It was scarily easy to fall back into the routine of the 4th, especially when they were so busy. Casualties were coming in from all over Seireitei, even some from the 12th, which was odd according to Tsukishima-sensei as they normally took care of their own. Others were off the streets from around the Pits, a lot of them minor nobility who'd been out for the evening when the attack happened. But most were coming from the 1st, and their injuries were terrible. Yuzu had seen at least one poor woman whose skin was almost entirely gone from one half of her body. Flayed by lightning at the hands of a traitor captain, so everyone was saying.
Yuzu didn't know what to believe. She knew what they claimed Byakuya-sama had done before he fled from Seireitei, but he'd seemed so nice the single time they'd met, and she wasn't alone thinking that way. Take had respected him a lot. Hisana too. Both of them spoke of him in admiring terms when they thought no one was listening. And nii-chan must have liked him a bit because apparently he used to live in the old captain's house with him, though so had Abarai-san so maybe that was just for convenience.
But such thoughts were for another time. Feet flying, Yuzu hauled the large box of supplies between the ranks of trolleys, stopping at each one to restock the medic's trays, and trying to ignore the patients' cries of pain. It wasn't easy. She wanted to help them with her own two hands, but that would be pointless. Without reiryoku, she couldn't heal. The most use she could possibly be right now was exactly what she was doing, being extra hands and feet for those who could.
Fourth seat Iemura was in charge of triage. He sat at the desk at the far end of the room dealing with an almost constant stream of medics and completing paperwork as casualties were admitted, given basic treatment and hurried on to whoever could help them best. Beside him on the desk was his cane. Every now and then, if a patient became too noisy or he spotted someone he thought was slacking, he'd pick it up and tap it meaningfully against the wood, pausing a moment to watch as everyone scurried into extra speedy action.
Her box emptied, Yuzu gave the desk a wide berth and hurried out to fetch more. But when she got to the storeroom, Tsukishima-sensei wasn't alone, he was standing by the window, deep in conversation with Aizen-fukutaichō. When she entered, the pair of them stopped talking and looked over at her like she was a teacher and they were naughty children caught cheating. She stopped, taken aback slightly by their reaction, and held up her empty box. "Um, I need more supplies."
Tsukishima-sensei frowned, seeming to recover himself as he said, "I only just gave you the last load."
"There's a lot of casualties," Yuzu replied, trying not to feel embarrassed. She hadn't meant to walk in on them. Aizen-fukutaichō must be here because so many of the injured shinigami were from his division. She gave him a small smile. "We doing our very best to to look after them, Aizen-fukutaichō."
"I'm sure you are, Yuzu-chan," he replied, giving her a soft smile in return and Yuzu felt heat blossom across her cheeks. He was so very good-looking with such lovely warm brown eyes. But he had no time for her, not today. Turning back to Tsukishima-sensei, he said, "I'll leave you to it. Just remember what I said. I need him under fast, so as soon as you get the all clear…"
Tsukishima-sensei nodded. "It won't be a problem."
It was almost an hour later that Iemura-yonseki called her over and handed her a stack of files to take to Unohana-taichō. Urgent, he said. Taking the outside route to avoid crowded corridors, Yuzu hurried up to Unohana-taichō's office, stopping outside to catch her breath, but before she could lift her hand to knock, she heard raised voices from inside and, though it went against every rule on manners that she knew, Yuzu couldn't resist leaning close to listen in.
"We tried it your way and it didn't work. I'm not letting her go again." That was Aizen-fukutaichō again and he sounded annoyed. Yuzu was suddenly very glad she hadn't knocked.
It was Unohana-taichō's voice that came next, clipped and sharp. "Your attempts were no more successful and I will not see the girl abused any further."
"Then it seems we have reached an impasse." He was being so rude! And to a captain, as well, when he was only a lieutenant.
"There is no impasse, only you making excuses for failing to deliver what was promised." Now Unohana-taichō's voice took on a steely edge that Yuzu was very familiar with. There was no arguing with that tone. "Remember Aizen-kun, your tricks do not work on me."
Ha! That would tell him. Yuzu strained her ears to catch the reply.
"I am well aware of that. And don't worry, you'll get your fight." Yuzu couldn't believe it. There wasn't even a hint of apology in Aizen-fukutaichō's voice. A moment later he added, "It's ensuring a successful conclusion to any potential aftermath that's proving so troublesome."
Outcome to what? Yuzu shuffled closer.
"That is not my problem," Unohana-taichō said.
"Of course it isn't; if you fail, you'll be dead. But then it'll fall to the rest of us to try and stop events from spiralling out of control. Having that thing running rampage through Soul Society is hardly conducive to anyone's long term plans."
"I will not fail."
"People can always fail, even someone as powerful as you, kenpachi-taichō."
Footsteps on the walkway made Yuzu spring away from the door, but it was only someone passing by further down. She watched until they disappeared around the corner and then leaned forward again, only to jump as Aizen-fukutaichō snapped, "Enough! You think I haven't tried to secure another solution? This is the best one I have come across in the past three hundred years and I'm not about to give it up simply because you've developed some kind of misplaced affection."
"It is not affection, Aizen-fukutaichō. It is enlightened self-interest. If you break the girl trying to reactivate the schrift when you have no alternative lined up, then your plan will fail and our deal will become void. That is not a circumstance you would wish to come to pass."
Yuzu had no idea what they were talking about but she'd never heard her captain sound so severe.
"As you well know, finding an alternative was exactly what I was attempting when I devised the challenge," Aizen-fukutaichō replied testily. "Though thanks to Kurotsuchi's pathetic excuse for security we've probably lost the boy and all the data."
"He was still at the 12th?" Unohana-taichō sounded shocked. "I was under the impression that the operation to remove the transmitter was a simple affair or I would have offered to carry it out myself."
"It was an easy operation, the boy should have been back in the Senzaikyū within the hour. The only reason Kurotsuchi took him to the 12th at all was to make downloading the data more secure. And then this supposed vasto lorde broke free of whatever inadequate pit Kurotsuchi had it stashed away in and now we've lost everything."
Yuzu didn't know much about what had happened at the 12th but some kind of monster getting free would tie in with the injuries they'd seen. One of the men's arms had been ripped clean off!
"And since I wasn't able to attend the bout myself, I am reduced to relying on eye-witness accounts for some clue as to whether the boy used the schrift," Aizen-fukutaichō added, sounding completely dismayed. "Oh smile away, lady-captain, please do. The irony of the situation is not lost on me. But if there is anything you might have seen, any clue?"
Sounding amused, Unohana-taichō said, "Not during the bout itself, no. However…"
Another set of footsteps. This time the shinigami came right past the office and Yuzu had to move some distance away to avoid being caught eavesdropping. By the time she got back, the conversation had changed yet again.
"You are referring to Isane-chan still being alive," Unohana-taichō was saying and the name rang through Yuzu like a bell. She clutched the files to her chest. Despite what Tsukishima-sensei had said about Soifon-fukutaichō being a friend now, some part of her was still terrified she'd done the wrong thing telling her about the refugees in Rukongai. Now both Aizen-fukutaichō and Unohana-taichō knew about them as well!
"Of course I am," Aizen-fukutaichō replied. He sounded frustrated. "What I don't understand is why Hirako didn't know what was going on. I rely on that man to keep a lid on Kaname's worst excesses, or at least to inform me if he goes off the rails."
"There is perhaps a lesson for both of us in this then; never trust to others the things which one should do oneself."
"You trust Zaraki."
"I contain Zaraki. Only a fool would trust a demon." Yuzu knew exactly which expression went with that tone. It was the one Unohana-taichō used when she thought you were being silly.
"And I would never dare call you a fool, madam kenpachi," Aizen replied. "However that does bring us to the point of my visit this evening. I have a proposal for you."
"Another one?"
"One that I hope will serve us both. The 13th needs a new fukutaichō. If you're amenable, I would recommend to Tōsen-taichō that he approach your fifth seat with an offer."
Tsukishima-sensei? Yuzu pressed her ear to the door, eager to hear more. If Tsukishima-sensei went to the 13th, would she be allowed to go with him? She liked the 13th and it was so close to home and the 6th, she'd practically be able to see the estate.
"I see no reason why that should be a problem," Unohana-taichō concurred. When she spoke again, the steely edge was back in her voice, "We can only hope that he has more success ingratiating himself with his new captain than he had with me."
"He tried to use his zanpakutō on you?" Aizen sounded genuinely surprised. Yuzu didn't blame him. Unohana-taichō was the best sword fighter in all of the Gotei. Why would Tsukishima-sensei try and attack her?
"Only the once. And would have lost his head had I not been curious to know exactly what he was trying to do. His aim was so appalling that it raised my suspicions that this had to be more than an assassination attempt. Needless to say, a few rounds with Minazuki and all became clear."
Aizen chuckled, a cruel sound that made Yuzu frown. "That I would have liked to have seen. He tried the same on me when we first met and had an equally unhappy time of it." That sounded suspicious to Yuzu. Aizen was probably lying to make himself look as important as Unohana-taichō. Either that or Tsukishima-sensei had a very good reason for doing what he did. "I would hope, since then, that he's learnt to chose his targets more carefully."
"Even so," Unohana-taichō said, "Do not trust him if you do not need to."
"Like you, lady, I am no fool."
Yuzu pressed her fist to her mouth. How could they say things like that about Tsukishima-sensei? Didn't they know he was the most wonderful person in all of Soul Society?
From the other side of the door came a rustle of cloth. Aizen-fukutaichō must be leaving. Yuzu took a few steps back, preparing to look like she'd just arrived. A few moments later, when the door drew back, Aizen-fukutaichō caught her with her hand raised ready to knock and Yuzu was able to act appropriately surprised.
"Ah, h-hello again, Aizen-fukutaichō," she said, dipping a bow.
"Yuzu-chan. Did you enjoy our conversation?"
Breath caught in Yuzu's throat and she looked up into brown eyes that were no longer soft but cold and calculating. "I-I," she stammered. Beyond Aizen, she could see Unohana-taichō sitting at her desk, watching impassively. No rescue would come from there.
"Well, child, speak up."
Yuzu's gaze snapped back to the lieutenant in front of her. "I-I didn't hear very much," she lied.
"You arrived ten minutes ago," Unohana-taichō said. "You forget, unlike you, shinigami have the ability to sense when someone is outside a door."
Of course they did! How could she have been so stupid! Still hugging the files, Yuzu dropped into a low bow. "I'm really sorry! I didn't mean- "
"Now, now, there's no need to become hysterical." That was Aizen, and he sounded friendlier again. Were they going to forgive her? It wasn't like she'd overheard anything important.
Yuzu glanced up warily. Aizen-fukutaichō was smiling at her. Maybe she'd just mistaken his expression for anger before. "I won't do it again," she said. "I promise."
Aizen's smile widened. "You say that every time," he said and raised his hand. "Not that it matters, you won't remember this one either."
Something flashed in her eyes. Yuzu blinked. How on earth had she managed to get lost on the way to Unohana-taichō's office? Still, at least she was here now. She bowed a greeting to the young noblewoman who was just leaving and went to deliver the files. It was about time she got back to work.
Every inch of Ichigo's body was agony when he got back to it. He dragged himself up, gasping, and was immediately blindsided by the stench of blood. His head spun, thoughts suspended between Kurotsuchi's blade and the sweet slide of hot flesh down his throat and his stomach lurched. But he couldn't puke. He didn't have time. Not when Hisagi was out there somewhere with- with-
Shoving all thought desperately aside, Ichigo rolled to his feet. The towering trees of Hisagi's inner world were gone, as was the mist of Ichigo's own. He was back in the real world, surrounded by the dust and stone of Urahara's actual training grounds, and it turned out he didn't have far to stagger. Hisagi was just the other side of the bluff, a misshapen heap of red and black and- Oh fuck.
"Hisagi!" Ichigo threw himself down next to his friend, trying to work out where the hell to start. Pulse, that came first, didn't it?
He shoved fingers into Hisagi's bloodied neck, frantically searching, and almost sobbed in relief when he felt a pulse, thready and fast beneath his fingertips. He was still alive. And if he was still alive, maybe Ichigo could save him.
But his arm, his legs. Shit.
Ichigo's vision blurred and he swiped the back of his hand across his eyes, hardly registering that it came away wet. He didn't have time to start freaking out.
The stump next. He had to stop the bleeding.
Naked himself, he ripped at Hisagi's hakama ties, finally using his teeth to tear off enough to use as a tourniquet. That he wrapped around what was left of Hisagi's left arm and tied it tightly, watching as the blood that been pumping onto the ground subsided to nothing. Only then did he sit back on his heels and turn his attention to Hisagi's legs.
In some ways these were better, inasmuch as they were still attached. Mostly. But it wasn't good. Ichigo was no doctor, and had next to no experience with injuries beyond what he'd run into during his time at the 6th, but even he knew that the white stringy things hanging from ripped up - not chewed. Don't think chewed - flesh were tendons and that they were kind of essential if a person was ever going to move again.
The memory of his own parting under Kurotsuchi's scalpel stole back, bringing with it phantom stabs of pain.
"Fuck," Ichigo muttered, swiping his hand across his eyes again. He had to stay centred. If he let himself drift, he was going to end up having a panic attack and that wouldn't help anyone.
A deep breath, through his mouth not his nose, helped. He took a second to remind himself that this wasn't the 12th, that the blood wasn't his, that he was safe and Kurotsuchi was dead, and then took another look. The damage was just as bad as he remembered. From mid-thigh to ankle, Hisagi's legs were tangled mass of cloth and skin and meat. "What the hell am I supposed to do with this?"
A choked off whimper made him look up, and he found black and gold eyes fixed on him. "Kazeshini?" But no. There was none of the manic glee he'd expect to see from a hollow. These eyes were one hundred percent human, and terrified.
"Sorry. Hisagi," Ichigo corrected himself, realising that he'd seen those eyes before, the evening round at Tōsen-taichō's when Hisagi had played waiter and the teapot got broken. Apparently he did get his body back for some things.
Bad? Is it bad? Is it bad? Is it bad?
The frantic gabbled words bled into Ichigo's brain almost as loudly as Ossan or Zangetsu's voices and honestly there'd been so much strange in Ichigo's life recently that he just rolled with it.
"It's not good," he said. He probably should have lied, but he was crap at doing that and anyway Hisagi had to know, didn't he? He had to remember Ichigo tearing him up and eating- "Fuck!" There was the nausea again.
Ichigo swallowed it back down and ran fingers through hair sticky with blood. He was drenched in the stuff, kneeling in it too, a vast puddle around them soaking into the dusty ground. But he couldn't tell Hisagi that. If he hit the guy with too much negativity, he'd stop fighting. Ichigo had seen enough to know that much. "But you're gonna be fine." It sounded like a lie even to his own ears.
You-you can hear me?
"Yeah, clear as a bell," Ichigo replied. "It's probably because I… You know."
Ate me.
It was so matter of fact, so accepting. Ichigo wanted to grab the guy and shake him, tell him to be mad, tell him it was okay for him to be mad. For crap's sake, Ichigo had eaten him! What sort of a person ate their friends?"
It's what fracción are for, Hisagi said. For a hollow. A combination of reserve forces and larder, I suppose. He was sounding calmer. Having someone to talk to probably helped.
"That doesn't make it right," Ichigo shot back, still feeling sick, and mad at himself. And totally overwhelmed by the mess in front of him. "Anyway, who made you the expert?"
There was silence for a moment, long enough that Ichigo had moved on to, 'how the hell do you put someone's tendons back together anyway,' when Hisagi said, When Aizen-taichō first found us, he took us to Hueco Mundo. That's where his base is, where he does his research.
"That's where he did the eye transplant and turned you into a hollow."
Amongst other things. Not calmer. Quieter. Weaker. Hisagi's mental voice was fading. Despite Ichigo's efforts, he was bleeding out.
Ichigo racked his brains for something he could do that might help. Damn idiot dad anyway for not sticking with his medical training. If he'd been a doctor instead of a mortician Ichigo might have some freaking clue right now.
If it was his own body, Zangetsu would take care of it.
Ichigo froze, thinking that through. Eating Hisagi had allowed him to hear Hisagi's voice. If Hisagi ate him, would some of Zangetsu's abilities bleed over into Hisagi? Like the ability to heal rapidly?
Zangetsu?
It was Ossan who answered. Zangetsu is not awake to ask and I do not know the answer. However, should you wish to try it, I can prevent undue damage to the tissues.
But not the pain. Though that, Ichigo could live with. "How much do you reckon I need to cut off?" he asked, looking around for something sharp. "A hand?" One of the scythes lay on the ground several yards away. Ichigo scrambled over to pick it up.
Since Zangetsu will be unable to regenerate anything for quite some time, I would suggest starting with something a little smaller, Ossan replied pointedly. Perhaps a finger?
"A finger, right, yeah, that makes sense." Laying the scythe awkwardly across his lap, Ichigo gripped it in one hand and lined up his other. The little finger would be best. But would he need all of it or just the the top?
Something a bit like laughter, but really really wasn't, bubbled in his chest.
If he just cut off the top joint, he'd be able to pass as one of Iba-neesan's boys.
Fuck.
The laugh turned into a choked-back sob of panic. He was really gonna do this. He had to do this. If he didn't do this, Hisagi was going to die, and it wasn't like he hadn't been badly hurt before. Between the fight with Zaraki and Kurotsuchi's tortures, he was the freaking expert in painful injuries.
But there was a difference between someone else cutting off your body parts and deliberately doing it to yourself. Even when you knew they'd grow back later.
His hands were trembling. Letting go of the scythe, Ichigo shook them out, puffed out a breath and tried again. This time it was going to happen. Just hold the blade still and slice-
"Ow, shit!" he yelped as someone yanked the scythe away, gouging a deep cut across the back of his hand as they did so.
"P-please don't injure yourself for no reason, Shiba-sama," the yanker said and Ichigo knew that voice, and the lack of reiatsu signature that went with it.
He looked over at the hooded figure now stooping over Hisagi, their shaking hands glowing green. "Hanatarō?"
The little negator bobbed his head in acknowledgement. "I-I'm sorry I wasn't quicker, Shiba-sama, but the reiatsu…" The stuttered words trailed off into guilty silence and Ichigo knew better than to press for an explanation. If Hanatarō had been close by when he and Hisagi had been fighting, he'd probably been knocked sideways.
Finally letting some level of relief overwrite his concern, Ichigo shuffled over to see if there was anything he could do to help. Hanatarō was very obviously focused on trying to do something with Hisagi's legs, so Ichigo plopped onto the ground near his head and patted him awkwardly on the less injured shoulder.
"See," he said when Hisagi blinked up at him, "You should be nicer to people. You never know when you might need them."
Black and gold eyes flicked to Hanatarō and back. I would never be mean to Hanatarō-san, he said.
Ichigo snorted in amused disbelief. "Says the guy who nearly made him piss himself."
"That wasn't Hisagi-san," Hanatarō said, immediately. "His reiatsu was completely different."
Because that had been Kazeshini. "Does my reiatsu change when Zangetsu comes out?"
Another head bob. "Of course. Hollow reiatsu tastes very different to a shinigami's."
Taste. Ichigo's stomach rumbled at the reminder, though from hunger or nausea he couldn't tell any longer, and he gazed around the training grounds to try and distract himself.
It didn't work. His mind returned determinedly to Hanatarō's words. He'd forgotten that Hanatarō 'tasted' reiatsu like a hollow did. Originally Ichigo had thought it was a Quincy thing, since that was how it used to work for him, but now he wasn't so sure because when he consciously used only his Quincy abilities, reiatsu sensing was more like a second sight than either taste or smell. It left him wondering if whatever had been done to Hanatarō to make him a negator had involved hollows as well.
Urahara probably knew the answer. As would Kurotsuchi and Aizen. And Ichigo would rather cut every one of his own limbs off than ask any of them.
"I-I'm sorry, Shiba-sama," Hanatarō said suddenly, jerking Ichigo back from his scientist hate-fest. The little negator was kneeling beside Hisagi's legs as he'd been before, but his shoulders were slumped and his hands were no longer glowing green.
Panic immediately spiked through Ichigo before he realised he could still sense Hisagi's reiatsu. Not dead then. Thank crap.
Hanatarō was continuing. "I've done my best, but my skills aren't sufficient. I'm sorry, all I can do is save his life." He hung his head, like he had something to be ashamed of.
"Oi," Ichigo barked, "What have I told you about apologising for things that aren't your fault."
"N-not to do it?" Hanatarō stuttered, but he wasn't shaking, so Ichigo took that as a win.
"Absolutely. You saved someone's life. Without you, he'd have died. You've done good."
Please tell Hanatarō-san 'thank you' from me, Hisagi said quietly inside Ichigo's head. I'm very grateful for everything he's done.
"Oh and Hisagi says thanks," Ichigo added.
That earned him a flash of a smile, partially hidden beneath drooping skin, before Hanatarō turned to his patient. "It's nothing Hisagi-san. You do nice things for people all the time."
And that was getting a bit too touchy-feely for Ichigo. "So, what do we do now?" he asked. "I could get him to the 4th."
"I would highly recommend against that," a voice said from behind them.
Ichigo threw himself to his feet, reaching for the sword that he didn't have. Fuck! Kidō it was then. Both hands out and reiatsu building, he snapped, "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Well, I hate to point out the obvious, but these are my training grounds," Urahara replied, as he slipped off one of those annoying reiatsu suppressing cloaks. Beneath it he was dressed in plain shinigami blacks with no sign of his captain's haori. "Did you honestly think it wouldn't be monitored?"
Honestly, Ichigo hadn't even thought about it. He'd been too busy worrying about Hisagi. Still, he wasn't about to let that stop him. "Sōkatsui," he snarled on principle, letting the kidō rip.
As he'd expected, Urahara flicked it away with a casual gesture and simply gave him a raised eyebrow as if to say, that's the best you can do? It wasn't, and Urahara knew it. After all, he'd come off second best in the last fight they'd had.
Hey, Zangetsu, you up for round two?
Again it was Ossan who answered because, of course, how could Ichigo have forgotten. Zangetsu is unavailable right now. I, on the other hand, stand more than prepared to melt this particular shinigami's face off.
Strong words from the Quincy. Then again, it had been him who Urahara had effectively torpedoed when he'd hollowfied Zangetsu and set him free, so yeah, no wonder Ossan was holding a grudge. Still, Ichigo didn't reckon much for his chances if he had to get close enough to touch Urahara, not when he had Benihime hanging from his belt.
But Urahara didn't have to know any of that.
Keeping his stance, Ichigo curled his lip. "Don't make me keep asking."
"You haven't actually asked anything-" Urahara began.
Ichigo lunged towards him, hands out, and Urahara danced back out of reach, a smile flitting across his lips. It had been a test, Ichigo realised, and he'd just failed, damn it. Urahara now knew exactly how weak he currently was.
"Well, since you asked so nicely," Urahara continued, smile becoming a smirk, "I'm here because I saw the pair of you fighting and I was fairly certain at least one of you would be in need of my services." He glanced pointedly at Hisagi. "Nor was I wrong."
"We don't need help from someone who turns people into hollows," Ichigo shot back, his distrust of Urahara temporarily overcoming his worry for Hisagi. Worst case scenario, he'd carry the guy to the 4th himself.
"It's a little late for that, for both of you, and the negator is a completely unsuitable candidate."
"He's called Hanatarō," Ichigo ground out.
Urahara's smirk widened. Another test, another failure on Ichigo's part. He'd forgotten what it was like talking to this man. Resisting the urge to simply stomp over there and punch him, Ichigo said grudgingly, "Can you help him?"
Again Urahara's gaze strayed to Hisagi. "Probably," he said, and then added, "For a price."
That punch idea was looking better and better. "After what you did, you owe me so fucking much you'll still be paying it off next century," Ichigo growled.
Urahara's brows rose. "Such a short payment plan. My, you must really enjoy- Ow!"
It had been just a fist, not even reiatsu assisted, and lacking even a hint of Quincy power, but by all the gods it felt so good. Watching Urahara press fingers to his nose, Ichigo grimaced a smile. "You can look at him," he said, "But I swear, you do anything bad to him, I will eat you next."
All pretence of amusement dropped from Urahara's expression as he lowered his hand. He tipped his head, doing that thing where his eyes suddenly seemed shadowed. "Understood, Shiba-san. Though in return I would ask that you don't leave this place until I say you can."
"You're keeping me prisoner?" Ichigo shot back. Not that he wanted to leave, but there was a difference between wanting to go and not being allowed.
"Not as such," Urahara replied. "More asking for an extension of the licence you gave Yoruichi-san. The alternative would be for you to return immediately to the Senzaikyū."
"No," Ichigo replied without hesitation. "I'm not going back there." Tsukishima and Kurotsuchi had already got to him in there. If he went back, he'd be a sitting duck.
"Which is your only choice, should you refuse to remain here." Urahara raised his hands in surrender. "Currently no-one out there apart from me knows that you're here. Should you leave, that will surely change and then Kyōraku will insist, I'm afraid, and I have no means to argue against him."
Ichigo heaved a sigh. Gods but he hated this man so damned much. "Fine, I'll stay-" Urahara opened his mouth to speak, so Ichigo added, "And I'll make sure the others do too. Though Hisagi isn't in a fit state to go anywhere."
"Which is an excellent cue for me to start treating him, don't you think?" Urahara beamed, and thus the frilly fool was back. Ichigo wanted to strangle him. Instead he stood aside and let Urahara get to Hisagi. The scientist knelt at Hisagi's side and then surprised Ichigo by saying gently, "Hello, Shūhei-kun. How are you?"
"You know him?" Ichigo demanded, striding forward.
Urahara glanced up. "How else did you think he knew about this place," he said dryly.
Ichigo looked around. It hadn't actually occurred to him to wonder, and it kind of took the wind out of his protest sails to have that pointed out. "I dunno. I guess…. I guess I just thought that most people did?" Everyone Ichigo knew seemed to anyway.
"It's true that there's a great many more in the know since you came on the scene, but it's still not quite everyone, yet," Urahara said, a hint of amusement in his voice as he began checking Hisagi's injuries. The stump he only gave a cursory once over before turning to the mess that was Hisagi's legs. Tutting under his breath, Urahara produced a cloth parcel from inside his shihakushō and unrolled it. As he did so, he asked, "Do I need to restrain you?"
For a second, Ichigo thought Urahara was talking to him, but no, it was Hisagi the question was aimed at.
Hisagi, who'd draped his remaining arm over his face, made a series of sharp gestures at which Urahara nodded. "So long as you're sure. I don't think either of us wants a visit from your less co-operative alter ego."
He had to mean Kazeshini. Ichigo hadn't even considered that he'd make a reappearance.
Hisagi made the same gestures again, and this time Urahara seemed to accept his argument. In any case, he laid the cloth on the ground. Inside were a selection of what looked like surgical instruments and he carefully selected a pair of long pointed tweezers. To get the cloth out of the wounds, Ichigo hazarded, because even he knew that you could heal something up with that much gunk inside.
But that was going to hurt and Urahara hadn't mentioned painkillers. They tended not to in Seireitei in Ichigo's experience. Which was great if all you had was a broken bone which was going to be healed up really quick, but those legs… Ichigo wanted to cringe just looking at them. It was going to be unbearable, even for someone as stoic as Hisagi, and the best Ichigo could offer him was a bit of distraction. But would Hisagi even want that, or would he find Ichigo being there intrusive?
"Shiba-san, your negator friend has healing kidō, does he not?" Urahara asked suddenly.
Ichigo jerked, his attention zooming back to Urahara, and Hanatarō, who'd gone missing again. "Yeah. It was him who stopped Hisagi bleeding out." Where the hell was he anyway? Ichigo hunted around, quickly sensing Hanatarō's tell-tale lack of presence off behind a nearby stone outcrop.
"And an admirable job he made of it, however I will need his help with the rest."
"I'll go fetch him," Ichigo said, swallowing hard as Urahara carefully tugged a scrap of black cloth out of Hisagi's leg. There were bits of flesh attached to it. On second thoughts, maybe he didn't blame his dad for flunking out of medical school after all.
"You do that," Urahara replied, going in for another piece. "And while you're at it, perhaps you can find some clothes to wear. The nude look is somewhat distracting."
Heat shot to Ichigo's cheeks. How had he managed to forget that he wasn't wearing anything? It was Urahara's fault, he decided as he stalked off, blushing furiously. The guy always rattled him with his smart mouth and double think. No wonder it had slipped his mind.
He found Hanatarō behind the outcrop, digging through a brown leather bag, the one that Ichigo had bought him to replace the one he'd lost when the 13th went up in flames.
The fact that he had it with him told Ichigo that his presence here was more than just a day trip. "You okay?" Ichigo asked.
Hanatarō paused for a moment before resuming his search. "I'm fine, Shiba-sama, thank you very much for asking," he replied quietly, delving deeper into the bag. A second later he pulled out a blue and white star-patterned yukata, which he held out to Ichigo. "I'm sorry it won't fit you properly, but it's all I have."
"No, that's great," Ichigo said, reaching for the yukata. Seeing the state of his hands, he hesitated. "Erm, I shouldn't. I'll ruin it. I'm kind of covered in blood."
"Shiba-sama, I knew that when I offered it to you." Going by that tone of voice, if Hanatarō had had eyes, he'd have been rolling them.
Ichigo took the yukata without anymore argument. Sure enough, it was way too small, if he so much as breathed he was going to rip the shoulders out, so he ended up wrapping it around his waist as a kind of short skirt. Not exactly stylish, but better than letting it all hang out like he had been.
"Hey," he said as he tied it off, a sudden thought occurring, "Any chance you could grab me some clean stuff from the house later? Bring it here for me."
Hanatarō was back in his bag, and at Ichigo' words, his shoulders hunched even higher than usual. There was something bothering him. Something about the estate or the 6th.
Trying not to sound worried, Ichigo said, "Things get so bad at home that you had to move out?"
Apparently he failed on some level because Hanatarō folded in on himself, stuttering, "N-no, Yoruichi-sama has been very thoughtful and kind."
"But?" Ichigo prompted after a long moment of silence, because no way was that story complete.
More silence, then so quietly that Ichigo had to strain to hear, "She was very busy, so Soifon-fukutaichō has taken over the day to day running of the division."
That would be the same Soifon who'd beaten Hanatarō for withholding information during the attempted coup, and broken Hisana's jaw. Everything was now clear. And fuck Yoruichi for doing that to his people anyway. "No wonder you left then," Ichigo said bitterly. "I'd have gone too, if she was giving the orders."
"You… would?" Hanatarō said hopefully, head lifting as he turned towards Ichigo.
Honestly, he'd probably put her down like he had the last time, but he wasn't Hanatarō. Grasping the negator's shoulder, Ichigo gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Absolutely. Plus, you knew I'd be back, and then you'd have come home, right?"
"Yes, definitely, Shiba-sama! I love it at the 6th. It's my home now."
"Mine too," Ichigo replied, though that wasn't strictly true. Home for Ichigo would always be wherever his lovers and the rest of his family were. Which should be Karakura right now, if Chad had done his job properly.
Hanatarō seemed about to say more when Urahara carolled, "Oh Shiba-san!"
At the sound of his voice, Hanatarō froze. Ichigo gave him a concerned look and asked, "You okay?"
"Y-yes," Hanatarō stuttered, clutching the knees of his hakama in his customary tell of fear. "But I-I…" He gasped. "His reiatsu… Shiba-sama, have you tasted him?"
He must have done when Zangetsu was fighting him, but Ichigo couldn't remember it. "No," he said. "But I'll take a stab and say he's not all sunshine and puppies."
A shudder ran through Hanatarō and he hunched forward. "He tastes of sharp things, twisting and cutting."
That sounded about right. Honestly, Ichigo was surprised that half of the Gotei didn't taste like that. He said as much.
Hanatarō looked up at him, his hood dropping back enough that the folds of skin where his face used to be were clearly visible. "Oh no," he said. "Most of them don't taste like that at all."
Only the ones who cut people up, like Kurotsuchi and Urahara. Maybe Unohana too, given that Hanatarō had been created by the 4th, though Ichigo would never dare ask.
Then there was Aizen. But he didn't count, because even his reiatsu lied.
"Sometime soon, if you would, Shiba-san!" Urahara carolled again, and he was starting to sound insistent.
"How about if I stick with you," Ichigo asked, glancing towards where Urahara was still working on Hisagi. He was loathe to not answer Urahara's call since Urahara probably wouldn't have asked for Hanatarō's help if he didn't need it. But he was equally reluctant to make Hanatarō face someone who terrified him.
But when he looked back, Hanatarō was already moving, albeit slowly. "You d-don't have to. Not just for me. I know you don't like him either."
"You're right, I don't like the guy, but it's not just for you. Hisagi's my friend. I'm not gonna leave him there alone for any longer than I have to." No more than he'd leave Hanatarō. Not that the little guy would let fear stop him. In Ichigo's experience, Hanatarō managed to achieve more terrified out of his mind than most people did normally.
Together, they made their way back over to Hisagi, who was as naked now as Ichigo had been. What was left of his clothes was reduced to a pile of rags beside him. Urahara flicked a quick glance up at them when they arrived. "Ah good," he said, putting aside a long metal tool and picking up one that looked a bit like a stapler. "Negator-san, please heal as I connect things back together."
Ichigo, deciding that he didn't want to know, gave Hanatarō an encouraging pat on the back and went to say hi to the speaking end of Hisagi, if Hisagi could actually speak that is. "How are you doing?" he asked, hunkering down to try and preserve what was left of his modesty. When the yukata rode up anyway, Ichigo gave up and simply plopped down beside Hisagi. They could be semi-naked together.
Hisagi still had his arm over his face and was breathing heavily, but he still managed to flash a lopsided smile up at Ichigo. I'm okay, he said, though the sweat on his upper lid told a different story. He was hurting and trying not to let it show. Having been there, Ichigo knew that if painkillers weren't an option, distraction was the next best thing. Renji had been the go-to guy for that. He always managed to annoy Ichigo into focusing on him instead of whatever was being done. So, as an opening gambit, Ichigo tried, "How come you and the creep know each other?"
"He used to live here," Urahara said, at the same moment as Hisagi replied, He was the one who got me out of the camps.
"What! Why?" blurted Ichigo, because really, Urahara did not seem the type to adopt random children from Rukongai.
"So I could keep an eye on him. Back then, he had some very promising reiryoku readings," Urahara said, as if that explained anything.
Though, knowing Seireitei's scientists, maybe it did. "He was your lab rat!" It wasn't even a question. It didn't need to be.
Nor did Urahara try and deny it. "Hardly a rat. More…" he cocked his head slightly, "a potentially useful demi-demon."
"Demon?" Ichigo repeated in confusion.
He's talking about Kazeshini. Urahara-san has a fascination with zanpakutō which might be related to deities.
The guy had the hots for gods. Somehow that came as absolutely no surprise.
"Of a kind," Urahara was saying as if Ichigo was having this conversation with him. "Though it turned out to be a minor creature, of no particular significance. Now then, negator-san, healing here, if you would be so kind."
Hanatarō's hands glowed green, and Hisagi tensed. Ichigo needed get his attention, quickly, but every time he spoke to the guy, Urahara answered for him, and distracting Urahara right this second seemed like a monumentally bad idea. So, turning his back on Urahara, Ichigo directed his thoughts inward and said, Can you hear me if I talk like this?
Yeah, Hisagi answered tightly. But don't tell Urahara-san.
Ichigo hadn't been planning to since even he'd twigged that the guy had no idea it was happening, but he agreed anyway and followed it up with, So he's the one who hollowfied you, huh.
Kind of. It's complicated.
That came out through mentally gritted teeth. Ichigo risked a glance behind him and saw fresh blood on Urahara's hands. He looked away again. Complicated how?
The pain in Hisagi's voice was palpable when he replied, Because he did it to fix me, and because I asked him to do it.
If being turned into a hollow was the fix, Ichigo didn't want to think what the problem had been.
I was turning anyway, in bits and pieces. It was the eyes. They were like an infection neither of us could fight against and fucking hell, I'm gonna kill this bastard if he doesn't stop right now! Hisagi's whole body went rigid with pain for the longest moment before going slack with relief. Either that or he passed out. Ichigo couldn't tell.
Putting his stapler thing to one side, Urahara sat back. "All finished. Thank you very much for all your help, negator-san."
Hanatarō dipped his head politely, but didn't speak. It was left up to Ichigo to point at the open mangled mess that was still Hisagi's legs and say, "You can't just leave them like that. What about dressings? Or sewing him up or-"
"Patience, Shiba-san!" Urahara carolled in that really smug tone he had when he knew something you didn't and he was going to lord it over you every step of the way. And yes it did annoy Ichigo, thank you very much. One of these days he was going to kill the guy for it on principle.
But not today.
"The zanpakutō next, I think. If you could bring it over please, Shiba-san?"
Ichigo scowled but did as he was asked, picking up the scythe and carrying back to Hisagi, who still seemed to be out cold, even though Urahara was shaking him and calling his name. "Ah, thank you," Urahara said, taking the scythe and hefting it in one hand. With his other, he conjured a small ball of white kidō and, without hesitating, smacked it into the blade.
Hisagi practically levitated off the ground, a snarl twisting his lips, black and gold eyes narrowed with vicious temper. Not Hisagi; Kazeshini. Ichigo took a step back. Not so Urahara, who held his ground when the hollowfied spirit lunged for him, and failed to connect when Hisagi's legs refused to move. Urahara must have done something to immobilise them.
"There you are," Urahara said calmly, holding up the scythe. "I know you hate being in that body when it's injured but Shūhei can't seal this and he needs the extra reiryoku for healing, so if you could oblige…"
Another snarl and inside his head Ichigo heard, Fucking shitheaded bastard. Gonna rip him up, tear him down, break him apart, smash his bones to pieces. Gonna-
"Whoa!" Ichigo took another step back, this one to try and put some distance inside his head as well as out. He'd thought Zangetsu was bad, but he was a poster boy for polite compared to Kazeshini.
"If you don't do it, I'll break the blade," Urahara was saying.
That brought on another round of cursing, which ended with, Can't do it without fucking permission. You, gimme permission to seal the blade now before I rip your fucking face off.
Since black and gold eyes had landed on him, Ichigo guessed he was the one being spoken to. You can seal it, he said, adding a hurried, Please, because he really didn't want to antagonise this character any more than he already had. What would it be like to have this living inside your head? He was starting to understand how come Hisagi was scared of his zanpakutō spirit, though not why Kazeshini was the one in charge.
Because he refused to fight, Kazeshini snarled. So I pinned the cowardly little shit down and carved it into his fucking ugly face!
Hisagi's body slumped. At the same moment, the scythe in Urahara's hands collapsed back into a simple katana, what was left of the blade chipped up something fierce. Ichigo stared between it and the brutal scars on Hisagi's face, facts and memories rearranging themselves in his horrified mind. Urahara had taken Hisagi from the camps as a child because he was powerful. Under his training, shikai would have come easily, but bankai, that was something different. According to Byakuya, manifesting a zanpakutō spirit took training and commitment and countless hours sitting jinzen. You couldn't just force it-
Unless you were Urahara with a contraption that could drag a spirit out into the world and make the fight happen, whether someone was ready for it or not.
And then there was that conversation Ichigo had had with Yoruichi before he'd entered the training grounds for a dose of Urahara's special bankai training himself. 'How many people have survived this,' he'd asked her. 'Two,' she'd said, not counting Urahara himself.
Had Hisagi been one of them? Could you even call it survival, trapped inside his own mind as an adjunct to a murderous zanpakutō spirit that had used its own blade to carve out its wielder's eyes when he'd backed out of a fight he hadn't wanted in the first place. No wonder Hisagi was terrified of it.
"Who was the other one?" Ichigo demanded without thinking.
Urahara, who was clearing up rags and instruments, flashed an odd look in Ichigo's direction. "Other who?"
He knew and he knew Ichigo knew, he was just being an ass. Gritting his teeth, Ichigo growled, "Poor bastard who 'survived' your damned bankai machine." He didn't bother making air quotes, his tone said everything it needed to.
Urahara's hands faltered for a moment, then he said in that sing-song tone, "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Shiba-san-erk!"
There might be rules against drawing a sword on another Captain, but there wasn't against shaking one till his teeth rattled. Ichigo tightened his hold on Urahara's shihakushō, yanked him up until they were nose to nose, and snarled, "Answer me."
Urahara grabbed his wrist, and the world moved. Up became down, Ichigo's feet vanished from under him and he smacked face-first into the ground, arm up behind him, thumb bent and stretched and, "Ow, fuck! You bastard!"
"Manners, Shiba-san," Urahara replied, and there was a note in his voice that Ichigo recognised from his dad. This far and no further. You've crossed a line.
Since Ichigo didn't actually want to start a real fight with Urahara - for starters he wouldn't stand a chance with Zangetsu out of action - he smacked the ground with his free hand in the universal sign of giving up. Urahara released him immediately but didn't move, which meant that when Ichigo rolled over, he was still there, crouched above Ichigo, gazing down at him.
"What did Yoruichi-san tell you?" he asked once they were facing each other.
Ichigo glared up into grey eyes that were now more curious than angry and huffed, "That there were two others apart from you. Three, I guess, now." If he included himself.
"And you still came?" Urahara stood up and moved away. "I'm impressed, Shiba-san. Those were terrible odds to risk."
Ichigo levered up into a sit. "I was desperate, alright, otherwise I'd have told you where to shove it." He snorted as the memory of how difficult that decision had been to make came back to him. "No, I wouldn't even have sent the damned letter."
"And yet you did."
"Yeah, and gave you a chance to turn me into a fucking monster."
Urahara raised his hand and drew it across his face. As it passed, a mask formed, pure white, but for the red-lipped grinning mouth. It held for a second before dissolving again. "That part I was fairly sure would work," he said, turning away. "Despite your Quincy heritage. The bankai was more of a risk."
"Why've you got it anyway?" Ichigo asked. "That machine. I mean, there can't be that many people who need to make bankai in three days."
Urahara graced him with shrug. "You'd be surprised," he said. "But that's not the tenshintai's primary purpose. Simply a useful side application."
What other use could a thing like that have? Dragging out a zanpakutō spirit and forcing it to stay manifested.
Put like that though, it kind of reminded Ichigo of something.
A page from a book Byakuya had shown him rose in Ichigo's mind, of an androgynous robed figure standing beside a Kuchiki with the kenseiken in his hair. "It does what Kōga used to do," he realised, with a disbelieving head-shake. Fixing Urahara with an interrogative stare, he said, "Is it used for the same thing?"
Urahara inclined his head non-commitally, "It has that potential, but it's less reliable than Kuchiki Kōga's zanpakutō. After all its design was based purely on hearsay and secondhand accounts, since Muramasa itself was already dead."
That dated its invention pretty accurately. It was recent, very recent in Seireitei terms. "You invented it to replace him," Ichigo said, stringing together facts that seemed to make sense.
Another vague head movement. Honestly having a conversation with this guy was impossible. The number of layers was stupid. Ichigo returned to Hisagi's side, watching as Urahara continued tidying away the pile of rags. The alternative use for the tenshintai didn't bother him that much. As interrogation methods went, it beat thumbscrews every day of the week. But there were some details that made no sense. For starters, why hadn't they used the thing on Renji when he'd been accused of trying to kill Byakuya?
Because Renji had bankai. That had to be the answer. If you could manifest the spirit yourself, then it wouldn't work. Was Kōga's ability the same, or was that what Urahara meant by the tenshintai not being as reliable.
Hisagi stirred. Ichigo's attention was back on him in a flash, a hand resting on his good shoulder. "Hey," he said, "You back with us?"
Black and gold eyes that were once again sane and rational, rolled slightly. Of course I am. This part's my job.
Dealing with the pain and the healing, Ichigo guessed. And yeah, he couldn't see someone like Kazeshini enjoying that bit very much. "This and making tea, huh."
Hisagi frowned. He's been here, hasn't he. Do I need to apologise?
"Not for anything he said, no. He's not you, so why should you?"
As Ichigo spoke, Hisagi's gaze flicked to something over Ichigo's left shoulder. Then Urahara said, "If you're both finished chatting, we do need to get on."
"No." Ichigo stood, deliberately put himself between Urahara and Hisagi, arms folded across his chest. "You're not doing anything without his say-so. He's not your lab-rat anymore."
"Then what is he, Shiba-kun?" Urahara snapped with some level of exasperation. "I'll tell you, shall I? A crippled half-hollow who'll never walk again if you don't get out of the way and let me finish healing him!"
That was about the only thing Urahara could have said to get Ichigo to move. Even so, he didn't let his guard down. Instead, as he stepped out of the way, he shot back an accusing, "You said you'd done everything you could."
"In terms of stabilising, yes," Urahara replied, crouching to examine Hisagi's legs. To Ichigo's untutored eye, they looked almost the same as before, but Urahara must have noticed a difference because, after a moment, he hummed thoughtfully, and muttered, "Better, but not good enough."
"I-I can heal some more if you need me to, Urahara-taichō-san," Hanatarō stuttered. He was bowing deeply, clutching his hakama again, and looked on the verge of bolting. It was amazing really that he'd hung around for as long as he had.
Urahara stood up and levelled a long look at the little negator, long enough that Ichigo could see Hanatarō starting to shiver. The bastard was only doing it to intimidate him, which was beyond mean when the only thing Hanatarō had done was volunteer to help. Just as Ichigo was on the verge of telling him to back the hell off, Urahara's expression broke into a beaming smile and every bit of that odd intimidating tension drained out of him, replaced once again by the frilly fool.
"No, no," he carolled. "There's no point in you draining your limited reiatsu, negator-san." With a careless wave of his hand, he strode off, calling back over his shoulder, "Make yourself useful, Shiba-san, and bring the patient this way, if you please."
All Ichigo could do was gape after him. What the hell was the idiot playing at now? Unless… Wasn't the exit that way? Was Urahara finally planning on taking Hisagi to the 4th?
No, came Hisagi's voice, tired and defeated. He's talking about the healing springs.
"There's a healing springs?" Ichigo turned towards him. Hisagi had his arm draped over his face again, making him look the very picture of misery. "And at a guess, you don't want to go," Ichigo hazarded.
One shoulder, the good one, shrugged slightly. I guess I don't have much choice.
That wasn't an answer that Ichigo was prepared to accept. "You've always got a choice. Do you want me to take you to the 4th, or find Yamada-fukutaichō again, because I can do that."
Hisagi grimaced. Urahara won't want Yamada in here, and Unohana-taichō doesn't let me in the 4th. He sounded so resentful and petulant that for a moment Ichigo was reminded of dealing with his sisters.
"Hanatarō then. He managed to stop the bleeding before."
"Y-yes. I'm happy to try again, Hisagi-san, if you need me to-"
Hisagi cut him off with a decisive head-shake. No. He'd be useless for this. He hasn't got enough reiatsu.
No way was Ichigo passing that on. It'd knock Hanatarō's self-confidence sideways. He tried again. "What about Kira. He already knows about this place-"
Just… just take me to the springs, Hisagi snapped. And stop being so nice. He began struggling to sit up. I don't need your pity.
"Hey!" Ichigo grabbed him, half to help and half just to make his point. "This isn't about pity, this is about you being a person and getting a choice about what happens to you."
Except I'm not a person. I'm half of a monster and the minute I'm fixed he'll send me back inside again and then he'll just kill and kill and- The words ended in a choked off moan, and Hisagi hunched over. I hate it. I hide in there and try to forget that out here even exists, but I can't! He won't let me! He drags me out and makes me see what he's done, makes me handle the fall-out and then laughs in my face when I get scared or upset and I hate him! I hate him so fucking much! Why can't he just leave me alone!
Pushed back on his heels with the force of Hisagi's outburst, Ichigo let him cool off for a second before saying quietly, "Have you tried talking to him about it?"
The look he got from Hisagi was poisonous. And yeah, he probably deserved that. Having experienced Kazeshini's attitude earlier, he didn't seem like the most rational of people. Yet he'd been fine with the junior version of Hisagi. The kid had even gone back into the woods to find him again, so he couldn't be all bad.
But what did Ichigo know. He was no expert at zanpakutō/shinigami relations. Dragging his thoughts away from any more speculation, he offered Hisagi a hand up and with Hanatarō's help managed to at least get Hisagi upright. From there, Ichigo was able to hoist Hisagi up over his shoulder into a fireman's carry. It wasn't the most comfortable for any of them, too much naked skin for one thing, but with Hisagi's legs so badly damaged and his stump only partially healed, it was about the only way to carry him without causing too much more pain.
The hot spring was tucked behind a towering rock formation several hundred yards beyond the entrance ladder. Urahara was waiting for them, standing knee-deep, pants rolled up. They eased Hisagi down into the water, which steamed pleasantly hot and smelled faintly sweet. It also had to be circulating somehow, because the slew of bloody water immediately dissipated, and the pool remained as clear as a bell.
Even so, Ichigo gave the whole set-up a doubtful once-over. It didn't exactly look special. Actually, it looked like any number of mountain onsen back in the living world that claimed to have healing powers. "I don't see how this is going to help," he said. "Healing springs are great if you've got a strained muscle but those injuries need a bit more than a long soak."
"That's because you've never experienced these springs for yourself," Urahara replied, removing the tourniquet from Hisagi's arm before climbing out of the pool himself. Hisagi grimaced, moving the stump back and forth before lowering it gingerly into the steaming pool. After watching him carefully for a moment, Urahara nodded and said, "Right, Shuuhei-kun. Keep soaking it. At least an hour, to start with."
He was rolling his hakama back down, which meant he was probably leaving. "Hang on," Ichigo said, "You never told me who the other survivor was."
Urahara glanced up. "No, I didn't, did I," he said brightly. "Nor do I plan to. There is such a thing as research confidentiality, you know, Shiba-san." Then, with a jaunty half-wave, he stepped into shunpo, leaving an amused, "Have fun boys. I'll be back later," in his wake.
Clamping his teeth closed around some choice comments that he was oh so tempted to scream after the smug bastard, Ichigo waited for his temper to cool some before stripping off his yukata-skirt. By then Hanatarō had taken a seat on the rocks around the edge of the pool and had his knees tucked up under his chin, his arms wrapped around them.
Leaving him to his thoughts, Ichigo headed for the opposite side of the pool to Hisagi, who cut a creepily silent figure just sitting there, gaze fixed firmly on the water lapping around him. If it was doing anything at all, the results had to be invisible, because Ichigo couldn't see any changes to his legs or his stump. Then again, they were all significant wounds. Maybe it'd just take time.
He slid into the pool, feet first, gasping at the heat and then the slight fizz against his skin. A heartbeat later, the fizz became a burn and suddenly blinding terror - not his own, Zangetsu's - swamped him, visceral and too real, of acid eating him away from the outside in until there was nothing left but bones swimming in Ichigo soup-
Relax, it's only water.
It wasn't much, just Ossan's voice, but it was enough to jerk him back from the edge. Ichigo open his eyes and found himself half-submerged in the pool, staring at the sky. He panted, waiting for his pounding heart to slow a little and then slowly sat up, raising a hand clear of the water, just to be sure. The skin was fine. In fact, it was better than fine. The slice that the scythe had gouged across the back of his hand was gone, with only a slight pinkish scar left to show it had ever been there.
"It heals!" he blurted, which yes, Urahara had been trying to tell him that, but… Urahara! The guy was a liar and a manipulator, so Ichigo wasn't exactly about to trust him on anything. But he did seem to be right about this. "Hey," he said, turning to Hisagi, "Your legs. Will it heal them up properly? What about your arm?"
Hisagi's gaze lifted for second, black and gold set amongst deep scars, and Ichigo flinched. It hadn't healed those properly, so of course it wouldn't regenerate his arm. If it could do that, then he could have got rid of the hollow eyes a long time ago.
Crap. Ichigo's heart sunk in sudden realisation. Hisagi might hate Kazeshini, but it was the zanpakutō spirit's prowess in the Pits that kept Hisagi in his job at the 5th, and Ichigo couldn't see Hirako having much time for a lieutenant with one arm that couldn't fight properly. Was that what was bothering him so much?
"You know," he said, a bit tentatively because the last thing Hisagi needed was Ichigo trampling all over his insecurities even more than he had done already, "If Hirako chucks you out, you can come to the 6th."
Now Hisagi just looked deeply confused. Why would taichō- Oh, right. You mean this. He glanced down, lifting the stump, This won't be a problem. Taichō'll just send me to the 12th for a bit, or back to Aizen.
"Fuck off!" Ichigo shot back immediately. "I told you, I'll take you. You can become Shiba, like Hanatarō's going to." The strangled squawk from the negator suggested he maybe should have mentioned that bit to Hanatarō first before telling anyone else, but Ichigo wasn't about to let that stop him. "I mean it. I'm fed up with the bastards in this place using people and then just dumping them when it gets inconvenient. Or screwing them over some other way. You don't do that with people."
Hisagi was shaking his head, but there was a small smile just visible on his face. You're on trial for your life, your clan's on the verge of being destroyed again, and you're still handing out offers to monsters. You're insane, Shiba-taichō.
"Eh, you're not the first person to say that." Ichigo shrugged. "Renji's always telling me I'm mad for trying to change things."
That dragged an honest to god laugh out of Hisagi. Like he's a one to talk. You two totally deserve each other. I couldn't believe it when I heard he'd finally signed up to the Gotei.
"You knew Renji before?" Ichigo asked, enthusiastically. He vaguely remembered Renji saying something about that, but none of the details had stuck, and just having the chance to talk about one of his lovers with someone who wouldn't condemn them out of hand was amazing.
Black and gold eyes, full of human warmth rose to meet Ichigo's steady gaze. I sure did. He was a little spitfire back at the camps. Always in trouble for something. I could tell you some stories…
Ichigo sank back into the warm healing waters of the spring, his whole being starting to unwind, and said, "Well, I've got acres of time to listen."
"Achoo!" Renji groaned as a sneeze rattled his poor sore brain, and he yanked the covers over his head. They stank of sex, which fit perfectly with the way the rest of him felt. Funny, he didn't remember Byakuya and him starting to fuck again, but this deep muscle ache that spoke of things being stretched and used in all the right ways was unmistakable. Then again, going by the equally unmistakable throbbing in his head, they'd probably got drunk before they did it. Not a bad move really. And it was about time they tried. Byakuya had been on his best behaviour recently and Renji had been getting fed up with nothing but his right hand for company.
A shrill trilling sound started up somewhere near his feet. Renji did his best to ignore it till it went away, which it did after a minute or two, only to start up again a few minutes later, just as he was on the cusp of some more much needed sleep. It kind of sounded like an alarm, except it was more like a phone and- Crap!
Renji scrambled for the phone, his mind bouncing from trouble at the club to appointments missed. He picked it up and aimed for 'Moshi moshi?' What actually came out was more of a,"Mlorgh?" as his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. There was silence at the other end of the line for a second and then a woman's voice said tentatively, "Room 212?"
212? Renji tried to parse what the hell she was on about. Was he supposed to be at a room 212? The club didn't have numbers like that, in fact the only place he knew that did was the hospital and… Had he fallen asleep there?
"Sir?" She was starting to sound a bit annoyed.
Painfully, Renji opened his eyes. The phone was on the bed in front of him, and printed on it in nice clear numbers was 212. "Er, yeah. Yeah, I'm 212."
It still wasn't clear, but apparently it was good enough for the woman. Brightening up no end, she chirruped, "This is your requested wake-up call, sir. The time is eight thirty, and there is half an hour before the room must be vacated."
Vacated. This still wasn't making any sense.
The phone went dead. Renji hung up his end and squinted around. The room was pretty ordinary with bland cream coloured walls and several large windows all down one wall. Probably a hotel, but utterly unfamiliar to him.
Where the hell was he?
Head throbbing, he slid off the bottom of the bed; apparently he'd been sleeping in it upside down; drew back pale golden curtains and stared out of the window. The street below was busy with the kind of morning crowds he expected to see around Shinjūku, which was no help at all, but the building opposite was a sentō and he recognised the sign. Now Renji knew where he was, or thought he might, because that sentō was opposite Purrfection, a cat-themed hostess bar, and he was pretty sure that above the club in the same building was a hotel.
Okay, that answered the where. Now he just had to work out why and how.
But, first things first. Letting the curtain drop, Renji turned and staggered back across the room towards a door that he really hoped was a bathroom.
It was, and after pissing for an age and having a quick slurp of water, he leaned on the sink and peered at himself in the mirror. Crap, his eyes were like pissholes in the snow, and when he tipped his head to get a better angle, his neck looked like he'd been on the losing end of a fight with a vacuum cleaner.
He growled slightly under his breath and dipped to splash water over his face again. As if he didn't have enough problems with people staring at his tattoos. Byakuya was so going to pay for that when he got back from wherever he'd buggered off to.
The sentō probably. And he'd better bring tea back with him, because this hangover wasn't shifting for anything less than a decent shot of caffeine or three. Whatever they'd been doing, it must have included a doozy of a drinking spree, because Renji didn't remember a minute of it.
Back in the main room, he flopped backwards onto red silk sheets and closed his eyes, trying to recall the last thing he did remember. A fight, maybe? Him and Byakuya? No, him and Byakuya against… Mendori? That sounded right, and Renji had decked the guy, knocked him out cold, and then they'd…
He scrubbed his hands over his face. Gods, why was his memory so damned hazy?
They'd definitely got drunk and fucked, that much he was positive about. So, maybe they'd got a hotel room for the night after Akio chucked them out? Because he was pretty sure that decking her husband was a sacking offence.
Hang on. Husband? Renji's hands slid slowly down to his chin. Akio and Mendori were definitely married, he knew that, but he had absolutely no idea how he knew that.
A shiver ran through him. This didn't feel like a normal drunken blackout. Had someone been screwing with his memory? Could Byakuya…? No, he couldn't believe that. Which meant it had to be someone else. But who?
The Gotei? The Iba?
Crap, what if they'd missed him somehow and just grabbed Byakuya instead.
Renji started for the door before realising he wasn't dressed. Clothes first. He couldn't do anything naked.
Scouring the room, he spotted his stuff neatly folded on the chair next to the bed. He scrambled over and dragged on his jeans, only then noticing his phone on the bedside table, sitting atop a pink cardboard folder. There was no note, but he grabbed the phone as he sat down on the bed, switching it on and flicking through it because if Byakuya was just running errands, he might have tried to call.
The missed-call log was jam-packed, but all of the them were from someone called… Renji squinted at the name beside the number. Zommari? Who the hell was that, and why did it sound so familiar?
Not an Iba. The Quincy's lawyer? No, that was Goro or Goto or something like that. Still, Zommari was a name he'd heard before, he was sure.
He was about to try calling back, when the damned phone went off in his hand. Renji jumped, fumbled the thing, almost dropped it and finally managed to press answer with his thumb. This time his, "Moshi moshi," came out clearer.
"Renji! Oh, thank christ, I thought you were dead, man." The guy - Zommari? - on the other end of the line sounded close to tears.
"Erm, no, still alive," Renji replied hesitantly. Did this person know he was a shinigami? And where the hell had he met this Zommari before?
A handsome face, dark-skinned and topped by white blond hair, sprang into his mind. The taxi driver. Renji groaned, "You're that Zommari."
"What Zommari did you think I was?" Zommari said. "And where the hell have you been?"
What? "Since when?"
"Since we dropped you off two days ago, dipstick."
Renji blinked. That sounded like an insult. And if the taxi driver knew him well enough to call him names down the phone, he probably knew more about what was going on than - Hang on. "Two days? What day is it now?"
"Monday. You've been missing since you went to meet up with someone called Nic at Purrfection."
Nic, from the Red Iris? Renji started to get a bad feeling. "Not Byakuya?" he asked, because he'd definitely been fucking someone, and he'd kind of hoped it'd been him.
A desperate kind of a laugh came from the other end of the phone and Zommari said, "Nope, definitely not Byakuya. He's been here all the time." Somewhere in the background, a door slammed. "Look, I'm coming to get you. Where are you?"
It shouldn't be such a relief to have someone he hardly knew riding to the rescue, but it really really was. "In a hotel room above Purrfection."
"Sneaky-" Someone else spoke in the background. For a moment, Zommari's voice went muffled and Renji heard him speaking to someone, then he came through loud and clear again. "Okay. Crap. New plan. You got enough for the train?"
Renji quickly checked his pockets. His wallet was still there and so was the cash. Which was a relief. "Yeah?"
"Then I'll pick you up at Karakura station. An hour, hour and a half tops," Zommari replied. "And for fuck's sake, don't wander off with anyone else." Then he hung up.
Renji lowered the phone and stared at it for a moment. Two days. He was missing two whole days. He couldn't have slept that whole time, so what had he been doing. Or more to the point, who.
Not Byakuya, that was for certain. Nic then? The guy was okay, Renji guessed, but not really his type.
Tucking the phone in his pocket, Renji reached for his shirt and managed to snag the corner of the pink folder on the bedside. The contents spewed out onto the bed and from there to the floor. Renji stared at them in utter open-mouthed shock. They were photographs. At least twenty of them. Colour, lurid, intimate, and definitely of him. Having sex with someone - he picked a handful up - several someones. Guys, women, but none of them were recognisable. Whoever had taken the photos had made sure their faces were out of shot whereas Renji's…
Frantically he flipped through them. In every single image his face was there. Being fed a cock, his tongue out like he couldn't wait for more. Bracketed by slender thighs as he feasted on pussy, some guy fucking him from behind. Mouth on one woman's tit as he gripped the hips of another who was riding him.
He scooped more pictures off the floor and flicked through them with a growing sense of disbelief. It was him, definitely indisputably him, in this room, this very bed, he recognised the red sheets, but who were the others? And why couldn't he remember?!
Getting to the end of the photos, Renji let them all fall from his fingers and cradled his head in his hands. He felt like shit, and felt stupid for feeling like shit. It wasn't like this was the first time he'd had sex with multiple partners, or with people he didn't know, but always before he'd remembered doing it. This… this was horrible, a big blank space in his head and the only things he knew were what he could glean from the pictures. Like, one of the women had a tattoo of a hummingbird on her hip, and one of the others had short hair. That told him nothing. They could be anyone, but if he ever ran into them again, they'd know who he was, and Renji hated that, that feeling of vulnerability, of always being at a disadvantage. It made him feel… He scuffed a bare foot through the pictures. It made him feel like shit.
His foot found the file, hidden under all the photographs. Renji frowned at it. Attached to the inside of the front cover was one more picture and what looked like a note. He reached down and picked them up. The photo was of him again, grinning at the camera, a strap round his arm as a syringe plunged into the vein in his elbow.
Drugs. Was that why he couldn't remember anything?
He rubbed at his arm, like maybe he'd be able to feel something and, heart sinking, squinted at the scrawled handwriting.
Renji it said, spelled out in katakana. Enjoy the pictures. I had a blast taking them all. Don't worry though, that's just a sample. I have plenty of others, in case you're thinking about not upholding your part of the bargain. As we agreed, the goods will be at the club on Tuesday night from about eight, and you'd better be there too. If you don't turn up, the rest of the photos will be sent straight to the international press. I'm sure your boss will be overjoyed when his department's reputation gets flushed along with his career.
It was signed, Yours, an enthusiastic amateur photographer. And next to that was a flower.
Renji sat, reading and rereading the note. What goods? What bargain? What boss? He frowned. Was that photo supposed to be a clue of some kind? Did they mean drugs? And if they did, why? Renji had no use for drugs, and no money to buy any.
On the other hand, Renji was now pretty sure that Hanna was the one behind this… whatever it was. He knew from the evening he'd spent upstairs being her footstool that she was up to her neck in drugs and this was absolutely the kind of thing she'd pull. Plus, she'd kind of signed it, with the flower and all.
But that still didn't answer why she'd done this. Or what this deal was he was supposed to have made.
The phone rang, the hotel one. Renji jumped but managed to answer it. The same woman from before said, "I'm sorry, sir, but if you don't check out immediately, there will be another day to pay on the room."
"Right, yeah. I'll be straight down," Renji replied, pulling on his shirt as he hung up. He flinched as the cloth scraped across his back. Scratches on the scars, he'd seen them in the photos, and that more than anything made all this seem terrifyingly real.
Grabbing his shoes, he lunged for the door, almost colliding with a woman in the hallway pushing a trolley. The cleaner, who was going to clean the room and would see the pictures that Renji had left all over the floor. Feeling sick at the very idea, Renji muttered, "Sorry, forgot something," and slammed the door in her face.
It took only a second to shove all the pictures back into the folder, which he tucked inside his shirt so there was no chance of them getting lost. After a last check under the bed, he could finally leave, and honestly, he couldn't get away fast enough, because someone had rented Hanna and Nic this room, so someone here had to have known at least part of what was going on. And that… that made Renji feel like he had the biggest target ever painted right in the middle of his back.