Dean felt wrong leaving the Fourth Squad barracks, leaving Sam. He kept running the mental scenario of his brother waking up in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people, not having the slightest sense of anything that had transpired since that angel had commandeered him completely. Then again, there were countless things in this universe that would be worse to wake up to than the warm, sympathetic gaze of Orihime. Waking up to that sweet, beautiful red-head would at least postpone the inevitable, the soul crushing confession of his brother letting him down again. Following Ikkaku to the mysterious woman with the alcoholic stash seemed to be the best idea he had had so far.
Ikkaku on the other hand seemed to relax with each step away from the Fourth Squad. Dean didn't know what the aversion the bald shinigami had to the place but being out in the open air had improved both of their moods immensely. Maybe he just didn't like hospitals. That was one thing they could agree on. That they both could use a drink was the other.
Dean tried not to take in the scenery of destruction and he bit back any rude comment that came to mind each time the shinigami turned to give him another side-long glance. He couldn't shake the feeling that Ikkaku was drawing comparison between him and someone else. Who? Kurosaki? He frowned. Being compared to a teenage boy he'd never met didn't instill a lot of confidence in him.
He kept all his thoughts and impulses to himself and just followed his guide through the battle-torn landscape to the promised drink. They approached a building similar to the one they had left. Dean assumed that it was another squad building but he couldn't read the kanji to tell him what number. Not that it mattered. He knew so little about the Soul Society that the numbers meant nothing. Instead of a room with rows of cots filled with wounded, he came into a large office. Soft cushioned chairs and sofas lined a seating area that was stationed in front of an imposing desk.
In front of the desk with her back to them stood a shapely, statuesque strawberry blonde. Even though she made no move to face them, he knew she would not be caught off guard. She seemed to know they were there.
Ikkaku snorted a short laugh. "It must be the end of the world," he commented by way of greeting. "Matsumoto's doing paperwork."
Without turning around, she sighed heavily and set one of the stacks of papers she had been holding down on the desk facing the seat. "What do you want, Ikkaku?" she asked. Her voice held a musical huskiness to it that set a new tempo to Dean's heartbeat.
"I was hoping to get a drink for me and my friend here," the bald shinigami said playfully as he perched in one of the chairs.
She rearranged various piles on the desk, not hers from the way she stood before it. Her unwillingness to face them seemed more out of her own discomfort than out of making them feel unwelcome. "We're in the middle of a war," she said with a tone of irritation. "Not exactly the best time to be drinking."
"That's why I didn't take him out to the Rukongai," Ikkaku explained.
He might have been about to say something more but something happened. Matsumoto turned to face them and Dean's heart skipped a literal beat.
The vision before him left him stunned and breathless. As he forced his gaze upward to her ice blue eyes, all manner of adjectives swam through his mind to describe what he saw. Finally he forced air through his suddenly dry lips. "Wow."
Matsumoto arched an eyebrow at this and glanced past him to glare at the now snickering Ikkaku. Dean finally came to his senses and refused to let the moment die with one syllable and mute dumbness. He plastered a charming smile on his face. "If I had any idea that you would be waiting for me on the other side of the veil, I would have surrendered to oblivion ages ago." The words tumbled out of him with surprising smoothness.
She almost smiled. "Steady cowboy," she practically purred. The seductive hum of her voice nearly strangled a predatory growl out of him. She knew perfectly well the power she held over him. She could wield it like a weapon precise enough to do anything. She appraised him with her eyes and when her gaze returned to his face, she found his smile had only gained intensity. "The last time I saw you," she said in a coquettish tease, "you were draped across the shoulders of an angel." Suddenly, her entire demeanor transformed as a realization struck her. She looked around Dean to direct her remark at Ikkaku. "That must be where Yumichika is!"
The bald shinigami slouched further in his chair rolling his eyes as he looked away from the buxom lieutenant. She smiled and leaned closer to Dean causing his breath to hitch momentarily as she said conspiratorially, "Those two go everywhere together." Then she turned to go behind the desk while flipping a gesture towards him to have a seat.
Dean watched her kneel on the floor next to the desk appreciating the view of her hourglass figure. From out of nowhere she produced a letter opener that she proceeded to use as a makeshift crowbar on a loose board in the floor. She pried the board up with ease and her hand disappeared in the darkness within only to reappear with a roundish bottle that she now held up to show him. "I hope sake is alright," she said without any hint of apology. She rose to her feet and then pulled a drawer open to take out three small cups. "It's been a long time since I made a run to the world of the living."
She unplugged the bottle and poured the liquid into one of cups. As he reached for the drink she offered him, he forced another wave of charm into his smile. "I'll see what I can do about supplying you with some whiskey."
Sam Winchester didn't want to open his eyes. He floated in that sensation between blissful, warm sleep and the moment that he admitted to himself and the world that he was actually awake. He could just take that extra step and fall back into sleep and then he heard it.
A breath. A soft intake of air, strangely feminine and very close.
He opened his eyes and looked into the warm, caring face of a beautiful, young redheaded girl. Her smile welcomed him and he began to struggle with the right thing to say. She looked pretty. She looked kind but he had no idea who she was. He had only mentioned it to Dean, trying not to make a big deal about it, but he had become aware of odd blocks of lost time. A couple of seconds or even minutes where he felt like he had blinked and the world moved on without him. Things had happened, maybe in front of him, but he had no memory of them. He had tried not to worry. Dean told him not to worry and he wanted to hold onto that.
This redheaded girl was obviously something that had happened when he had blinked.
He swallowed and pushed voice out, hoarse through lack of use, "Do I know you?" he asked.
A blush flooded up her cheeks and she shook her head vigorously. "I can't see how," she began breathlessly. "I only just met you a few hours ago and you have been unconscious until now."
Sam felt a small measure of relief that he was not supposed to remember her. He glanced around the spartan room, no evidence of decoration or any type of machinery, just a simple mat on the floor on which he was lying and a simpler, smaller mat on which the girl was kneeling. Beyond her, he could see an open doorway which appeared to lead to an equally blank corridor. The strangest of everything around him was a glowing cocoon of light that had enveloped him, separating him from the girl. He could almost imagine that he could see something tiny moving around the edges of the light just at the farthest corner of his vision. "Where am I?" he asked.
She smiled broadly as if that gesture alone would be a reassurance. "You're in the Soul Society, inside the walls of Seiretei. Lieutenant Ise brought you and your brother and the angel through the Senkaimon into the 12th division laboratories. Captian Hirako sent for me in Heuco Mundo to come through the Garganta to heal you because Captain Unohana isn't here and without her, the other 4th squad healers aren't very good with healing the living." She let out the remainder of her breath. Her explanation was an ordeal and how she managed to deliver it in only what she held in her lungs was truly astounding.
Sam blinked. He understood so few of the words that she had used he almost wondered if she had answered in a different language. Apparently he had not just blinked. He had stepped completely out of reality. One note of clarity came to him in her nonstop utterance. "Dean is here?" he asked.
She nodded enthusiastically, relieved that he had seemingly accepted her explanation. "I've already sent word to him," she said. "He'll be here soon."
The warmth of the sake in his system gave Dean a detached sort of contentment. He listened to the shinigami talk around him. They had been joined by another lieutenant, a young looking man with spiky black hair and the tattoo of the number 69 beneath his left eye. He had staggered in not long after Matsumoto had handed out the second round. Without a word, he had thrown himself in an adjacent chair and was handed a drink. He looked as if he had been through the ringer. His lip was bleeding and every inch of visible skin sported bruises and abrasions.
Ikkaku introduced him to Dean as Hisagi and regarded the disheveled shinigami with a sidelong glance. He asked him in one word, "Kensei?"
Hisagi had nodded and that was all the explanation that was required. The three shinigami proceeded then to talk about their respective captains. Hisagi's captain, the Kensei mentioned before, had been trained him mercilessly using what sounded like a kind of tough-love approach. The lieutenant seemed to hold a fierce loyalty for his captain and seemed on some level to revel in the attention he was receiving from him.
Ikkaku then proceeded to speak of his captain with something akin to adoration, the kind of man that would be followed to the gates of hell and through them. This legendary captain was apparently off somewhere in a Thunderdome situation with another captain.
Their existence was a harsh one and apparently needed to be well lubricated with alcohol. Dean could identify with that more than he wanted to admit. What amazed him more than anything with the situation he found himself in was that he fit. He truly could see himself a part of the shinigami world. The three drinking buddies he had found did not talk around him or excluded him in any way. As far as they were concerned, he was one of them. The cup in his hand signified that.
Matsumoto had said very little about her captain, only that he had lost something important in the last battle. The emotion of her every movement spoke of her concern over him. The shinigami seemed to have so much faith in each other, so much support for one another. His wish for something like that in his life made Dean heartsick. He tried to imagine the kind of man Matsumoto's captain must be to garner so much respect. The image in his mind formed into something resembling a superhero.
"What is going on here, Matsumoto?" a low, disapproving voice spoke from the doorway to the office. Dean turned to see a small statured, teenage boy with white hair and a perpetually sullen expression on his face. He looked like the kind of kid Dean had always wanted to punch in the face.
Matsumoto's breath caught in her throat as she seemed to brace herself for a scolding. "Captain," she greeted nervously.
Dean had to consciously keep himself from letting his jaw drop open. This child was her captain?! He didn't even look old enough to drive a car. He schooled his expression into one of disinterest and glanced at Ikkaku and Hisagi who were watched his reaction with a bit of amusement.
The boy in question entered the room and crossed to the working side of the desk. His eyes focused on the various stacks of paper before him. He gave no notice of his guests as Matsumoto continued with her informal report. "Hisagi was just taking a break from his training and Ikkaku was taking Mr. Winchester out of Squad Four for some air…and a drink."
The boy captain met Dean's eyes for a moment at his lieutenant's mention of him. The hunter in him knew that this kid was taking full measure of him, calculating, predatory. He could have imagined it, but the temperature seemed to drop by several degrees. "Hn," he grunted in response and resumed his study of the papers on his desk.
Matsumoto forced cheer into her voice. "How was kendo practice?" she asked.
"Fine," he replied curtly. His brow furrowed at a form in his hand. "Matsumoto, did you do paperwork?" he asked with a small hint of disbelief.
"I told you it was the end of the world," Ikkaku cut in.
Matsumoto turned to glare at him and then looked back at her captain. "I was only trying to help," she said softly. Her concern for him blazed like a neon sign. Dean realized the reason for her nervous behavior. She wasn't afraid of her boy captain. She was afraid for him.
His frigid gaze softened slightly and he nodded in acknowledgement.
A black butterfly floated into the room then. Dean thought this was one of the strangest things he had seen but the shinigami regarded it as an everyday occurrence. The boy captain held out his index finger for the butterfly to land. He stared intently at the insect as if they were having some sort of silent conversation.
His cold eyes flicked back to Dean as he released the butterfly to let it fly away. "Mr. Winchester," he said in his deep, indifferent tone, "your brother is awake."
Next chapter: Sam and Dean have one of their trademark talks about trust.
