Thank you all, who take the time to read and review my work. It does wonders for me. Especial thanks to timydamonkey, whom I am exceedingly grateful for his criticism.

Disclaimer: Bleach is the ownership of Tite Kubo. Not me. Only the members of Canopus (Janus Bloodswerth, Ortiz, Naikao, The Warunabe Bros., Dr. Kokoro Kiiromori, and The Shishi Roku) are mine.

Let the story begin.

Chapter 14: Tweedledee, Tweedledum

August 17th, Afternoon…

A genius in many respects, Toshiro could not help but feel at an extreme loss at what transpired the previous day-both involving him and the family which he lived with. While both events stirred a sense of emotional disquiet in them, easily he could categorize the pair into one good and one bad. Unsure how to approach either scenario, for they remained steadfastly locked in the realm of emotionality instead of his preferred icy logic, Toshiro kept his mouth shut for a time.

As the youngest captain, he had learned to make close allies of his fellow captains, while unconsciously developing enemies. Of the captains, he tolerated the wry Gin Ichimaru the hardest, often with Matsumoto's interests at heart. Of particular note, he held respect for senior member Retsu Unohana, who alone could be named the best healer of the Seireitei. Due to the injuries that he and members of his squad had endured, he learned it was wise to glean good relations with the hospital, albeit there were times when Unohana could get downright scary.

After learning what he did yesterday, when a distraught Yuzu and a dampened Isshin returned home, he strongly wished he could get her out to help.

While he had not seen the monstrous battle in Mashiba, where untold carnage and destruction cultivated itself amidst the neophyte masonry and technology, Matsumoto had told Hitsugaya deeply about what had transpired, and left no detail untouched. She spoke of Takumi Warunabe, whose illusions were so great that he fooled the entire residency of Mashiba into seeing everything as ordinary…at least until the 'morrow. She told of how she, Ayasegawa, and Uryu Ishida had defeated Garm, Olacion, and Sum Mannus, slaying them without much effort. And she told the aftermath, aided by Orihime Inoue, of the fight against Ortiz. The information gleaned from the tape recorder indicated that Ortiz was one of the strongest members of Canopus, alongside the nameless brother of Takumi. The fight had proven it on the surface, leaving the battle-strong Yatusora, Madarame, Rukia, and Ichigo unconscious, and Ortiz stopped from killing only by the pleading of his psychic ally. Of the four, Sado and Rukia had been fortunate: Rukia's neck had been healed by Inoue. Sado's fortune came with his iron-hard body. Even though he took a blast that Matsumoto assumed was 'his version of a Cero Blast', he was able to get up, and suffered only from a state of unconsciousness. Ikkaku however fell prey to his berserker tendencies. He never backed down, and he could not accumulate any damage on the metallic giant. Ikkaku had crashed into virtually every possible object that encircled them during that fight, from walls to mailboxes to car windshields, and walked out of the fight with a broken nose and a fractured skull. While Unohana and Hanataro had been able to keep him alive, by no means would he be rejoining the frontlines anytime soon.

Ichigo's injuries had been the worse. As a living Soul Reaper, he had vacated his body, to which ultimately he had to return to. The damage inflicted to him while as Soul Reaper transferred to his physical body: The healers present, Inoue and Hanataro, had extinguished themselves for the most part, healing Sado, Rukia, Madarame, and Ichigo. With the strawberry-haired punk, they couldn't get it all, and so handed it to the hospital.

The climax of the fight, as Inoue remembered, had been a bone-breaking, highly accelerated slam into the concrete. Only the concrete surrounding his upper back gave way. Because it did give around his head, as Dr. Ishida explained, and as now Isshin told the family, it had mercifully knocked him out (Neither Isshin nor Ishida knew of the brawl with Ortiz, and so assumed Ichigo got into a fight with a gang). However, and more dangerously, because the asphalt did not give around his lower back, he suffered reflective damage to his lower spine, particularly the lumbar region.

The fact that Ichigo could be paraplegic was something not even iron willed Karin could take. Upon finding out the dangerous possibility, Karin retreated to her room, and shut the door.

If school had not finally resumed, perhaps the darker-haired twin would have stayed there. Toshiro, uncertain as to how to deal with this again, did not bother her. Yuzu instead, despite her mutual despair, forced Karin to come, and go to school with them. For the entirety of the day, Toshiro did not dwell his mind on the ominous threat of Canopus and its fixation with him. He rarely moved far from Karin, who became almost stone dead.

A few of Karin's friends, who routinely played soccer with her, had asked about the situation. Toshiro, still not familiar with any of his classmates by anything more than sight basis, faltered coldly, and Yuzu took the reins, telling them that Karin needed time alone. For a moment, Toshiro respected her resolve: To have a mother absent, a brother injured, and a sister a nervous wreck and still retain her demeanor was nothing shy of superhuman, especially at her age.

School came and went for the day, the teachers tentative and the students anxious for yet another school day out. Toshiro kept his silence about the whole affair, and the trio remained otherwise silent as they walked back home. The sources of their silence differed in their psyches: Karin still was in her perpetual shock, Yuzu burdened herself, mumbling about what to cook for the night, and Toshiro himself sat in his disquiet, trying to find an answer to this situation. There was none.

He tried to relate mentally what other female friends of his would do, to get themselves out of this stupor. Matsumoto retreated to the bottle, and immersed herself with friends: That plan was immediately destroyed on the account that under no circumstances would he introduce alcohol to Karin's lips. Momo's habits were more reasonable, however…when she suffered some sort of trouble, she would either visit him or Aizen…that he could manage, if Karin would talk to him. At the moment, save for her movement, she was very much like the still unconscious Ichigo.

Vaguely he wondered who Ichigo's friends were dealing with this: He knew it was not well.

Karin…this isn't you.

The alien disposition Karin displayed proved a scourge to the 10th Captain's psyche. In spite of his wants, he could see this was affecting everyone. Admirably, Yuzu was faring the best, her parental obligations a decent buffer against her pain as she prepared another meal. Isshin bore a crestfallen visage, completely unlike him, and yet more human than Toshiro gave him credit for. Karin, already tougher than a full-fledged leatherneck, simply, quietly, crystallized further her anguish.

When the meal was ended, planted in an obstinate, naughty silence that Toshiro cursed inwardly, Karin ghosted her way back to her room. Isshin, obvious bothered not just by the situation involving his son (and as a clinician, he understood full and well the repercussions and uncertainty his only son now faced), also wandered away, in need of solitude to gather his thoughts, as Toshiro assumed. That left Yuzu and the young Hitsugaya, alone in the kitchen. Hitsugaya embroiled himself in a book he was required to read for his class-a tale about fairies, interestingly, broken into short stories of the European diorama (In particular, he was reading about some man, who was some sort of wizard, that came to a town, and lead a bunch of rats into a nearby river, with just a flute. Absurd, indeed). Yuzu, on the other hand, busied herself in the much-feared kitchen patrol, aware of Toshiro's presence but holding to a silence unbefitting a girl of eleven years.

"Toshiro."

"Its Hitsugaya, Kurosaki." Toshiro remarked.

"…Can I ask you something?"

Toshiro lowered his book, giving the fairer-haired sister his attention.

"Why do you let Karin call you by your first name, and no one else?"

Silence greeted her, for Toshiro genuinely did not have an answer. Truth be told, the reason he was so lax was because he didn't mind. It felt good, pleasing to his ears, when she spoke to him by name…

"Well? Hitsugaya?"

"…I don't know."

"You seem to spend a lot of time together, that's all I'm getting at."

"…I like being around her." Toshiro admitted subconsciously. A second later realization slapped him, and he in turn physically slapped his forehead.

Even with her back turned, the 10th squad captain figured Yuzu was smiling. Difficult to do with the past events, but probable.

"Can I ask something else?"

"I'm not stopping you."

"Why are you and Karin always play-fencing?"

Again, Toshiro was at a loss, but this time his words were more adequately prepared. "She took an interest in kendo. I happen to have some knowledge there."

"Kendo? But…she's always been into soccer."

"She hasn't really had much time." Damn, how he loathed the lies filtering out of his mouth.

"Well…why don't we go all play one day, on the weekend?"

"Huh?"

"Well, Karin needs some cheering up, and…" Yuzu trailed off, and Toshiro could get an idea of what exactly she was attempting. She was struggling to keep everything together, of what she could. Despite the disaster that had impacted them all, him the least and Ichigo's sisters the most, Yuzu was trying to hold it together.

"You think I should play a game with her?"

"Sure!" She exclaimed over the shuffling of various silverware and pots. Water rinsed and mingled between her hands and the kitchenware, as she devoted his attention between the boy at the table and her housekeeping duties.

"Didn't she tell you what happened last time?"

"Uh…no, Hitsugaya, she didn't."

"She smacked me."

"S-Smacked you?"

"Yeah. On the face."

"On the face?"

"Yeah. In the face, practically on my mouth." Actually, it had been nearer to the top of his head, but he didn't feel like revisiting the particulars.

"H-h-how, how did it feel?"

"What kind of question is that? How else does a smack feel like? We finished our game, I won, and then she smacked me on the face quite promptly."

"Why didn't Karin tell me this?"

"Huh?"

"Why didn't Karin tell me that she kissed you, of course?!"

At this, Toshiro's jaw dropped, and his composure was completely annulled. "Wh-wh-what?! I didn't say she kissed me!"

"You said she smacked you!"

"Of course she did!"

"On your face!"

"Yes, on my face! Where else are you going to target a smacking?"

"Then she kissed you!"

Toshiro's hand creased his brow in unbelievable agitation. He had heard of what a kiss was, as Matsumoto, Momo, and a number of romantic movies in the Kurosaki den told. But under no means had he ever done it himself. How Yuzu gleaned this information out of his statement was mind-boggling. He looked through creaked-open fingers, spotting that the fairer-haired sister had abandoned her kitchen-bound duties in favor of ferreting over the misinterpreted circumstances. Hands dug in apron, and a joy previously exorcised by the severity of Ichigo's injuries returned to her youthful face. While this made Toshiro feel better, it wasn't getting the facts straight.

"So," She continued, "Did you like it? Was it your first time?"

"I didn't kiss her."

"Okay, okay, she kissed you…but did you like it?"

"She didn't kiss me either!"

"But you said she smacked you." Yuzu finally took the moment to face him, and she could see how ridiculously animated he was becoming.

"We didn't kiss. She just clubbed me with her soccer ball when she lost."

"…Oh."

"What did you think I was meaning?"

"You said she smacked you on the face, so I thought she kissed you."

"She did smack me! With a soccer ball!"

He noted her crestfallen expression on her face, and found it funny. It was almost like she wanted the statement to be true. Toshiro was grateful that wasn't the case. He imagined the nightmare awaiting him if that became a reality, and his fellow captains found out about his attachment to a human. True, it wasn't against the rules, but…it would be too much. Between Kurotschuri, Zaraki, and Unhand (not to mention Matsumoto and Momo), he would be drawn haggard from the whole darn ordeal.

"Toshiro. Could you do me a favor? There's still some stuff I need to clean up down here. Could you…could you make sure Karin's all right?"

The request seemed simple enough. Her anxiety was all apparent, and her concern for her twin understandable. But he could swear that the curling of her lip, however faint, did not bode well for him. In the end, he relented.

"All right," came the mere reply, and Toshiro thus excused himself.

It occurred to him only after he knocked on the door, and quietly crossed the threshold, that he hadn't a clue what to say. Girls had not always been his specialty. Past excursions with Matsumoto, Momo, and Soi Fong had taught him that.

Anxiety-his own- lingered in his belly, as he stepped inside, an actor without a script.

--

Karin had held onto the blade Yousenkawa for a longer time than she noticed. How long she cradled that blade, which shouted on in her mind that she was not its master, that it would never follow her orders again…she did not care. It settled her nerves, calmed her down amazingly, in light of the returning flood of emotions.

The reminder of Ichigo's injuries did not sit well with her. Anything bad happening to her family riled through her core. The powerlessness to deter those calamities did not help her at all, either. So instead, she had to withdraw. She had to find peace, trying so hard to glue the portrait she treasured…but it seemed that more and more the picture was torn. More and more, the pieces drifted to anarchist winds. More and more, the control she wanted, the stability she craved…it was vanishing.

She wanted to cry. And she despised that. She had almost broken down with Toshiro standing in front of her. The hug she gave was a way to keep those tears away, to bolster her confidence and optimism in the future again. But that was before she knew of the extent of Ichigo's injuries.

She wanted to cry.

Mom had always been good about that. She never judged her when she cried, but she was four and under at that time…

She did not hear the door open, but she did hear a small footfall on her carpet. Believing it was Yuzu, her response was automatic.

"Go away! I want to be alone!"

There was no answer behind her, from her place on the bed. The rain had held off for now, though the clouds finally began to break, but she did not receive an audible answer. Instead, the footfalls neared her, disobeying her entirely.

"Hey! Go away! Leave me alone!"

Karin's remark was not answered for a second time. But she could hear the persistence of her interloper again, with soft, padded footsteps breaching the carpet floor. The footfalls stopped at the other side of the bed, with her being on the opposite side. Her hands, again surprised at the forceful nature of the interloper, grasped a pillow, and tucked it in her hands.

Karin tried to shout out again, tried to banish what family member came into her privacy. Her words were eaten away before she could form them fully, as a pair of arms encircled her and whirled her forcefully around. Teal blue eyes stared at her, bedecking a face of neutrality, and framed further with not sandy blonde hair, like her sister's, but snow-white hair…Toshiro's.

His hands rested complacently on her shoulders, as he stared at her, and she to him for silent moments. He did not say anything at first; Though his face was impervious to change currently, his teals seemed active and bothered, as if searching for the right thing to say. Likewise, Karin was so surprised at his intervention that she forgot her misery and her desire of loneliness, all to make sense of his arrival.

The quiet moment did not last long. Quickly Karin recovered, and her battering-ram fist-abnormally strong as her classmates would testify-lunged out. Toshiro received her fist in full, and fell from the bed on the back of his head; He did not have a firm balance on the bed, and so the normally-agile captain landed in a compromising circumstance.

Karin's agitation boiled into her throat, as she spoke. "Darn it, Toshiro! Don't sneak up on me!"

Toshiro did not immediately respond in what could be called 'appropriate language.' He grunted, shifted his balance, and looked up to Karin from his place on his knees, before producing a more elegant retort.

"You should've been able to sense me."

"…What?"

"You have such a high spiritual pressure that you drown out most others. Yuzu's, for example, is nullified under your brimming powers. Mine, however, is so tangled that even a psychic monkey could locate me. So why couldn't you?" Toshiro asked.

Karin, not in the mood for science in the least (it was her worst subject anyway), huffed out. "I had things on my mind."

"Do you blame yourself still for what happened to Ichigo?" Toshiro gruffly responded. "Don't. You and I were accosted by The Seven-Sealed Devil. Ichigo and the others were on the other side of the district. Even so…there was nothing either you or me could've done." Toshiro ran a hand through his face, the frustration mutual on the boy genius as it was on the raven-haired tomboy. "I do not like this, Karin, watching my friends fight my battles, when I am the source of their aggression, and not even knowing why they are attacking to begin with. But there is something I like even less."

Karin took the bait. "What's that?"

"Putting you through this," came the admission. His face remained one of frozen ice, holding his composure together like crystalline formations. He sat on the opposite side of the bed, his body half-facing her. Regaining himself again, as even Karin could tell this was novel and difficult an ordeal for him, Toshiro resumed.

"When I came here, it was not to meet you, or Ichigo. But…somehow, you both got dragged into this whole thing, even though from the beginning I've been the target. I regret what happened to Ichigo. I regret what's happened to Madarame, though he'll fare better. But I don't want you to fight in my stead, if you don't want to."

"Cut the crap. I'm fighting and you're not stopping me." Karin boldly responded.

"Karin…if I may ask…?" Toshiro remarked. Karin chanced a glance, and saw his attention had shifted, away from her and towards the picture of her mother, inert on the pedestal next to her bed.

"What?"

"Is that…your mother?" Toshiro asked, the uncertainty dripping off his voice.

Karin concealed her tongue. What could she say, at this point? Toshiro had stated the truth from his own lips, but he exhibited hesitancy, as if he wasn't sure where to go. She came to her decision hastily.

"Y-yeah."

"…Where is she?"

The raven-haired girl saw this question coming the moment Toshiro's twinkling eyes caught sight of that picture. It was not a subject any of the family spoke about, save her Daddy. Daddy always ran to the mural of her Mom every time he felt clownishly saddened, but none of the other children spoke that much about it. It just hurt too much, like scalpels rending tissue, hooking and pulling. Karin could not find her voice to answer immediately, the combination of Ichigo's injury, and the parallel relation to her mother stifling her larynx.

The white-haired boy on the other side caught this reluctance immediately, and floundered an apology. "If it cause you too much grief, I am sorry for bringing it up. I'll speak of some-"

"She's dead."

The admission sucked out her vibrancy, her energy, her vigor, that she carried in inexhaustible supply. She felt rain stain her pants, only to realize the rain was coming from her eyes. No way could she face Toshiro now. How often had she scolded Yuzu for the same thing? Hypocrite recited itself in her head.

"Dead?" Toshiro repeated, a little unnecessarily.

"Yeah! You heard me! She died!" Karin substituted her grief for misplaced anger, for reason she nether cared nor knew. Her inhibition to face Toshiro vanished as her belligerence surfaced, and she turned fully around. Toshiro, more at home she suspected with unemotional countenances, seemed flat-footed and could not form words best wagered appropriate. This irritated Karin even more.

"What? Why aren't you going to say something?!"

"…I don't know." Toshiro conceded.

"If you don't, I'll knock your teeth down your throat!"

"…Do you feel…responsible…for-"

"No." She interrupted, guessing the question before it was voiced. "I was four at the time. Ichi-nii was nine. I don't remember much about my mommy, but she was always…caring. She never got angry, or sad, or tired. She just was the best mommy anyone could have."

"How did she die then?" Toshiro asked. He had at some point inched nearer to her.

"I don't remember everything…Ichi-nii never talks about it, anyway. Daddy told me this: About six-years ago, Mommy and Ichi-nii were traveling back home in the rain. Then, something…happened. Daddy says it was maybe a piece of metal hanging off of a car or bus or something, but it was going to get Ichi-nii. Mommy…M-Mommy…Mommy pushed him out of the way, and got c-c-c-cut up…" Now tears flowed freely, because in light of the explanation, she had to reconstruct everything in her head. The pictures, contortions of an imagination already burdened by the spiritual world, weighed too heavily, and finally, the dams broke. She wanted to cry without anyone watching. She did not want to cry in Shiro-chan's presence.

She did anyway. Her voice drowned in convulsing tears. She did not look at the Soul Reaper captain, more concerned with saving her own face than seeing his. However, she felt pressure shifting on her bed, most of which she was oblivious to (perhaps her Blue-Eyes White Dragon doll had fallen down). Her finger bones stiffened with each tremor of her sorrow, gritting as nails into her thighs. Was it so hard for a tough girl to cry, and still hold some semblance of pride?

The body tremors stopped as she was forcefully turned, to where her front faced Toshiro, and his sinewy arms cradled her awkwardly…but entirely. She could not see his face, as hers was pressed over the crook of his neck, but the unexpected action made her stop for a moment. Her eyes flipped wide in shock from his spontaneity. But, as she realized this, and remembered the day before, her hands timidly encircled his back, as she found her outlet. The convulsions returned, but they had lessened in strength. Her fingernails dug into the back of his borrowed shirt-orange as Ichigo's hair, a present given ironically by their mother. She imagined the smell of her long-missed mother, who she was wanting so badly to see, and yet made peace with her death. Toshiro Hitsugaya, the stranger invited into her home, the wounded dragon found on her doorstep, said nothing to her. He altered his grip behind her back, refreshing it and finding a better hold. But He said nothing, instead only content to hold her, as she held him yesterday.

How long it took, for her to flush the accumulated misery out of her body, neither youth knew. The wind served a ill-advised watch with its billowing on the window, but each found something in the other's warmth. As Toshiro slowly, slowly released his embrace on her, she found that she kind of wanted him to keep hugging him. Her cheeks felt red at the guilty admittance, and she fought to nip it in the bud.

They now sat on her bed, opposite of each other, face to face. Toshiro, she could see and feel, had not yet let go. His left hand held hers gently.

"…I am sorry." He said finally, an aged breath existing out of him. For a moment, he looked much older than he appeared, if not only in those eyes.

"Sorry? For what?"

"Your mother…and brother."

"You couldn't have done anything, Shiro-Chan. Sheesh. If you think I'm b-bad, you should talk to Yuzu on this."

"Ortiz and the rest wanted me. Ichigo was just in the way."

"Toshiro. If you think its your fault I will slap you."

Silence again reigned. Toshiro cast a simple glance at her, looked at their intertwined hands, and reluctantly let go. He stepped off of the bed, and gave a smirk of reassurance.

"If you need to talk to someone…as long as I can…I will be here still. I will not run from Canopus, but I will not let anything happen to yo-your family." Toshiro stated. His face seemed to blush red at the end, as if he nearly made a mistake.

"Hey, Shiro-Chan?"

He was the door as he turned his head. "Hmm?"

"Thanks."

"…You're welcome."

"Oh, and Toshiro?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we play tomorrow?"

"…Sure."

Toshiro turned, but as if remembering something, he turned back to her. "Karin, If I asked you to smack me, would you?"

At this Karin's face twisted on itself. Smack him? Here? Good Heavens why? "Why would you ask that?"

"Curiosity."

"Toshiro, if you want me to smack you, you gotta pick a place first."

"Face. Smack me on the face."

"…Do you have a death wish? You want me to smack you on the face?"

"Yes."

"…Foot or fist?" Karin couldn't believe what he was asking, but she got ready to answer.

"…What?"

"Foot or fist? Do you want me to kick you in the face or punch you in the face?"

The color drained out of Toshiro's face, replaced with agitation, as he responded back. "Never mind."

And with that, Karin kept her eyes on the retreating back of the nubile Soul Reaper, disappearing behind the door. Then she smiled, in more than mere gratitude, and hugged herself. Misery dispelled, she found her night-clothes, and decided to prepare for bed.

In the morning, she would have to kick Papa Goat-face's head in.

--

Late Night…

Unbeknownst to any outside, Matsumoto watched from across the street, as both her duty as a Soul Reaper and her concern for her captain placed her there. While she wouldn't say no to a sake bottle or two, her attention was now drawn exclusively to the Kurosaki household. Though even the most conservative Soul Reaper would remark that this place had its fair share of spiritual episodes, even they would have to admit something was up. Bloodswerth's arrival had been but the first of the diverging maladies, which did not involve either hollows or Soul Reapers. Now, as she watched like a cat, she saw a new figure, unrecognizable to her in either appearance or spiritual pressure, walked sloppily across the street, coming from the east.

He looked harmless from afar, and downright pitiful, from the way his head was lowered, as if analyzing his feet. But, as the streetlight showed, how he could be looking at anything was absurd in itself. The man or boy's head was completely wreathed in a shaggy mess of brown hair. His clothing too, incited pity, as Matsumoto (ever a fashion buff) mentally tore apart the dusty rags that could stringently be called a shirt, vest, and pants, all of the most aged ochre color. Pants snipped to shorts with irregular edges, but the man seemed not to care. His head absently turned and looked around, swaying like a viper, before coming to rest on the doorway to the Kurosaki household. The vagabond fellow stood there briefly, as if straining his eyes to see an address or something, but then walked softly toward the door, stopping only when within arms reach, and reaching out his outstretched hand to caress the door in front.

In truth, Matsumoto was not sure what to make of this, and for now sated herself to watching. The stranger continued merely to massage the door, as if feeling for some secret key in, but finding none. After a while, the man stopped, and walked away from the door, back out to the far sidewalk. He walked purposefully to an already predestined area, it seemed, and Matsumoto noticed an odd tick the man was doing: The man, with his inert, lifeless left hand, was snapping his fingers. On a timed interval, every fourth second, the shabbily dressed man snapped his fingers with perfect timing. Odd mannerism aside, the stranger walked near to his position, took a seat down on the warmed concrete, and looked up at one of the windows of the Kurosaki household.

It registered immediately that it was the Twins room that the man's head pointed towards. The odd demeanors of this nightly soiree appeared too weird to be coincidence. Though in Soul Reaper form, Matsumoto had a bad feeling about this. She slowly unsheathed her zanpaku-to.

As the blade left its scabbard, the brown-haired man turned his head sharply in her direction, his fingers stopping their metronome. Matsumoto fell into stark silence and immobility. She waited, and exaggerated the removal of Haineko even farther. Eventually, the man turned back to his vigil, and resumed snapping his fingers, though he snapped them now on every third count.

Her blade at the ready, Mastumoto quietly crouched, avoiding threat of detection by leaping the houses. The man seemed to pay no attention, content to snapping his fingers. His right arm, however, had disappeared into the folds of his ochre vest. Eventually, she perched herself on the streetlight just above him, and thanked her luck that he still hadn't noticed. Readying her blade for a fight, she shun-poed behind him.

Haineko came to rest on his neck. His fingers stopped snapping instantly.

"Speak. Name and rank, if you have one."

Now up close, Matsumoto could see better the ridiculous mass of brown hair that enveloped his entire head. It tilted slightly, as if considering her, but it just as minutely turned back forward, more concerned with the observation of the household.

"Do you work for Canopus?" The lieutenant-captain blurted out.

The man stopped all movement then, save for his inert left hand, which regained some vigor and retreated to his dirty-vest. After a few moments, the man shook his head.

"Liar!"

The man said nothing, content to continue shaking his head.

"If you are not working for Canopus, then why are you here?"

The man did not give an audible answer, but he did give a noisy one: He growled, like a jaguar at its prey. Irritation coated the noise, and Matsumoto tightened her grip.

"If you try anything, I'll take your head before you can do it."

The stranger only growled again, a bit louder in warning.

"Tell me why you're here, at the Kurosaki household?"

"I told him to." A new voice, coming from the west, interjected. Matsumoto recognized both the polite yet meek timbre of the new arrival, as well as the spiritual pressure-miniscule as it was-accompanying it. As she briefly looked at the interloper, she saw the pink hair, and thin clothing of Takumi Warunabe, walking in a much more dignified fashion than before.

"I should warn you about doing that." Takumi stated. "He does not like being threatened."

"Him?"

"Yes. Him. My brother, Tamashi Warunabe. He does not like that. Could you remove your Haineko from his neck, before he kills you?"

Matsumoto almost interjected such an impossibility, but a quick look told her otherwise. The stranger, now identified as Tamashi in his ochre clothes, had a dirk-like dagger in his right hand, positioned behind him and intending to stab her in the intestines.

"Tamashi. Listen to my voice. There is no need for bloodshed tonight. We have wounded enough Reapers. If she would kindly remove her blade, come to me." Takumi extended his hand outward, and snapped his fingers once. Tamashi, still laying on the ground, nodded once, and pocketed his dirk back into his disgusting-colored clothes. Matsumoto, more curious for information to help her captain, withdrew her saber, but kept it at the ready all the same. As she did so, Tamashi lumbered up like a broken skeleton, his movements awkward and graceless, and his head still lowered down, yet he moved towards his identified, pink-haired brother, without even concern to his surroundings. As Tamashi stood slouched beside his brother, the pink-haired Takumi placed an arm on his shoulders.

"My brother would thank you, if he remembered. He did a favor for Soul Society, anyway, in exchange for sparing me." Takumi explained.

"Favor?"

"The death of 5th Squad captain Sosuke Aizen. My big brother here did that."

The man with his brown-haired crowned head, looked to the side, not even at Matsumoto, but spoke in a gravelly, guttural voice. "Ai..zen…soft…too soft…brother."

"Please, Tamashi. You are good, no question about that, but you won because of two reasons. One, you don't care about pain. Two, Captain Aizen relied too heavily on his illusions and was so embroiled in his plans that he simply did not care to see the dangers around him. Overconfidence isn't the best approach." Takumi turned back to the orange-haired Matsumoto, and she was struck by his youth. He couldn't be above his twenties, while his brother was clearly a man.

"Ms. Matsumoto. It is good you're still alive."

"…You all did that?"

"No. Tamashi did it too soon. Aizen was destined to die by Canopus already. Just…Tamashi wanted to show his gratitude for sparing my life. If it is all right with you, Ms. Matsumoto…we will go our own ways."

"I don't think so." Matsumoto warned. "Growl, Haineko!"

Her blade erupted into a wisp of ash taking the ambiguous shape of a sword, and raised it with intent to pierce. Neither Warunabe brother moved to flee, however. Instead, it was their faces and body language that told the tale. The younger Takumi frowned, and his hands wringed together in spindles. The elder turned his head sharply up, in her direction, and his hand reached back into his vest once more.

"Ms. Matsumoto…I do not want violence."

"I want…kill…you…"

"Brother, please…"

"Too soft…Taku…mi…Too SOFT!"

She smirked. Blackmail existed inside her forte. "Ok. Tell me some news."

"N-news? I'm afraid I don't-"

"Where is Canopus?" Matsumoto asked fiercely. "Tell me and I won't engage."

"I wouldn't think of that if I were you." Takumi responded back. His hand had fastened itself to Tamashi's shoulder, who now moved a bit forward.

"You're too soft! Takumi! Die! She…Die!"

"Not. Now. Brother." the pink-haired sibling said as strongly as he could. "My brother's getting agitated, and I have no intention of having him turn into a berserker here…Brother, calm down!" The slouched rag of a brother stepped forward, committed to attacking Matsumoto.

"Let him go. I can fight."

"This is the guy who infiltrated YOUR Soul Society, and killed a captain of YOUR court! Do you really want to tempt fate that badly?! Do you?! I will tell you what you want, but for the love of God, do not tempt my brother!!" Takumi implored, desperation all apparent in his voice. He tightened his grip, not caring that he was showing his back to his foe, and tried to psychically calm his maniacal sibling down. Eventually, the shaggy man stopped, his ochre clothing falling inert, and he turned his back, only saying one sentence in his jaguar-tongue.

"Too soft, little brother…too soft."

And then he jumped into the trees, mock-shun-poing like a seasoned Soul Reaper.

Breathing a sigh of relief, the pink-haired Takumi turned once more to Matsumoto, his young face drenched in sweat. Fear decorated his countenance, and it looked so practice it was frightening in itself.

"Thank God. Thank God."

"You look like you need a drink."

"Maybe later. Not today. Ask your questions, though I already know what you're going to ask."

"You aren't afraid?"

"Of what? Giving information to the enemy? Hmp. We've given you information once already. Ortiz told you about an attack to mislead you before. Hitsugaya almost died, didn't he? This should tell you how arrogance my employer is."

The lieutenant-captain of the 10th division looked at the youth, as he straightened himself up, her blade deactivated from shikai. He did not appear to be a combatant; If anything he was a pacifist, to the extreme. But she saw her chance, and so pressed her advantage.

"Where is Canopus?"

"………I can give you the address. It is a tent, with purple and white stripes. Don't go tonight. Gather your forces and come later. Its…501 Nara Street, in…Mashiba. Go there, and you will find the nest."

"…How do you know you're not lying?"

"You don't. Get on with it."

Matsumoto smirked. "Why is Canopus so desperate to get my Captain?"

"…Hitsugaya? I don't know. Kiiromori is the only guy who really knows. Even as a telepath, he's guarded that secret from me, fortifying his mind with riddles. Only one guy really knows, and he's already a basket case to begin with. That is Janus Bloodswerth. But there's a name, that I do not know, that keeps popping up. Someone else in there, a person or thing…and a being called Io-Hildalga. That's all. If you want more, find Bloodswerth."

"That's impossible! I helped kill him myself!"

"Its easy to kill a devil…but difficult to eliminate one." Takumi said enigmatically. His composure seemed to be returning. "Anything else?"

"…Is there anyone else Canopus intends to kill? Like the Captains?"

"Just one. Soi Fong. For reasons I know not, she seems to have incurred an unnecessary wrath."

"And one more thing."

"Shoot."

"Why are you working with them?"

At this Takumi raised his eye brows, obvious even in the dim lights. A hand grazed his brow, and he laughed nervously. "Isn't it obvious?"

"Why should it be obvious for humans to attack Soul Reapers?"

"Touché. I…there was a time when…my brother was human, like you no doubt are. He isn't anymore. That's why I help, heavy-hearted as I am." He flicked his hand, observing the watch on his wrist. "I have to go. I will not engage you, and I have a reason to be here, other than talking to you. I wish you a pleasant night. You see, I met a little girl yesterday that seemed nice enough, so I thought I'd leave her a chance to talk. In every war, there's neutral ground. I seek not agony, unlike my brother, who can only comprehend two things: Mortality and me."

As he spoke, he produced a small playing card, a tarot card the lieutenant captain realized, a marking of a knight holding a cup of some sort. As he walked towards the Kurosaki household, Matsumoto weighed her options. She could attack, but she had some information to report to the Seireitei. Whether he was lying or not, was unsure. However, any information was better than none. The man was harmless as it was, and demonstrated it further by not doing anything out of the ordinary, aside of depositing the tarot card in the door frame.

"All right. Get going. But you owe me."

"Thank you." Takumi meekly responded. He bowed briefly, and walked away, looking briefly at the Kurosaki household, before walking east, into the darkness. Above them, Matsumoto could hear a leaping and landing from tree to tree: Tamashi, the steadfast guardian to his little brother.

Matsumoto looked at the odd pair, and wondered again what exactly what they were all in for.

Maybe a bottle of sake would help out, to take the edge off the night. It would be a long day tomorrow.

--

End Chapter.

Forgive me for the length of time it took to get this out. College is a war of attrition in itself.