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:Short chapter this time. I thought it was a good place to chop it off.
Warnings:Warm fuzzy feelings that turn creepy and cold near the end. As always, feel free to ask any questions and I will do my utmost to answer.

The black was not a void. It was no stillness that sat at the bottom of a well. The black was a thing alive and waiting, brooding patience beneath the cover of its claws, high-octave winds battering fractals in its hide.

When he shouted at it, down, it took his words, stole his breath and swallowed everything given as though it had given up the pretense of needing, of wanting, and decided simply to take. Blinking with a snick of teeth, it stared back at him when he watched, when he saw through the deep and thought he understood what it meant.

Not it.

Colors were reduced to syllables in the black. Shadows stained everything from the snow, to the stars, and the glass canyons. But it didn't want the colors, it didn't want the sounds, the names or their taste. It was done asking now that Toushiro's gaze had lit the path up the slippery walls.

It moved and carried the storm on its back. In the darkness, it appeared blacker than black, only its wings tipped with what it might have looked like had he not spurned it when he was first born. The thing at the bottom of the well, the black, his, still no more, roared with the blood of ten thousand gurgling in its throat.

Before it left, he heard the wind break against its massive form. Ice broke off in transparent shards as it leaned, scraping against his cheeks. It told him—

"—can. you. hear. me?"

"Yes," He heaved, water gushing out his mouth like a burst pipe. It left a sour aftertaste which had him desperately craving a cigarette. Anything to deaden the nerves that had been raked raw over diamond glass.

"Careful," His sister cautioned, "You hit your head pretty hard."

He hissed when she pressed down, feeding his strained body with something other than pale gruel. It did not feel good. Before, reiatsu had sank harmlessly into his bones. It made him nauseous now. The lump in his chest knotted into a hard, peach pit.

"Enough," he said, tearing himself away.

"It's okay Shiro-chan." Momo said, pulling him close. "You're alright."

"Don't call me that." He slurred, smearing bile and snot on her shoulders as he waited for the shakes to die down. Shiro-chan meant that he was safe and he was anything but. Masaki wasn't here to hide behind, neither was his father nor Isshin and maybe Kisuke.

Pain made him mean.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

"Does it look like I'm alright?"

"Shiro-chan." Momo admonished.

"I'm sorry, I'm just, sorry."

He reached up and slid his fingers under Momo's sword-hardened hand. Oddly, he did not remember being struck on the head. He'd been stabbed in the chest which did not show well against the swells of oozing scratches and dark bruises.

Toushiro scowled, "Momo, what are you doing here?"

"Shh," She hissed, "I'm getting you out of here."

"What? Why?"

Momo was unimpressed by his line of questioning.

"Because they're going to kill you Toushiro!"

"Because I killed people." He pointed out and swallowed, guilt crawling up his throat. "I killed granny."

"No," and the force of her word was imbued with fiery reiatsu. He cringed when it made contact, only to look up in confusion at its warmth. Momo held his hand, hot, but not burning, warm enough to soothe his hurts. "I know you, Shiro-chan. You didn't kill Granny. And I'm sorry you had to go through that alone."

"You can't be sure of that."

Because he wasn't sure of it. Urahara's memory spray did not take away memories, it dampened them. But he couldn't remember anything before showing up on his father's doorstep, knee-deep in snow. Everything was so perfectly blank. He hadn't wanted to question it. Momo had been the one exception. He didn't want her involved.

"How are you here?" He asked. "Yamada told me you were banned."

For the first time since waking up, he looked around and saw that his guards were missing. Instead, prone figures lined the doorway to his cell.

"Captain Aizen has a plan." Momo confessed, her voice rushed. "Everyone's distracted right now. They didn't even notice me slipping in."

He grabbed her by the shoulders. "This is treason."

"I put Shirogane and Kotetsu in a trance. They'll be fine."

"Momo."

"I just need to get you to the Fifth Division barracks and you'll be okay."

"Dammit bedwetter!"

Her face fell slack.

Immediately, he took his hands off her and clenched them into a fist.

"I... um..."

"It really is you."

"...what are you talking about?"

Momo gave him a watery smile.

"Nothing... you're, you're so tall now!"

He snorted. It was the first time anyone had told him he was tall. He was the average height for Japanese men. But being surrounded by giants all his life, his father, Isshin, Ryuuken, Kisuke and even Ichigo now, gave him something of a complex.

"Can't call me short anymore."

"No," she laughed, wiping her eyes. "No, not anymore. You're grown up and," she raised her hand before dropping it in her lap. "Why didn't you come back Shiro-chan? I... I could have protected you."

They both knew she couldn't have. His death was inevitable. The moment a foot came down on his chest and cracked his ribs, broke his arms and rendered his flesh to pulp, he was dead.

He remembered Lieutenant Hisagi telling him that she looked for him. Because she believed that he was out there, buried under the ice. No one to hold vigil over him, no one to pray for his soul.

"I don't know."

"Liar," she said. "It's okay. You can say it."

"I forgot home."

He was a loose end. If he died, so many people could be saved. Karakura needed an alibi. The Court wanted a scapegoat to feed to the yawning masses. He could not fight, it was not his way to fight with swords. But like this, he could protect them. Maybe, he could even protect them from something more terrible than himself.

"Come with me Shiro-chan." Momo held out a hand. Tears glittered on her eyelashes. "I'll take you home."

He wanted to live.

She did not give him a chance to respond; she held him in her arms and took him.

.

The screen cleared of white noise.

Aizen smiled.

"Urahara, it's been a long time."