Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.

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13.

It was a marvelous day for a coup Gin decided as he padded softly across the now-burned entranceway—one of four—into Seireitei.

Not that he really cared about that. After all, this gate didn't lead to any place Gin wanted to go—Division 12 was hardly of any personal interest to him, what with its mad scientist Captain. No, what he cared about was how the children were doing.

There.

He sensed Ichigo's Spiritual Pressure first, as he was the strongest of the bunch. He and Rukia were sitting on the bloody ground, carcasses rotting around them, smiling away without a care in the world, the sun gleaming off their hair and the blood that stained their hands. Their white robes were spattered here and there with blood, and Gin could have sworn that he saw Captain Mayuri's mask among the wreckage his little angels of death had caused.

Or rather, Aizen's little angels of death. Gin only played a minor role in comparison to his friend and leader.

"Uncle Gin!" Rukia called, waving her hands ecstatically in the air. "Look, Uncle Gin! We're painting!"

Gin ran eagerly toward them, wondering what Kyoukasuigetsu was showing them now. He stopped in front of the duo, crouching down beside them with a smile as always.

"Painting pictures, hmm? I'm sure they're beautiful, Rukia dear, Ichigo." He stared down at the strange pictures traced by hand on the ground.

Ichigo's "painting" looked like an oval with sticks poking out of it, and another curvy stick pointing out of a lopsided circle. It was hard to tell what it was through the brilliant red that accompanied the white marble, but Gin had a hunch.

"Is that Papa, Ichigo?"

Ichigo beamed. "Yep!" He was obviously pleased that his artwork was recognizable. Then he frowned. "Where's Papa?" he asked curiously.

Gin smiled. "Don't worry, Papa will be here soon. He's simply…cleaning up." Hopefully having Komamura clean his boots before killing him. He chuckled to himself as Ichigo nodded in understanding.

"Look at my painting, Uncle Gin!" Rukia said with a brilliant smile, pointing to the red scribbles in front of her. Gin noted that she looked more adorable than ever in the sunlight, even with blood crusting her cheeks.

Gin stared at the scribbles long and hard, trying to decipher them. "I beg your pardon Rukia dear, but I just can't seem to figure out what this is. Care to explain?"

Rukia nodded. "It's Renji's sword!" she cried gleefully, tracing the swirling line with her finger. "You see? There's those little spikes!" She pointed to small points poking out of the swirl at odd intervals.

"You mean Zabimaru. Well done, Rukia dear." Gin ruffled her hair fondly, while Rukia sighed and leaned against him, her smile soft.

Ichigo scowled. "Your drawings are lame, Rukia!" he taunted, his voice no longer a soft childish tone but a harsh-sounding tenor.

Rukia glared at him. "Shut up, Ichigo!" she barked, her voice commanding as she smacked him over the head.

Gin frowned. "Now Rukia dear, that's not very becoming. Kiss and make up." He felt a faint twinge of worry pulse through his chest—the last thing they needed was for the children to gain control again.

Ichigo and Rukia's annoyed expressions shifted into shy, embarrassed ones. They turned toward each other, shuffling closer.

Gently, Rukia kissed Ichigo on the cheek, while he did the same. Then they smiled and clasped Gin's hands, stepping over the carcasses.

"Uncle Gin, why is there a teddy bear on the floor?" Rukia asked, pointing to a particularly mutilated corpse.

Gin smiled as usual. "Oh, someone just left it here. They must not have wanted it anymore."

"There're more too, see?" Ichigo pointed at the other corpses, his eyes wide and innocent. "People here must have lots of toys, then, right?"

Gin nodded. "Yes, and you'll be able to play with them soon. Who knows—maybe you'll have a new little brother to play with." He grinned wickedly at the thought of a young white-haired boy with turquoise eyes.

Ichigo and Rukia cheered, waving their bloodied zanpakutos in the air in celebration. Gin chuckled as they made their way through the battlefield and the corpses rotting in the afternoon sun.