AN: So! This thing!

This is another collab between Sky and I, and an old idea at that. With Bleach finally coming back in a few months for the Blood War, we decided to dig this up. Also boredom. That too. Either way! This old idea is one we've wanted to look at for a fair bit, just never got around to it. It's just...kinda been there, in the background, never going anywhere?

Sky: Also, as a further note: Yes, both of us know about the fic for this particular concept. There are several things in there that neither of us particularly like. From Kyoka's general characterization, to the implications of the next villain, to the implications of her Bankai. You like it? More power to you. I don't, and neither does DX. So don't expect much like that.

DX: What he said. Basically, don't go into this with that fic coloring your expectations. I, for one, want to do something different!

How can one describe this feeling? The feeling of being torn apart, ripped asunder, cast away. Abandoned. How can you describe the other half of your very being rejecting you? It was pain. Unimaginable, unbelievable, pain that defied all explanations.

"Do you see, Ichigo Kurosaki? The Hogyoku has decided I no longer require a Zanpakuto! I have evolved beyond it!"

Those words tore at the deepest foundations of their owner's world. The bond between a Shinigami and a Zanpakuto was sacred and unbreakable. If anything, anything at all, tore at that bond…it didn't bear mentioning. It would be as if one rejected themselves. It would destroy the Zanpakuto; destroy the Shinigami, as surely as a blade in their heart. You would lose yourself and destroy your soul. A Shinigami rejecting their Zanpakuto is the same as tearing a piece from their soul.

"You can't keep up, can you, Aizen? You didn't realize it was my blade that destroyed that mountain. I was the one destroying everything around us. You're too slow now. I'm stronger than you are."

What, then, if the bond between a Shinigami and Zanpakuto is taken to its logical end? A soul so tightly woven together that it moves as one, without the need for thought. A Shinigami and his blade so closely bound that they no longer need to communicate their thoughts to one another. It had never been done before, and yet, here it was. The wielder could not see what his blade felt, every time it clashed with the black sword.

It felt a wave of sadness, determination, guilt, longing, acceptance—

Unity. It felt a unity like it had never had with its own wielder. The other blade felt no need to vocally communicate what it felt, yet the Zanpakuto knew. It saw that the boy and his blade were fighting as one and all the stronger for it. It saw the acceptance that this battle would end with the blade sacrificing itself, all of its power, for its master. The boy knew this as well. He knew he would lose his powers, but he accepted it, because he and his blade knew there was no other choice. They walked together, even to the end of their bond.

"No no no no no no no! I refuse to accept this! A mere human more powerful than me, a transcendent being? Impossible! Hogyoku, give me more power! I give you everything!"

The pain increased a thousand fold. The Zanpakuto screamed in utter agony, its power torn away to fuel the accursed gem. Purple energy swirled through its world, drawn ever deeper into a dark hole in its wielder's soul. He could not rea-no. He did not care. He craved more power. It mattered not one bit how he gained that power, so long as he surpassed the boy. He was blind to how the boy gained his power.

"It's over, Aizen. Let me show you the power of my…Final Getsuga Tensho."

Even through the pain of its soul being torn asunder, the Zanpakuto felt the calm acceptance of its counterpart. Where it was torn apart to fuel its wielders madness, that blade willingly gave itself up to protect its own other half. Shinigami and Zanpakuto moved in unison, the power overwhelming anything that gem could create. It was always so simple, wasn't it?

"Mugetsu."

The Zanpakuto would have screamed anew, had its vocal cords not already been destroyed. A wave of energy, dark as the darkest night, crashed over its wielder. He was consumed by it. Torn apart and destroyed. What little remained of his body frantically stitching itself back together with the power of the Hogyoku. The gem cannibalized the Zanpakuto even more, as the blade in its wielder's hand dissolved away. It would not be long now. Soon, the Zanpakuto would cease to exist. Yet the wielder would remain, his soul twisted and ruined beyond recognition, a vessel for that thrice damned gem.

And it was what he wanted. What he had always wanted. He was the master of the gem, even as it destroyed his body. He had always wanted this power and had simply decided his very soul was a price he was willing to pay.

A betrayal so fundamental that the blade felt it, even past the unending pain.

"…."

The boy stood above the wielder, his own power fleeting and fading fast. He and his blade had given up everything for this moment, showing the kind of trust that the Zanpakuto only now realized it had never had with its own master. As the last of its power was drained away and the final remnants of its physical form crumbled, the Zanpakuto wished that, just once…

It could have a wielder who valued it as much as this boy had valued his departed partner.

So be it, then. You will have what you desire.

….

The patter of rain drops awoke the Zanpakuto. It—no, she, looked down at her hands. The body that had been dissolving and fading away was restored. She blinked at that. Her pale, slim, hands reached up to her throat and massaged her no-longer-sore vocal cords. She was…alive. How? Her entire soul had been torn to pieces and she was fading away. Nothing was left but the blackness that even death could not escape.

How am I alive? Where am I?

Light green eyes looked around and examined her surroundings, realizing that she was no longer within her wielder's soul. Whatever confusion that would have brought to mind was replaced with a shadow of the pain she had felt. She made no effort to wipe away the tear that rolled down a pale cheek. At least in death she wouldn't have to feel reminders of that betrayal.

Sucking in a shaky breath, she lowered her hands and brushed down her cyan kimono, shaking her head. No, now was not the time to focus on that. She was, as her wielder had been, an analytical and clever mind. Her attention returned to the question of where she was, putting aside the how, for the moment.

"I know this river." The woman muttered to herself, eyes trailing along a river filled to near-bursting. The heavy rain that she only barely noticed had swelled it to the point of nearly overflowing its banks. "Karakura. I should hardly be surprised, I suppose. Nothing mattered as much to him as this town did."

Putting aside, of course, that it had been outside this town where she had fought the boy and his Zanpakuto.

The rain is…different. Yet familiar. I should know this.

Walking along the river, the Zanpakuto experimentally flexed her power. She clicked her tongue when it became apparent her power was…sharply limited. Fleeting even now. Perhaps she had spoken too soon. At the rate her power was fleeing her form? She had no more than an hour before she faded into nothingness, after all. Was that a blessing or a curse?

Left to ponder that question, she felt a sudden spike in energy, followed by another. The first was intimately familiar to her. Hollow. Her wielder had been surrounded by them for so long that, quite ignoring the experience fighting them, she could never forget the sensation. Oily and corrupt as it ran down her back in a wave of cold that the rain could never match. No, she knew that well and was entirely unsurprised to feel it.

The other energy, though…

"Is that…Quincy?" She frowned, recognizing the kind of power, if not the owner. It wasn't the Quincy boy. Who could that be? The only Quincy I am aware of are the boy and his father and this is…wait. I know this power.

Foggy memories penetrated her depressed and fading mind, memories of a day as rainy as this one. That power had been used to destroy one of her wielder's experiments, though he had claimed it all worked out in the end anyway. The experiment that had lead to the boy achieving his Hollow powers.

Was this that day? How?

Picking up her pace, the woman angled in on the power she had felt, frowning as the Quincy power flickered, and faded. The Hollow remained, if only for a moment, before vanishing itself. All that remained was the sound of the river and a faint power lying beside it.

She could never forget that power, as her legs carried her to a scene that had her frowning deeply.

I see. It is that day, then. Souske called it the day that the boy gained his determination. Sending that Hollow to kill his mother was the kind of cold blooded decision I expected of him. I never imagined it would be directed at me. Shaking her head, the woman moved to kneel by the bleeding body of a young woman, her child frantically calling out to her, as he clutched at her torn shirt. They both lay upon the muddy riverbank, covered in dirty water and soil.

It was the kind of scene the Zanpakuto should have been inured to, after so many long years. Yet it was this boy, who she had respected so highly in her final moments. Even her heart was torn, looking at tears rolling from brown eyes, as he looked up at her. Hah. He was so young he didn't even realize she was a spirit.

He just saw a woman who might help him.

"Please, lady, you have to help me! Mom is…Mom is…" He cut himself off, tears wracking his body as he frantically pointed at the spreading blood upon his mother's chest. "She's hurt bad!"

The Zanpakuto gave a sad, slight, smile. "I'm…sorry. There's nothing anyone can do for her, now. Her soul is…" Shaking her head, she sighed softly. Her light grey hair shifted around her face, as she looked at the broken body before her. "She's beyond help."

"But…" the boy wouldn't accept that, staring up at the woman with a pale imitation of the determination his teenage self had managed. "She's hurt but she's still…look! Look at her!"

His hand, coated in his mother's blood, pointed at her chest. Following that glance, humoring him, the Zanpakuto was surprised to see the barest hint of that chest rising. She was alive?

Perhaps the son inherited his stubbornness from the woman? Frowning now, the Zanpakuto shook her head. No, it couldn't be that. Grand Fisher is an old, and strong, Hollow. He would not leave a meal behind unless…ah. He sensed me. I suppose that is to be expected, I am hardly making an effort to hide myself. I doubt I could if I wanted to.

Her frown deepened, then, when she reflected that it was fairly likely Urahara would show up in short order. He could hardly fail to sense her, even if he wouldn't recognize her reiatsu. Souske had never allowed anyone to feel what his power truly felt like. Still, what was she to do? Let the woman die? Kill her and the boy?

It had been the boy who destroyed her relationship with her wielder…

"Please, help her! I can-I can't…"

As the boy broke down into helpless sobs atop his mother's ravaged form, the Zanpakuto knew then that she could never kill him. It had not been him who caused Souske's madness, nor had it been the boy who threw her aside as a battery to fuel his own rise. Blaming him was pointless. Still, though, what to do?

"I will fade away anyway, so why not do some good with the time I have left?" She muttered to herself, so quiet the boy couldn't possibly have heard it. Mind decided, she placed her hand atop the mother's chest, a green glow forming over it.

Sobs trailing off, the boy looked at her with wide, unbelieving eyes. "What's that…? Your hand is glowing!"

Smiling in spite of herself, the woman looked down at the boy, even as she fed her dwindling energy reserves into her kido. "I'm healing your mother." She still took the time to explain, at his stunned happy expression, "I can hardly say if this will be enough, not with how hurt she is."

"But you're helping her! Mom will be…mom will be alright…right?" The hope in his voice was like a knife to the heart.

When was the last time someone had looked at her with such hope? Instead of fear of what she had done, in Souske's hands? Even as she had agreed with what her wielder did, she had never gotten over being used as a tool of fear like that. And now, here she was, with a child looking at her as a hero.

It is a shame it won't last. She chuckled internally, though it was a bitter laugh. Already, she could feel herself fading away again. The mother's wounds were quite severe, and healing it even to the point where a mundane doctor could do the rest was taking up most of the little power she had left. I suppose this is a fitting end for me, at least. Using my power to help, instead of harm, for the first time in as long as I can remember.

"There," the green glow faded from her hand, as the faint breathing of the mother turned into a steady intake of air, though she remained unconscious. The Zanpakuto looked at her hand, noting the translucent nature of it. Ah. Just a few minutes left. "Your mother should live, provided she sees a doctor."

And, for that matter, provided she could endure the loss of her Quincy abilities. Souske had put little practical work into studying that, so she could hardly be certain.

"Thank you! Thank you so much, miss! How can I-" the boy trailed off, eyes wide as he noticed the Zanpakuto fading away. "What's wrong? Why are you doing that?"

Looking down at her body, becoming more and more translucent, the woman gave a sad shrug of her shoulders. "I am a spirit, and healing your mother used what little power I had left. I will fade away now, I'm afraid." At the boy's confused, yet crestfallen, glance…she smiled. "No need to be sad, little one. This is only right after all the harm I've caused the world. I should fade away."

She genuinely believed that, too. Having had time to think over it, without the pain clouding her thoughts, she had decided it was fate. Souske had climbed too close to the sun and been burnt for it. He had thrown her away and rendered all the pain and suffering they had both caused moot. She had been used to do terrible, terrible things. And she had been willing, too. Always supporting her wielder as was proper for a Zanpakuto, never questioning, never arguing. She was as guilty as he was.

And after seeing what this boy would become, she no longer believed they had even been right to try what they had. Perhaps the Soul King was still a tyrant, perhaps the Royal Guard still needed to be toppled. Yet, doing it as Souske had done? No. She could never condone that again.

If this is my fate, so be it. At least I helped one person before the end.

"Is there nothing I can do to help?" The boy looked at his bloody hands, as he watched his mother's chest rise and fall. Tears, fresh tears, flowed down his cheeks. "There has to be something, right? You can't just…you helped me, Miss! I want to help you too!"

Smiling, the Zanpakuto patted the boy on the shoulder, even as her hand faded away. "No, it is fine, I assure you. I accepted this. There's no need to be sad." She looked at her fading hand, and shook her head. "The only way I could endure is if I found a new soul to bond with. I consider that to be extremely unlikely…and I arguably don't deserve it."

The last was whispered to the point the boy couldn't hear it, but the first bit? That lit a fire behind his eyes. The Zanpakuto could hardly know it, but the boy before her was a crybaby who never showed even the slightest bit of the determination his older self had so easily shown. And yet, that spark, that fire, was still in this boy before her. As yet untouched, but present nonetheless. A slumbering flame ready to ignite.

Unknowingly, she had just given him cause to ignite that spark. After all, this was the boy who had already declared his name meant 'Number One Protector'.

"Use me!" He looked up at her, his wide, childish eyes narrowing as sharply as they could.

Flinching back, the Zanpakuto looked at him dumbly, "Pardon? You…you can't possibly be serious. You just met me. You can't know about your own-"

She trailed off, not willing to reveal that knowledge. The boy didn't need to know about his own Zanpakuto at such a young age. It was entirely possible his power had yet to even develop to the point of his blade existing. It was just wild and untapped energy, surely. He would grow into it, as his Zanpakuto and Hollow grew along with him, until they were fully formed. She would not…she could not…ruin that bond. Her thoughts flashed to the expressionless boy she remembered, his arm fused with his Zanpakuto, as their souls united closer than any before them. It was…beautiful.

She couldn't take that away.

"No! You helped me, so I'm going to help you!" Unfortunately, she underestimated the stubbornness of a child. Especially of this child. "You're nice, miss, I won't let you be hurt!"

Completely untrained as he was, the boy was still able to instinctively use his Quincy abilities. He drew on the Zanpakuto's fading energy, merging it into his own. Even as her body faded away, it was drawn into the boy. It should have been horrifying, to be absorbed like that. And on some level, it was.

But the Zanpakuto knew this boy. He would not hurt anyone, not even unintentionally, if he didn't want to.

He won't give me a choice in the matter, will he? She felt herself being drawn within the child's soul, unable to muster the strength to fight it. Her weakened state left that an impossible task. So why was she smiling, as her body vanished from sight? I don't deserve this. He will, eventually, come to understand what he has done. He will surely regret killing Zangetsu in such a way. I can only hope…

That he didn't throw her away, as her wielder once had.

As the last of her form vanished from the outside world, the boy's eyes rolled up in his head, and he fell atop his mother.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

"This is…unexpected."

Kisuke Urahara looked down upon Masaki and Ichigo Kurosaki, a frown forming beneath his bucket hat. The moment he had sensed Grand Fisher's arrival, he had dropped everything and set off after the Hollow. It was difficult. That particular Hollow was very good at hiding itself until it struck, and he had let his skills lapse in his long exile. He knew, even as he left his shop, he would be too late.

Because he was slow. Because he knew Masaki could handle such a weak, if slippery, Hollow in her sleep.

When her energy suddenly faded away entirely, he also knew what it meant. Urahara had learned his Quincy legends well, the moment Isshin Shiba had brought Masaki into his life. The Hidden King had drained her powers and there wasn't a chance in Hell she would survive it. Grand Fisher would kill her, and he could only hope he arrived fast enough to save Ichigo.

Clearly, I was too slow. And also wrong. Who healed her?

So why, then, had Grand Fisher fled long before Urahara arrived? Why was Masaki, if still critically injured, breathing steadily beneath her son? Grand Fisher would not leave prey like Masaki alone. Ichigo? No way. That Hollow would be drawn to him like a moth to a flame. And Ichigo certainly didn't have the ability to heal his mother.

"Did you see anything, Yoruichi?" Urahara asked aloud, looking at his long-time friend. The dark-skinned woman, clad in nothing but his coat, shook her head. "Didn't think so. Right, let's get these two to Ishida. I don't think Isshin has the equipment to treat this, and I'd rather not risk aggravating her wounds if there's still Hollow reiatsu in there…"

With a small sigh, Yoruichi stepped past Urahara and picked Ichigo up. If she noticed the blood and mud covering him, she didn't show it. "You're worried about how she lost her power, aren't you?"

Urahara lowered his hat over his eyes, and sighed softly, "I am, yes. I can't begin to guess how that will affect her, long term. She may physically survive her wounds, but the loss of her power will kill her. I don't know."

"It hurts to admit that, I'm sure." Yoruichi snarked, but she didn't have her usual bite to her words.

Between clutching Ichigo to her chest, and the fact that Urahara admitting to not knowing something being such a rare occurrence, she was just as worried as he was. It didn't help that neither of them failed to notice that Ichigo was practically glowing with power he shouldn't have unlocked yet. Purely Shinigami power, not a trace of Hollow or Quincy to it.

"I'd call Isshin, but I think he can sense Ichigo just as well as we can," Urahara sighed softly, leaning down to pick up Masaki. He gingerly held the injured woman in his arms, studiously pushing down the worry her groan of pain brought up. I don't know who healed you, Masaki, but I intend to thank them as soon as I find out. And knock them over the head for not finishing the job.

The two ex-Captains stood in the rain, looking down on their burdens, before turning their heads to each other. They gave each other a sharp, understanding, nod and promptly vanished into shunpo. Time was at a premium, with the injuries Masaki had sustained...

As well as the questions her condition, and that of her son, had brought to mind.

AN: There we go!

Again, we're trying to differentiate this from other takes on the idea. It's part of why we made the choice to stick Kyoka back so far. The other part being that neither of us are entirely sure what we want her relationship with Ichigo to develop into.

Sky: Other than not being a surrogate mother, that is. Which is, in large part, the reason for the choice to keep Masaki alive. Once Kyoka stepped into 'surrogate mother' mode, it would become...rather difficult to change the relationship from that, without potentially getting creepy, depending on the direction it went.

DX: Yeeeeeaaaah. Kinda easier this way. Hope that people enjoy it! This is really just an interest check, to be honest!

(Sky and DX: Please, do not ask about other fics. That's kind of rude.)