Flowers From Hell
as Flowers bloom and fall
Summary for this chapter: Kurosaki seemed to be a metaphorical balm to anyone in need, the panacea of all past and present woes, to an almost fascinating degree. He healed his human friends' broken hearts with words. He mended ravaged soul reapers' mindscapes with actions.
He broke barriers with his scowl.
(Or: Yachiru and Tôshirô and the road to indiscrimination of other species)
We need more Yachiru and Tôshirô in our lives, tbh
the title of this chapter is the name of a piano song I'm listening to, absolutely beautiful, and very powerful, try it out
Still don't own 'em...
When Aizen had them close their eyes, and promised them that it would all be okay, they were fools to believe him.
As far as Yachiru could tell, they were the last of his experiments. He purposefully led them to believe that the Hollowfied captains and lieutenants had done this to them, and ran away from their achievements. They were pretty against the flow of nature, seeing as chimera ghouls were only created through inter-Rc-type reproduction, and they were made through the mashup of a bunch of Aizen's experimental Rc cells.
It was a fucking miracle they didn't die on the spot from the sudden excess of Rc cells.
She and Tôshirô never told anyone. It was a fool's errand to attempt it; they would have been captured, incarcerated, tortured, and executed for their crime of forced transfer of species. Somehow that had become a crime, to become another creature entirely.
They probably would have caught her earlier if she had let on that she was a zanpaku-tô spirit, as well. Thank God she knew how to act right.
They both actively withdrew from company when they could. They hated to be part of the spotlight because of the risks. Tôshirô was noticeably crueler after the ordeal, and Yachiru herself became uncaring. Her victims were just names. Their blood was just like paint—accidental stains on the floor, nothing more.
They spent the last twenty (thirty?) years, suffering in their silent agony.
Then came Kurosaki Ichigo, riding the crest of a wave of war.
He brought with him the fresh pain of truth: Aizen had turned them into atrocities, not the exiles. It wasn't a relief, exactly, but it was less a boulder pressing cold and heavy upon their chests and more of a scattering of stones clogging their airways, but it was easier, to know that now Soul Society was actively waging war against the bastard that forced them to become something that they were never meant to be.
Yachiru visited Tôshirô in the hospital, after Aizen had screwed them all over pretty well. She told him about the truth, which he had suspected but never acted upon, and about the anomaly, Kurosaki Ichigo, whom Tôshirô had not actually come face-to-face with, only heard of.
Then Kurosaki Ichigo actually visited Tôshirô, and bowed his head to him, apologizing for being too late to save Momo (whoever told Kurosaki about her would pay for it later, Yachiru could tell from the shaking hands of her fellow chimera ghoul).
Tôshirô liked Kurosaki enough, after that.
It didn't heal the aching hole in his heart left by a certain tall twisted asshole who also left behind a distraught sister, but it did help to patch it some.
Kurosaki seemed to be a metaphorical balm to anyone in need, the panacea of all past and present woes, to an almost fascinating degree. He healed his human friends' broken hearts with words. He mended ravaged soul reapers' mindscapes with actions.
He broke barriers with his scowl.
Then he left, after the Winter War, but his mark still burned fire-bright on Soul Society, because on the wake of his devastation, on wings of mercy, came the Vizard, offered positions in the Thirteen Court Guard Squads. With the Vizard came promises of mercy to the traitor, the traitor who was loved by more people than he deserved, loved so dearly that he was granted pardon.
Tôshirô and Yachiru had exchanged a look that day, a look that spoke more than a thousand words ever could.
Then Kurosaki came back. And following in his footsteps was a silent, white-haired shadow.
They knew, as soon as they saw him, that he was their skeleton key. Kurosaki shattered the skewed perceptions about Quincies, and Hollows, and Vizard, armed with his stupendous ignorance and willingness to protect regardless of who his protected were.
The white-haired shadow would be their ticket to be able to walk freely in a courtyard with their kagune streaming proudly from their backs.
Tôshirô and Yachiru tracked the white-haired shadow down, after people knew about his kagune and accepted him. They told him, and the stones clogging their lungs seemed to lighten, for the first time in near half a century.
And people laughed a little when they announced that they, too, were ghouls, looking at their stony faces and writhing kagune, and beamed, and asked, "Why did you wait so long?"
They were so startled, and so relieved, that they laughed, too, for real, for the first time in near half a century again, but later, as Yachiru lay with her head pillowed in the crook of Tôshirô's arm, her own arm from the elbow down turned into a blade to admire her own glint in the moonlight, Tôshirô mimicked bitterly, "Why did you wait so long?", his two-toned voice raw and bleeding into the grass.
Yachiru gave her ice cream bells' giggle and replied, just as vitriolic, "Only until a human boy appeared from the sky and changed what you ancient soul reapers couldn't bring yourselves to alter."
The resent that had festered over fifty years still bubbled like magma in their guts.