Kurosaki Isshin was afraid.
He was also a little sore.
He kept the goofy grin on his face until long after Ichigo's back disappeared. Without a backwards glance, and with the charm clutched in his hand. When the already quiet slap of his sneakers against the pavement finally disappeared altogether, Isshin let it slide away, and reached out quietly, following his son though he never took a step after him.
It was time to let him go.
In a way, it was time to let them all go.
Still he stood there, in the quiet darkness of the street, watching other reiatsu join Ichigo's. None were even close to his spiritual strength, of course – and the Quincy signature almost made him guffaw – but they all shared a resolution.
They all shared that young, wonderful surety that being right meant they would win.
And he couldn't blame that on this world, the living world, the real world. Sure, it was crammed down their throats in the schools, the cartoons, the books and manga and songs on the radio. Justice prevailed against the unseen, dark bad guys and good triumphed over evil.
When they were older and went to scarier movies, he supposed they'd learn that sometimes evil was far too powerful to defeat. Sometimes evil was necessary. Sometimes it overwhelmed justice and resolve and life.
He felt the corner of his mouth turn upwards. It was rather ungracious of him to think of Urahara Kisuke as a great evil.
And it wasn't as though Soul Society were any more lax about convincing its shinigami that justice was the most powerful weapon.
He knew without asking where Ichigo was going. He hadn't needed a hell butterfly to know it had to do with Kuchiki Rukia. He'd known, limit or not, the second Kuchiki Byakuya had stepped into the real world, and privately he supposed he owed Kisuke for saving Ichigo's life. Not that it was beyond him, but it had prevented a certain rather unpleasant conversation.
And it had saved him having to dust off his advanced kidou.
He wondered, idly, what would happen if he followed.
Not that it was his place to. The heavens knew how he would have reacted if his father had followed him.
Probably worse than he'd reacted when his father had said "I forbid you."
It was a mistake he refused to make. Which had lead, very directly, to his sore face and the fact that he was standing, alone, outside of his home in Karakura, watching the soul of his son make its way to the Urahara shop. Where he would be transported via that old pervert's gate directly to west Rukongai.
Transported directly towards the threat that had made Kisuke retreat in the first place.
He understood why, of course. He didn't like it in the slightest, and he almost rather wished the blonde had asked permission, but he probably would have allowed Ichigo to choose this path even if his opinion had been asked. It wasn't as if either of them could go. Even if they went together, as powerful as they were, they would be bound. Possibly as they had bound Baishin before. And that wasn't in anyone's best interest.
Their front lines, as they stood, were rather sparse. Perhaps Ichigo and his friends could change that.
Or perhaps they could die.
Kurosaki Isshin glanced back at his clinic, and the living space above it. It would be morning soon enough, and while it was rather fun, in a perverse sort of way, to stand in the street watching reiraku, it wasn't the best use of his time.
And his face really did hurt. Gigai or not, he should probably be a little more careful with it.
Karin and Yuzu were still asleep, having blissfully missed that little encounter. Thanks to his little white lie, Ichigo hadn't been paying the slightest attention, but he really wasn't sure Karin would have missed the significance of the charm. He couldn't really tell how much of her power she was allowing herself to use, and it wasn't as though he were going to discuss it with her until he had no other choice.
They were still too young.
He rubbed the back of his neck slowly, working his fingers into the tense muscles of his gigai. He also wasn't sure if Ichigo's modsoul had sensed the presence of his. Tucked safely in a jar of stale, dusty, fish-flavored candy, it was extremely unlikely anyone was going to locate it, but it still gave off a tiny amount of spirit pressure.
It was getting harder to keep up the act. He wasn't really sure how much longer he could do it.
God. He'd never really thought this through.
The house was oddly empty without Ichigo's constant spirit pressure filling up the nooks and crannies of their home. A little lonely, even. He walked across the living room into the kitchen, pulling down a sake decanter and reaching for the cabinet above the refrigerator. The bottle was still there, but surprisingly not even dusty.
Ah. Yuzu had found it, then. She hadn't mentioned it.
He smiled at the thought of her, curled up in the her bed. She looked like she had six years ago when she slept. The same young face, relaxed and happy in sleep. Without pain. So unlike her fraternal twin.
He knew if he snuck upstairs right now, he would find Karin's face scrunched in an unhappy grimace. She spent all her waking time denying her emotions, and so sleep was her soul's only time to freely express itself.
He methodically filled a pot of water from the tap and placed it on the gas burner, letting it heat while he carefully filled the decanter. When the water had just begun to breathe steam, he placed the filled decanter into the water, so that about an inch of the neck of the decanter was above the surface. He waited until the true aroma of the sake filled that steam, and then he withdrew the decanter. He took the pot off the stove, and reached up again into the cabinet, this time to snag a single sake bowl.
Then he carried his treasures into the family room, and settled onto the couch before Masaki.
The memorial poster concept had been a little weird, at first. He had been far more accustomed to the idea of a small portrait, either painted or a photograph, placed alone in a single cabinet. It allowed private time with the image, and allowed one to lock it away, out of sight, when it was too painful to look upon.
The poster, on the other hand, was enormous, usually placed in an area of heavy traffic, and impossible to cover or ignore. It also placed the image in a position to oversee day to day activities rather than single glimpses of the lives that had been left behind. It had been that concept that had really attracted him to the idea, despite protest from their children.
It was painful to look on her, sometimes.
But some pain, like the pain in his face right now, was good pain.
He raised the bowl to the image, enjoying the aroma of the alcohol before he brought it to his lips. This particular bottle had been waiting a long time, and while it hadn't been aging in the vats, it was still very good. Better than he remembered the last bottle.
Or the bottle before that.
He let it roll over his tongue, savoring it. This wasn't a sweet sake, the bottle was labeled +1 which he supposed indicated it was a little on the dry side. It was the closest thing he had found to the sake back there. It was also worth noting that it was possibly the most expensive sake in Japan. It seemed everyone else had also realized it had a particular, rare flavor.
Though he supposed, with different types of rice, you were going to get different flavors.
And he wasn't looking for sweet. Every time he'd opened one of these bottles, it had been to say farewell.
The first bottle he'd consumed about twenty years ago, when he'd gotten back. It had been most apparent to him then that it wasn't the same, since he'd just consumed the real thing not long before. Didn't have the same depth, the same warmth. Didn't bring the same comfort. But he hadn't said anything, since Masaki had searched high and low for something that would appeal to his odd tastebuds. That had been before the clinic had had a reasonable clientele, and the fact that she'd spent so much money on a single bottle of solace for him . . .
As though her presence hadn't been worth so much more.
He watched her in the darkness, the low light stealing the color away from the poster. It was at these moments he was almost certain eyes were looking back out of that poster at him. Sometimes they were reproachful. Sometimes they were sad.
More often than not, they were as they should have been. Laughing at him.
He refilled the bowl, knowing that he had a long night of drinking ahead of him. Sake didn't really keep once the seal was broken, which meant the taste and color would slowly diminish. Not as significantly as if he'd kept it on the counter, in sunlight; he doubted Yuzu would let it sit untouched long enough to become nikkou-shuu.
But it was already a not-quite-equal replacement for something he'd left behind.
"He's gotten very good at dodging," he said aloud. He'd started to do it because he'd been so appalled at the change in the family that he'd felt he had to do something. To make the girls feel as though their mother was still a part of their lives. She wasn't really gone. Even if most families couldn't rejoin one another once they passed back into Soul Society, he was sure as hell going to make sure his did. So there was no reason for them to be so very devastated.
After all, it wasn't as though they'd lost her permanently. He would continue the circle of finding and losing her, just as she did with him.
He just couldn't explain that to her children, at least not at that age. So he'd talked to the poster as though it were a portal directly to her ears. And their children had decided that he was insane.
They weren't too far off the mark, and so he didn't mind that he now seemed to talk to the poster involuntarily. It was a habit, like many others he'd affected to give a certain impression, that had finally become a part of him.
And perhaps one of them, for a lark, would actually find her and bring her to visit. So she could laugh at him for talking to a piece of paper and a pile of ink.
It wasn't too unlikely, despite the exile.
He sipped the sake slowly, enjoying the warmth and relaxing into the couch. Ichigo's reiatsu was hidden but not yet gone; Urahara would be explaining things by now. Or, knowing him, not explaining most of it. Poor kids were going to have to go through Urahara's Senkaimon without the benefit of hell butterflies. But it shouldn't be a problem. They were young, and all were pretty fast.
And if he wasn't mistaken, he'd also sensed Shihouin Yoruichi, and he knew that she was plenty fast. If nothing else she could bodily haul them through if she had to.
He hadn't seen her in quite some time. Some part of him was still angry that she hadn't been at Kaien-otouto's funeral. He knew it was rather silly – god knew Kukaku had forgiven her for this a long time ago. Perhaps she'd snuck back into the Seireitei sometime between then and now and apologized. And either way, his younger sister hadn't been too concerned with the attendance that particular day.
She'd been a little more concerned about Ganju.
He'd been a kid, though he wasn't now. The last image she'd sent of him had been staggering. He'd never seen a soul age so quickly. Nor had he looked anything like his older brother. Then again, he supposed he looked nothing like Kukaku. As children, they'd joked that they were really the bunben-bouya's offspring. This had sent their father into a rage and had caused innumerable servants to be dismissed, but there were always more, ready to serve the Shiba Clan.
He frowned at the sake bowl, shaking his head. That was another mistake he hoped he wasn't repeating. Paving the way for Ichigo, granting him favors or opening doors. Ichigo needed to know that he didn't need a name to do that, didn't need a father to do that. He could open any door he wanted with his own merit.
God help him if anyone was smart enough to link him to Ichigo.
Hopefully the smart ones would keep it to themselves.
Old man Yamamoto had done a pretty bang-up job of striking the name of 'Kurosaki' from most of the records. Isshin liked to think he hadn't done it out of spite, but there was no doubt in anyone's mind that he'd deeply hurt the older man. Sadly, it wasn't the first betrayal of his most loved students, and it wouldn't be the last.
Much like his father, Yamamoto-sama believed that justice and resolve were the strongest weapons, and that good would always triumph over evil.
Not a bad philosophy, so long as you could properly identify 'good' and 'evil.'
"You are lying."
He'd stood his ground, staring Yamamoto-Genryūsai Shigekuni-taichou in the eye. He knew the taichou of the ichibantai could bring him to his knees without visible effort, but it seemed that averting them would be even more dishonorable than what he'd already done.
"You are allied with Urahara Kisuke?"
And what had there been to say to that? "Hai, taichou."
The standard response of a student and subordinate seemed to incense the already smoldering general.
"Then shall you rejoice in the knowledge that you will join him?"
Aah, exile. That was no surprise. At least the lies had bought Kisuke enough time to completely hide himself in the living world. He didn't really know how much Yamamoto had realized was a lie, and how much he was going to reveal. If he realized what had happened to Shihouin Yoruichi, he would order Soi Fong to captain both corps and take the world apart to find Urahara. At the very least, he might hope that Isshin would lead them to Kisuke.
Luckily, he'd specifically not asked where the other man had chosen his home. And Urahara had specifically not told him.
"Are you certain you wouldn't like me to stay in the Senzaikyuu for a while to think on my mistakes?"
The general's eyes flashed briefly before narrowing.
"Why do you seek to anger me, Isshin?"
He supposed he was, in a way. He stood before his old senpai rather than kneeling, demonstrating that he did not regret. His face was unshaven, eyes open, wearing a wide smile. He had brushed away the formality and severity of the language, not even apologizing.
He should. He did feel regret, for breaking the old man's trust. There just wasn't any other way. As angry as what Kisuke had done made him, he knew it was right. There were weirdly powerful Hollows out there, there was a complacency about the nobles and seated shinigami, there was an arrogant belief that this mighty castle, the Seireitei, was lily-white and indestructible.
If anyone really was working on a way to cross shinigami powers with those of Hollows, they would need to be dealt with. This army didn't show any signs of changing, while the enemy's did.
Briefly he considered painting the Senzaikyuu black before he left. Just to make the point.
"I do not seek to anger you, sensei," he finally responded, noting that his tone had lost its lightness. "I seek to protect the Seireitei and the living world as I failed to protect my wife. Saving souls is the primary duty of a shinigami taichou. You taught us that."
"Betraying your colleagues is not the path I taught you," the ancient man responded, disappointment hollowing his voice. "Your deceit has cost the Seireitei greatly. Your deceit has endangered living souls. I cannot fathom why you refuse to see this."
Putting the Hougyoku in the living world was, admittedly, a bad idea. Leaving it in Soul Society was worse. Where did they expect him to put it? Hueco Mundo?
"I too am confused, by your unwillingness to address this threat," he countered. "Why would you discourage the pursuit of knowledge? Sooner or later it will be studied, regardless of a ban. Why delay something that could help -"
The old man didn't move for some time, and when he spoke again, his eyes were closed.
"A young child is curious of fire. A parent can keep them from touching the flames, but the parent cannot always be present. Would you discourage this as no more than a delay of pain and injury?"
"That child would discover that flames are hot enough to forge steel and tools," he answered.
"Are children to forge weapons above all else?"
"Children wish to protect their parents."
Yamamoto's eyes opened, calm once again. "You took the name Kurosaki from whom?"
Isshin blinked, not sure where the question was going. "When I disowned the Shiba Clan I left for Rukongai. I was taken in that evening in the 76th district by a gentle man named Kurosaki Tigei. He took in other wandering souls that same night, though he had little."
"And as little as he had, you took his name."
"I wished to be like him." Yamamoto-sama made it sound as though it had been robbery.
"You have repaid him by dishonoring his name, as you dishonored your father's," the old general noted. His voice was heavy, but not angry. It was more a statement of fact than an accusation.
"My father dishonored us," Isshin snapped. "As do most of the nobles."
"You are one of those nobles," Yamamoto said slowly. "And it is as you say."
Isshin stared at him.
"I will have the name Kurosaki struck from the records," he continued. "You had no cause to dishonor that name and family, and they should not suffer for your mistakes. From henceforth, you will be referred to in record with your true name, as you have remained loyal to it."
Isshin opened his mouth, but something in the older man's expression made him close it again.
"You will stand trial for your crimes before the Central 46 as Shiba Isshin," the general declared. "And we will place our faith in Shiba Kaien, that he might restore the glory of your House."
He might have, too, if he hadn't died.
Killed, in a roundabout way, by a Hollow created by Aizen Sousuke. Just like his wife.
Twice.
He really needed to get around to meeting this Aizen fellow.
He supposed he could possibly blame Jyuushiro or his shinigami for Kaien's death. One had allowed him to enter that fight and continue it without aiding, and the other had been holding the blade he'd died upon. Between that ruling from Yamamoto and Kaien's death, it was no wonder Kukaku didn't want to see another shinigami as long as she lived.
Another reason she wouldn't let Ganju join the academy, even if he wanted to.
And she sure as hell hadn't been happy to see him twenty years ago.
He had dishonored her. There was no getting around that.
Masaki was still smiling at him, and he smiled back as he filled the bowl again. He should have left the pot on the stove; he could get another two full decanters out of that bottle, and he had only a few short hours before daylight.
At least he didn't have anything serious planned for the clinic day tomorrow.
He hadn't had any serious plans for quite some time.
"You can't seriously be considering this," Urahara had said slowly, eyes hidden beneath that ridiculous green and white hat.
Isshin had just looked at him. "You knew him well. You should come."
Urahara sat comfortably on a folded mat, across the small table from him. "Your zanpaktou was removed from the registry, just like Benihime."
He felt a cocky smile on his face, but it didn't seem to belong to his thoughts. "Did you ever check, Kisuke-san? I never did."
Urahara had actually laughed. "I see your point, Isshin-san."
He'd been planning to pick up his new gigai when the hell butterfly had come. He had been nothing but smiles ever since. Had convinced his fiancée, his beloved Masaki, that he would be attending the funeral alone. It gave him three days to find a way into the Seireitei and at least show his support to Kukaku.
He would save his tears for the ones that deserved them.
"Have it ready when I return," he said, taking his feet. He had had a feeling Kisuke would decline, and he actually didn't really blame his old friend. He was risking everything for this trip, but his everything only included his soul mate and his freedom. The moment he stepped out of this gigai it would be detectable, radiating a tiny bit of his reiatsu without control, which meant Urahara would have to immediately destroy it.
What Kisuke would risk, going to back to Soul Society, would be his freedom and the Hougyoku. While he personally felt that Masaki was fifty billion trillion quazillion times more valuable, he had a feeling Urahara would disagree.
He had been in that gigai for close to eighty years. Only ten years ago he'd moved to Karakura, completely on a whim, because his non-aging face was attracting too much attention in Hiroshima. And he'd finally felt comfortable enough with his new life to retake the name Kurosaki. He had gone to school to learn the ins and outs of the human body, and coupled with surreptitious use of kidou, he was an excellent healer.
Well, doctor, he supposed, was his title. And he'd opened a small clinic so there wouldn't be as much attention this time. His plan had been to help the locals, and those too poor to afford the high costs of the hospitals. To take in those wandering souls and give them what he had, even if it was little.
He had had no idea that he would find her here. He had also had no idea that this was where Urahara had decided to make his home.
But he knew, exactly, what both those coincidences meant.
She'd taken the name Masaki, this reincarnation, another M name. And she was just as beautiful. He'd recognized her instantly, as he had known he would, and she had been immediately drawn to his handsome manliness.
Okay, so he'd made a jackass of himself. But she'd loved it.
He risked that by going back.
He had been exiled by the Central 46. He'd been ordered to Rukongai, but had chosen to come back to the living world. It had been exactly like Kisuke had thought. The moment his name had been revealed as Shiba, Soul Society had nothing left to offer him.
It was as though all the work he had done was for naught.
And that was what he would reduce this new life to, if he were captured.
So don't get captured.
He stepped out of the gigai as quickly as he could, though it accentuated the agony of separation. He'd grown into that gigai far too closely. It had bones, blood vessels, the interior was exactly his shape and the air on his long-protected skin was far too harsh and cold. He groaned as his face tore free, and wondered if that was how a Hollow felt when they pulled their mask off for the first time.
A sixty-level kidou blast disintegrated the gigai before he was completely sure he'd really been totally free of it.
He met Kisuke's cool eyes, and wondered if the time would come when his friend would choose to pay a debt with his life.
"One of the improvements is better synchronization with less pain," Kisuke said pleasantly. "Particularly for long-term use. It won't damage your reiatsu, either."
"Hah," he'd retorted, and pulled free his zanpaktou.
It had been a very long time since he'd felt that familiar hilt, and he grinned as he put a little spirit pressure through the blade, and stabbed at the air in front of him.
A glowing set of sliding doors appeared, looking none the worse for the past 80 years to have passed, and when they slowly opened, a hell butterfly flitted out of the blinding light.
Still black and white. Seireitei always would be.
Kisuke had smiled a little at that. "It seems you still have friends, Isshin-san."
He knew. He knew that for that one day, someone had gone in and removed the ban on his zanpaktou. Probably the same one that had sent the hell butterfly. Someone who knew he would do whatever it took to be at his brother's funeral.
He wanted to believe it was Yamamoto, but he never knew. He'd just stepped through, finding himself where he wanted to be. Standing in Rukongai. Standing, rather unfortunately, in his shinigami robes, with his hated haori as it had always been, mostly wrapped around his arm much like his fukataichou badge had once been.
It got in the way less. Seemed less formal. Allowed him to interact with other shinigami as a soul rather than as a captain.
He knew he'd been seen, seen and not reported. Jyuushiro was devastated, though they managed to avoid all the awkwardness of their respective positions and simply deal with the hole that Kaien-sama's departure had left. Kukaku had of course wanted nothing to do with the shinigami that came to pay their respects, so she didn't hear the details of his death. Most of the captains and most of the lieutenants had shown up at one point or another, out in Rukongai. Though they'd already attended the rites that the 13th Division had sponsored, they did want to show respect to the Shiba House.
Despite that, the Shiba Clan died that day. The day that Kaien died, in the rain. Ganju was too young and Kukaku too bitter. He was too exiled. He'd sat and drank with her, then come back to that new gigai, gone home to Masaki, and thought he'd put at least that part of his life to rest.
He was Kurosaki Isshin, finally.
God help him if Ichigo found out. God help him if Kukaku saw him. She knew he had a son and twin daughters, and she knew their names. She'd know immediately that Ichigo was his son, if only because he looked so much like Kaien-otouto. He wondered if maybe Masaki had been related to his mother in some crazy way.
He wasn't really sure how Urahara expected them to rescue Kuchiki Rukia, but he hoped it had nothing to do with his sister's cannon.
It would only be the captains and lieutenants that remembered the name Kurosaki. His trial had been prominent and the revelation that the ailing Shiba Clan had, in fact, a captain in the Gotei 13, had been almost as explosive as the fact that he had helped Urahara Kisuke escape before trial. He had been, very briefly, a celebrity. If he was still talked about, it would be as Shiba Isshin. Kurosaki would have become a name that tickled at the back of someone's memory without really bringing anything to light.
There was a small chance that Ichigo would return and realize nothing at all.
The poster smiled at his thoughts, and he smiled at her before slowly getting up to heat the next decanter. They'd discussed it, the fact that she could see ghosts. They'd made sure the kids hadn't felt that this was out of the ordinary, that they were freaks. Masaki was still an amazingly powerful soul, but she could not sense his reiatsu any more than a trained shinigami could. He'd made sure of it.
He glanced at the bottle as he waited for the water to warm. Dusted. He'd have to have a talk with Yuzu – if she was dusting ancient bottles in the backs of cupboards he needed to get her interested in a hobby. Soccer seemed to be doing Karin wonders.
He'd also have to remember to hide the bottle in the trash, and put the pot away before he crawled back to bed. She'd notice the bottle was missing, but hopefully she wouldn't equate it to the night her big brother left for vacation without saying goodbye.
Since the last time she'd seen one of those bottles disappear, it had been the night her mother had died.
Yuzu. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on the wooden cupboards above the stove. Don't die, Ichigo, he thought at nothing. Your sisters will never forgive you.
Particularly not Yuzu.
She had been just as skilled at seeing ghosts as Karin when Masaki had been killed. But she'd shied away from trying to use that power, as it reminded her too much of her mother, and Karin hated it when she cried. She berated her every time she cried at her mother's grave, still. Karin was the one who would never cry and could not sleep, and Yuzu was the one that tried to fill the hole with herself.
Such a little girl, trying to fill such a big hole.
Taking on all of her mother's duties, but trying so hard to make sure everyone knew she wasn't trying to replace her.
As if anyone could replace Masaki. For any of them.
He plucked the decanter out of the hot water, watching the steam curling. Still dark. Still not morning. Maybe it was better that Masaki had left them when she had. If it had not been that Hollow, it would have been another. He hadn't purified a one of them. Couldn't. Afraid of being spotted by the shinigami assigned to the area. Afraid of drawing attention to this place.
If he was a bitter fellow, he could always blame Kisuke for her death.
But the other shinigami in exile didn't dictate his priorities. He was the one that put hiding that blasted piece of shit as high as he did. Masaki's soul could be freed once that Hollow was purified. She was consumed but not destroyed. All the souls a Hollow consumed were freed once that Hollow was purified, just like the soul of the Hollow itself.
She wasn't really gone.
And he was getting the feeling, if what Urahara had been telling Ichigo was true, that the time to hide was quickly coming to an end. He wouldn't have sent them to Soul Society unless that was where the Hougyoku was. If it was in danger. When he smuggled it back there, Isshin wasn't sure, but he was certain that their long wait was just about done.
Yamamoto-sama wouldn't be able to prevent his children from putting their hands in the fire forever.
And neither could he.
He just wished it could have come a little later. Ichigo might be ready, but Yuzu and Karin were not. And as important as Soul Society was, his daughters were living souls. And he was going to protect them.
Even if it meant letting Ichigo go.
He returned to the living room, putting the newly warmed decanter on the table and taking the time to study the line of Masaki's eyebrows. They'd done a very good job with the poster, captured things about her he wasn't sure other people could see.
She might not have been in complete command of her powers, but this night, she would have sensed the very second Ichigo left the living world. She would have felt his presence disappear and known in her heart of hearts that her dearly beloved son was gone.
It was not a feeling Isshin was looking forward to experiencing. But at least he was here, experiencing it with her.
He closed his eyes, waiting patiently for that dear, dear reiatsu to vanish.
Fin