rukia opened her eyes, lifting her shoulders. "I don't know. It's a question again, instead of an answer. I want to figure out what my answer is. What my pride is. I just… wanted you to know that."

He dipped his chin, then stood from the hospital bed and made his way over to his pile of belongings. Setting several items aside, he returned with two in particular, and stood in front of her. "You left these at Urahara's place. I thought you might want them."

Sitting atop her dress was the oblong lacquer case containing the gift they'd decided on for Byakuya. He hadn't been able to bring all of her purchases with him, but he hadn't needed to think about which of them he'd find room for. It was obvious.

Carefully, Rukia took the items into her hands, lowering them slowly to her lap and turning her face up to his.

"Thank you, Ishida."

"You're welcome."

Unsurprisingly, the official Soul Society senkaimon spit them out in the middle of the air, but unlike before, Uryū didn't actually have any way to break his fall, so it was with great relief that he landed on the floating rectangle of—this was his best linen, wasn't it?

He'd add it to the list. Urahara was already turned around to face him, perhaps anticipating exactly what was about to happen.

"Just what the hell is your problem?" Uryū hissed, hands clenched tightly enough that his fingernails dug into his palms. "You painted a gigantic target on her back, and you knew Aizen was looking for the Hōgyoku. She was practically defenseless, and would have been, if your gigai had been allowed to complete its purpose!"

Urahara tipped his head down, the brim of his hat cloaking his eyes in shadow for a moment, and sighed. "I regret that I did it, but I would do it again," he said, tone heavy.

"You couldn't have found any other way? Or, barring that, a volunteer?

"The only other people who would have served the purpose need to keep their powers," Urahara replied, though he didn't sound defensive, only certain.

"Even if that were true, you should have told me before I left. I met more captains and former captains than I want to think about—I'm sure someone could have used that information. Now Aizen is gone, and he took the orb with him. How could the outcome possibly have been any worse?"

Urahara's eyes met his, the shopkeeper's mouth slanting into a joyless smile. "Do you really want to know?"

"Yes."

"How many people actually died as a result of what happened?" Urahara asked the question slowly, as though he himself were uncertain of the answer.

"Every member of the Central 46."

"And from the shinigami ranks?"

"No one actually died, but there were a dozen near misses, between all the infighting, our progress, and Aizen's escape. The Soul Society has three fewer captains, though; two others defected with him." Uryū didn't relax, but his tone softened slightly.

Urahara folded his hands into his sleeves, tilting his head slightly back and to the left. "Aizen likes to gloat. He likes to let his enemies stew in their hopelessness. But he can also be pragmatic when the situation calls for it. If his plan had been discovered too soon, he would have killed as many of them as necessary to make his escape."

Uryū's frown deepened. "You're saying that even if all the captains and vice-captains had known in advance, they wouldn't have been able to do anything?" That was hard to believe, even against such a powerful foe.

The breeze of their passage feathered Urahara's pale hair against his cheek. "How would we have alerted them in advance? I'm an exile, Yoruichi has no status anymore, and you're a Quincy. Who would have believed us?" He shook his head. "No, Aizen would simply have adjusted his plan, or bided his time long enough that suspicion naturally slipped away from him again. There were more ways than one to accomplish what he wished. I knew what he'd want to do, by default, and so I made sure that that was what he would do."

"Some of them seemed to be suspicious of him already."

"Probably Kyōraku-san, right?" Uryū nodded. "Those suspicions are longstanding, Ishida-kun. He might have believed us, if we'd told him, and he's a powerful ally to have, but that's the same reason that him moving any earlier than he did, with any more information than he had, would have changed Aizen's plans. I did what I did because once Rukia got here, I knew exactly what would happen, and it's better to run the scenario you can predict then the one you can't."

Uryū's jaw tightened, but then he forced it to relax again. "It wasn't right, what you did. Using her like that without her consent. Even if we were the only ones you'd told… you should have told us."

Urahara blinked, then ducked his head. "I should have," he conceded. "You especially, Ishida-kun. I have to say, even I didn't predict just how far you'd take this." If that wasn't genuine regret, Urahara was a better actor than Uryū could ever see past.

"Just… apologize next time you see her. Whether she forgives you or not is no business of mine."

"Yeah… will do."

Two Years Later…

Uryū sighed, turning the gintō over and over between his fingers, passing it absently from one knuckle to the next. It was completely smooth, save for the little sigil carved into the side, which rasped over his skin.

Flipping it into his palm, he focused the thread of reiryoku into the vessel, quickly filling it with liquid energy, warming the outside and the skin of his fingers in turn. Once it was full, he set it to the size with the dozen others he had, though his fingers lingered. The process was irritating in its inelegance, but for two years, these had been all he really had. That, and whatever raw reiryoku he could generate.

He missed the fine-grained control he'd had over reishi, but since Urahara knew of no way to return his abilities, he'd simply had to adapt. Tapping the gintō on the surface of the desk in a staccato pattern, he stared at the silver until his vision blurred, entering his inner world easily.

Nothing about it had changed, of course. It was still the same featureless white plain it had always been, and Lucia was still there, asleep and unresponsive to anything he tried. She'd curled herself into a ball, her proud posture and evident maturity receding into something childlike in slumber. He'd tried physically prodding her, speaking to her, even trying to force reiryoku to pass between them, but nothing had any effect.

So most days, he just sat with her, talking about anything that came to mind.

"It's eight years today," he said, tone mostly without inflection. "That's how long Urahara thinks is left until the Hōgyoku awakens from dormancy." Apparently, shutting the thing away in Rukia's soul had done that to it. By Soul Society's reckoning, he supposed it wasn't a great deal of time, but it was something. An opportunity to prepare, anyway.

Of course, to him, it was a significant span indeed. He'd be twenty-five by the time it was up; and at this rate probably not much more than a blip on the Soul Society's radar. That Quincy, who'd once been a ryoka. Or rather… that ryoka, who'd once been a Quincy.

All he had left was this reservoir of reiryoku that was nearly useless to him, except for filling gintō. The technology was so antiquated it was almost laughable. If he hadn't used Letzt Stil, he wondered how much he'd have changed in the time between. If he'd have gained power enough to accomplish what he wanted.

If he'd have figured out what it was that he wanted.

"You'd have helped with that, I expect," he said to the sleeping woman beside him. Her shoulders rose and fell steadily, her breath stirring a strand of hair that had fallen in front of her face. That was reassuring, in a way—better than the first few weeks after everything, when he hadn't been able to find her at all.

Uryū reached over and carefully moved the hair back behind her ear. "I got my university exam results back," he told her, leaning on both his hands. "It seems I'll have my choice. Results are all anyone at school talks about." He got a lot of teachers asking him if he'd take over his father's hospital someday.

He should probably speak with Ryūken at some point. Perhaps before the decade was up, just in case Aizen succeeded. There was no defeating someone on that level with gintō, else he'd have been much more concerned, but… knowing that the whole thing was going to be out of his hands was a double-edged sword. Best case, he'd be able to use his artifacts and spells to do… something. Keep Hollows out of Karakura, like he did now.

At least it seemed like something sensei would have done, in the same situation.

"I'll be back tomorrow, Lucia."

Thud.

Uryū's crossed forearms strained under the impact of Yoruichi's kick, but with a heave, he shoved her back, unbalancing her for a half-second. The opening closed as fast as it had appeared, and he planted himself against the ground instead, catching her punch in his open palm, braced from behind by the other one.

"Come on, Ishida, you can go faster than that. I should have been on the floor with an opening that obvious!" He ducked under her second kick, turning the elbow that followed aside with his palm, the dull impact noises echoing through the basement training room, amplified by the lack of other activity.

"No," he replied flatly, "I can't." He sidestepped just in time to miss her knee, but her armbar caught him right in the chest, the force behind it picking him up off the ground and sending him to the dirt a dozen feet away from her.

It took him a few seconds to be able to breathe, and when he did, it hissed into his lungs from between his gritted teeth, the point of impact still stinging sharply. Ah. He'd upset her somehow.

Yoruichi loomed over him, arms crossed, mouth downturned. "You're being intentionally dense. Just because you can't use hirenkyaku doesn't mean you can't learn shunpō, and I happen to be the best teacher you could dream of having if you wanted to learn that." She raised an eyebrow, but made no move to help him up.

Which was fine, because he wasn't even trying to get up, either. He scowled at her, opening his mouth to reply.

"If you say one word about shinigami or Quincy, I'll break your arm." He closed his jaw with a click. She sighed, rolling her eyes before reaching down and hauling him to his feet by the front of his shirt. Almost absently, she dusted off his shoulders.

"Look, Ishida, this isn't about that anymore. It can't be, don't you see?"

He drew his brows together. "You say that like I'm still supposed to make a difference with this Aizen business." Yoruichi shifted slightly, remaining silent and staring directly at him. "I am, aren't I?" Uryū passed a hand down the lower half of his face.

"You know, a little advance warning would have been nice. I might have done a bit more in these last couple of years."

She cracked a smile, shaking her head. "You needed a break. Kisuke figured it'd be three years before you started feeling so useless you couldn't stand it anymore and got desperate enough to just ask us for help."

"And you?"

The smile grew into a grin. "It took you six months to hate how useless you were, but you weren't ever going to ask for help." The look on his face drew an amused huff from Yoruichi, and she reached forward to muss his hair, heedless of his half-voiced objection.

Her expression sobered, though, and when he'd finished repairing the damage, he found her regarding him seriously. "There are going to be parts of this you don't like, Ishida. Things we're going to ask you to do that offend your pride. But I think you understand by now that we do what we do because it's the best we can do, with everything against us."

Uryū pursed his lips, considering his words carefully. "There are some things I won't do," he told her quietly, meeting her eyes steadily. "I won't obey you unconditionally. I'll want explanations, reasons. And even if you have them… I still have principles I won't break. But… I'm willing to hear you out, and that won't change."

"Good to know." The new voice belonged to Urahara, and Uryū's eyes snapped to where the shopkeeper leaned casually on his cane. Straightening his posture, Urahara set Benihime over the line of his shoulders, tipping his head sideways.

"So, Ishida-kun… how do you feel about dying?"

Notes:

It's my headcanon/true in this AU that the Kyōraku are one of the four great noble houses, along with the Shihōin, the Kuchiki, and some random unnamed house. In case Uryū's conversation with Unohana didn't make that obvious.

Also, in this AU there's no way to accelerate the Hōgyoku out of dormancy immediately, so the Soul Society is running on an estimate of 10 years from the time Aizen left to the time his army goes online. He's a smart guy though, so he might be able to get it to wake up a little sooner, but definitely not "eight manga chapters later" sooner. So we have an antebellum period here that I fully intend to exploit.

Whew. Well, that's it. The kickoff fic for the series is done. I'm kinda proud of myself for being able to basically do a NaNoWriMo project in roughly ten days, because that was the goal I set. Much more importantly, though, I hope it was enjoyable, and that I've convinced at least a few people to strap in for the much longer rollercoaster ride that is to be the rest of the series.

A massive internet bear hug to all consenting reviewers. Numerically, your forces are not great, but like the captains of the Gotei 13, you'd make the rest of an army look pretty pointless anyway, because of how awesome you are.

The next story is another genfic called The Three-Body Problem, and the POV characters in that one are Ishida, Yuzu, and Karin, who will be sharing a very formative experience. Others will, of course, be making appearances. Give me like… a week or so to storyboard and outline that one, and then I'll start posting chapters again. It may take me less time, so if you want to bookmark or follow me or whatever, you're obviously welcome to. Or not. You do you.