Disclaimer: Not mine.
Warnings: Two cuss words. Woohoo.
Scrape
Sometimes Yachiru got scraped up.
Kenpachi wasn't too surprised. She was only a kid, after all, a midgety runt short on height and common sense. Childhood gave her license to do all manner of dumb-ass things, including but not limited to getting herself busted up, and so a certain amount of cuts and bruises were to be expected. That Yachiru's came from sword fights and not from falling out of trees was inconsequential. Scrapes were scrapes regardless of their source and he'd be damned if he was kissing anything better.
Yachiru's latest was a spectacular black eye, courtesy of an elbow to the face from a bandit who was now very deceased --Kenpachi had made sure of that and from the expression on the guy's face, he'd done a damn good job of it, too. Although the brat hadn't said two words of complaint, she'd also been unusually docile since the fight and he found himself getting more and more pissed off as the afternoon wore on. By the time they stumbled across a largish village in the early evening hours, his anger had had ample time to simmer and he was itching for a fight. He quickly located the small tavern and stalked towards it, villagers scuttling in his wake. Yachiru gave a sigh beside his ear, a tired, quiet puff of breath, and then he was through the door.
Twelve sets of eyes blinked owlishly at him. He stood still for a moment, allowing the bar's occupants a moment to give him the once over. Yachiru sensed the stares and poked her head over his shoulder. The eyes focused on him opened wider and a few jaws were clenched. Kenpachi gave a feral grin and began slowly making his way to the bar, waiting for what he knew would inevitably happen.
It didn't take long.
"Oi! You can't bring that kid in here!" One of the villagers, a large, self-confident man, spoke up. "It ain't decent." The others at his table muttered in agreement.
Kenpachi ignored them and continued across the room.
"Hey! I said that kid don't belong in here," the man insisted, leaving his seat and standing in Kenpachi's path.
"You tell 'im, Karl!" one of his friends encouraged. A few of the other bar-goers hollered their assent.
Kenpachi glared. "I'll do what I want. Now get outta my way."
"Are you deaf? I said take that kid home, you meat-head--"
Whatever else he had to say was lost to the ages, because Kenpachi's fist drove the air from his lungs and sent him to his knees. The bar was utterly silent for a full five seconds. Then all hell broke loose.
"Fucking asshole," someone growled and the remaining men shot out of their seats and into Kenpachi's face, mere parodies of threat.
"Get the bastard!" A clumsy punch was thrown at his gut and he lazily dodged, dropping the culprit with an aptly placed chop.
"Watch out for the kid!" someone shouted and Kenpachi made sure he hit him especially hard.
Yachiru yawned beside his ear.
Thirty seconds was all he needed to lay all eleven men on the floor. The room fell still once again, silent save for a few groans of pain. Kenpachi cracked his knuckles and crossed over to the bar, slouching down onto one of the stools. He smirked at the bartender, daring him to say something about the mess behind him. The man squeaked and cleared his throat.
"C-can I get you something?" he stuttered.
"Yeah," Kenpachi said, swinging Yachiru off his shoulder and settling her on the edge of the bar. "Warm milk."
And then he made sure Yachiru drank it all.
-end-
