Title: High Windows
Summary: AU Twenty years after killing his grandmother, Toushiro reemerges in the human world with no memories. But Soul Society never forgot and now he is on trial for the murder of the century.
Rating: T
Notes: As always, thank you for your continued support.
Warnings: n/a
Jidanbou cracked open an eye when he realized that he was not alone.
He was surrounded—how had they all gotten so close without him noticing? No one crossed the ice without the assistance of a Shinigami. Not since they discovered that the ice was more treacherous than its slipperiness and white reiatsu.
There were corpses beneath the snow. Vessels of reiryoku ready to go off at any moment. Even if enterprising raiders managed to get past them all, he still would have known. He had seen nothing on the ruins of the first district when he sat down for a nap five minutes ago.
He glared down at the one he presumed to be the leader, the one standing front and center, a puny little man with a smashed-in face and a pale sliver of grey in his lone eye.
"State your business." Jidanbou boomed.
"Let us pass."
.
"Momo." Lieutenant Izuru warned.
He swallowed. His throat was parched. It fluttered shut as he opened his mouth, trying to force sound through his lips. His answer came as a light shudder and she reached out, fingers faltering just before the wide, wooden beams.
"You are, aren't you?"
He was right; he did know this girl. A lieutenant. A Shinigami. Maybe even from before.
Relief gripped him like a vice, the pathetic, visceral need to live. Momo's face brightened when he met her gaze and he knew at that moment, she would be the one to save him.
After all, she was the one person who hadn't been afraid of his white hair or green eyes. She took care of him and called him her brother.
He lurched at the memory and heaved, bile spilling from his mouth onto his lap. His chin dripped of dark liquid and Momo's nervous concern turned to horror at the stink of copper and sourness he knew too well.
His chest ached. It was just one big bruise going down from sternum to ribs. Uniform purple like a slap of paint across a blank canvas, an expression waiting to be born. The color soaked into his ribs and flushed in his blood.
Struggling to draw breath, he tried to catalogue the symptoms one by one. He was a trauma surgeon by trade. Just because he didn't have a fancy sword or arrows that shot out of his hands didn't mean he couldn't fight. It didn't mean he couldn't save people, help them. There were days on days he remained standing on his feet, patching up one reckless driver after another. His father had been so proud when he got into medical school but the fact was, he just wanted to protect his important people.
He walked into the barrier.
In films and cartoons, the victim was thrown backwards, static clinging to their limbs. But in reality, the barrier held him close and wrapped around him, grinding glass against the fragile softness of his skin. Squeezed like he might a bottle of ketchup, trying to get the last drop.
The barrier dropped. He came to the smell of cinders, smoke obscuring his vision as windows were thrown open to let the air out. Pieces of black-edged sheet were falling like snowflakes in winter. One landed on his palm and he closed it reflexively, feeling the shock of warmth in the red-laced ember.
It hurt to breathe. He felt hands roam his face. There was a brief yelp for "Kira!" as light lanced his chest, digging out the hurt.
"Shh..." Momo soothed. "It's okay Shiro-chan."
Tears sprang to his eyes.
"I'm sorry I didn't find you sooner."
.
Lieutenant Hinamori Momo was served a restraining order for breaking down the barrier to his cell.
Yamada told him when he asked. The dark-haired young man kept busy as his fingers traveled along the lymphatic system, blushing only slightly when he revealed his bare arms and pits. He seemed especially anxious as he redressed.
"Are you sure you can't tell me anything else?"
"Come on, Yamada." An officer whined. "We're running late as it is."
Yamada ducked his head.
"Well, if he's not well—"
His second guard arrived, the lieutenant with the scars.
"What's going on?" Nodding towards him, the lieutenant demanded, "Why isn't he ready?"
"Lieutenant Hisagi!"
"Sir!"
"He is unwell." Yamada explained, gesturing lamely.
Toushiro crossed his arms.
"I'm fine."
Lieutenant Hisagi considered him for a moment.
"What would you suggest we do?"
Yamada jumped at the question, knotting his fingers in his sleeves.
"Well, I uh, I think, he should go to the um, Fourth Division."
The man's face twisted a little but he nodded. Beside him, the other officer was sweating bullets down his forehead.
"Sir, you cannot be serious. The Central 46, they will..."
"Aramaki, go tell the Council the prisoner is unfit to stand."
"But!"
"That is an order."
A quick series of hand movements later, the barrier fell. Toushiro found himself eyeing the man with scars bisecting his face, wondering what he wanted.
"Come."
As they walked down the halls, Lieutenant Hisagi in front, pulling him along by his collar and the connected leash, they passed various faces taut with anger and sometimes hatred, disgust and outright fear. For the 12,531 souls smothered under the strange, white reiatsu that matched his own, there would be no mercy. Momo was just a small hiccup in his plans. She couldn't—shouldn't—save him.
"Jurinan is a minefield." Lieutenant Hisagi said suddenly. They were outside now, under sunlight. He had prodded steadily forward, believing that it was a shortcut the lieutenant led him to between the buildings hidden from view. There was barely enough room between the fences to swing a sword. But he already knew it wasn't the blade that made officers out of Gotei 13. How many times had he seen his father elbow a hollow in the gut?
He stopped.
"All that reishi trapped under the ice, anything could set it off. Momo looked for you. She figured, since you weren't at the house, you could be anywhere. She doesn't believe you did it."
A snort escaped him.
"Then she's a fool."
"Maybe," The lieutenant acknowledged, a fist clenched over the hilt of his sword. "I know fate burdens us some of our greatest fears. Tell me, where is your zampakuto?"
.
The captain of the Fourth Division was a plain-looking woman with a reserved smile and steely eyes. When they entered the examination room, she did not pause at the collar at his throat or the slack chain connecting him to Lieutenant Hisagi. Her examination was short but no less thorough for its brevity.
She paused when her hands brushed against his chest, skin tingling where they touched.
"I thought it'd get better." He muttered, unable to meet her eyes.
"Why?" She asked gently, tying her katana to the folds of her obi.
"Because... I died."
Lieutenant Hisagi frowned as though it had suddenly occurred to him.
"It is certainly strange." Captain Unohana agreed easily, informing her pale-haired lieutenant that she would be out for the rest of the day. "But I expect less from the son of Captain Tsukabishi."
.
"Is the defendant fit to stand?"
"He is not your honor." Captain Unohana replied plainly as she stepped forward. "His condition is delicate and will require monitoring.
Grumbling passed all around. He winced when he heard a cough and a spit off to the side.
"Overruled." Judge #4 interjects after a moment of deliberation. "The trial will proceed."
In a weedy voice, Panel 28 says, "Can we depend on you to act in a dignified manner?"
Captain Unohana smiled though it never reached her eyes.
"Of course."
She backed away, the sweep of her white haori curling at the edge of his eyes.
He stared into the bleachers, unblinking even as the spotlight fell on his face. His heart pounded, rumbling uneasy against the lump in his chest.
"Let us began." Said Judge #1.
"What is your relationship with Hitsugaya Toushiro?"