(Day 5)

Regaining consciousness happened without his consent. The soreness of his muscles nudged his mind into awakening, making Getsu increasingly aware of how goddamn uncomfortable he was. His brain was unable to form or maintain thoughts, more occupied with processing all the information his body was sending. It didn't take long before his brain had enough of that-perhaps finding it too negative to wake up to-and tried to bash its way out of his skull.

His voice was shot. That, at least, he knew without needing to check. The chords felt thin and fragile, threatening to tear if he dared to attempt speech. His throat wasn't any better. Dry and coarse like the Sahara Desert, with his tongue doing its best impression of a dehydrated sponge.

No, talking wasn't something he should do in the near future. Maybe after he had some water? Yeah, water sounded nice-or some other drinkable liquid, Getsu wasn't picky. As long as he could wash away the sand that currently lined the inside of his trachea, he would down it in a heartbeat.

Speaking of the Devil, the damn thing was having a fit again. His heart was skipping beats-and no, not in a good way. Every so often, it would remember it had a function to perform and start to beat. Then it realised it had been slacking and would nearly vibrate out of his chest, trying to catch up on the skipped beats…only to exhaust itself and reset the cycle.

Stupid thing.

Taking a moment, Getsu allowed himself to get accustomed to the various aches, pains and other forms of discomfort he was suffering from. He has had worse before and functioned just fine. Sure, he had no adrenaline to numb the pain but he was still stubborn-a perk of having such a determined (foolhardy) wielder. If he ignored it long enough, his brain would get the memo eventually that pain was useless and shouldn't be bothered with.

And wouldn't you know it? It worked…sort of. The pain was less for sure but still noticeable. A feint throb in the back of his head was his constant reminder of the pain he was suppressing. Annoying but manageable.

Now that was dealt with, Getsu could focus on the important things like: "where was he" and "what happened".

He angled his head back slightly, allowing gravity to tug at his eyelids. It wasn't enough to open them but a little push broke the sand that had sealed them shut. Golden irises blearily stared ahead, finding a wood panelled surface which was most likely a ceiling.

Movement against his side had him freeze. Now he was getting used to the constant pain, his brain was allowing other signals to be processed. Slowly, Getsu became aware of tugging at his clothing and a warmth against his left. Whatever-no, whoever-it was, it made a noise before settling down again.

Confused, Getsu tried to look. However, from his angle, he only saw they wore a white yakuta. A voice started to rise in the back of his pounding head. Getsu couldn't quite make out what it was his brain was trying to say. However, it did cause a sense of foreboding to form.

Demanding his body to obey despite its protests, Getsu propped himself up on his elbows. With his new vantage point, the spirit looked down. What he saw was enough for his brain to kick into gear.

Streaks of grey were mixed in a mess of bright orange hair, the exact shade his wielder had been assaulted over by thugs until the day he died. Thin eyebrows were knitted together, forming an expression Getsu had seen countless times before. Yet, the face was too young and the body too small.

His movement had caused the child's grip on his clothes to slip. The tiny fist fell down, uncurling as they landed on the futon they were laying on. A soft, illegible noise came from the boy's throat as his hand began to move. Patting in various spots in search of the fabric that had escaped his grasp. With each second his fingers went without finding the spirit, the boy became more restless.

And then, the child made a sound. A sound so unfamiliar to Getsu's ears it took him a moment to realise what it was: a plea for comfort. A need for assurance made known. Never had the spirit heard a noise that contained so much sadness and distress.

And to think it was his wielder that made it. Getsu decided then and there he never wanted to hear it ever again.

Ichigo made that sound again and Getsu did the first thing that came to mind. He focussed on his spiritual pressure. It was rambunctious and stubborn, not willing to be coerced into obedience. There was something out there, something that had hurt them and it needed to be dealt with–

No, that could wait. King comes first.

With more effort than it should have taken, Getsu managed to get it to do as he wanted. He wrapped it around them both, being extra careful not to accidentally suffocate his wielder.

Even asleep and with barely any spiritual pressure to speak off, Ichigo reacted to his spirit's energy. With the little bit he did have, Ichigo pulled at it to bring it closer, finding comfort in its density and dark nature. Maybe a bit too much. Getsu frowned as the gentle tugs rapidly turned more needy and desperate.

Must be a pretty bad one, Getsu noted. The spirit put his weight on one elbow, freeing his other arm to reach out. He took an end of his half-formed jacket and put it to the grasping fingers. They gripped it tightly, knuckles turning white but the noises drifted off.

With care, he let his fingers card through messy tresses.

'Ki–'

Getsu was painfully reminded his vocal cords aren't in any condition to be used. His airpipe constricted at his attempt at human speech. A fit of coughs wrecked his body, some sounding more like pathetic wheezes. Nope, not doing that for a while.

He didn't have to. The spastic movement, combined with sound was enough to rouse the child. Tears started to spill as soon as brown eyes revealed themselves. The boy sniffed, weakly reaching out to the spirit.

With no voice to get his attention, Getsu placed a finger beneath the child's chin. Gently, he tilted the head backward, forcing the boy to face him. Teary eyes were slow to focus on the spirit's face. When they did, more water started to flow from them.

'... Getsu?'

The amount of emotions in which his name was uttered put Getsu on edge. Something had hurt his wielder, had scared him and left him weak.

Protect.

The voice of instinct reared its head and this time, Getsu acted upon it without hesitation. He shifted closer, bringing the child to his chest with his free arm as he laid back down. Tiny hands fisted the shredded remains of the spirit's attire; with a sob did Ichigo burry his face into the fabric, hoping to muffle his cries of relief and sadness.

Tension crept into his tired muscles, coiling within his body like a spring, ready to go at a moment's notice. How had they gotten here? Try as he might, Getsu found his memory hazy, at best. For all he knew, that creep of the Twelfth had finally gotten a hold of his wielder. If that were the case…Oh, boy. Getsu was going to have fun destroying the whole division and tearing the clown apart like he had Murama–

Fabric shifted and Getsu snapped his head up, molten gold flicking around in search for danger. Memories he wished had forgotten flashed through his mind, mixing with the reality he was currently in. A man dressed in black, standing on the other side of those dreaded bars, observing him as if he were an animal–

'Getsu'.

At once, the memory shattered. That hadn't been the voice he'd expected, nor had it been the name they should have addressed him by.

'Easy there. Just breathe'.

Without question did Getsu follow the advice. The darkness that had edged his vision cleared as he sucked in some much needed air. With each breath did his heart slow its hastened pace, the anxiety that clouded his mind losing its hold.

'There you go'.

Getsu reopened his eyes. This time, they were quick to focus on the black clad figure behind the bars. They weren't dressed in a shihakushō, as his mind had made him believe earlier. No, the young man wore a long, black coat with white trimming.

Not Aizen. Never again Aizen. They had promised him.

Tensa?

His other half looked at him with sympathy. Tensa knelt down to be more on eye-height so Getsu wouldn't have to strain himself too much.

'I had not expected you to wake so soon'.

Another fit of coughs and wheezes wreaked havoc on Getsu's sore throat. Ichigo whimpered in his arms, clutching to the spirit as if scared he would leave. When it subsided, Getsu was left heaving one ragged breath after another.

'Please, try to refrain from speaking for a while', Tensa said, using Sign language to support his spoken word.

Eying the child that clung to him with desperation, Getsu nodded in agreement. Shifting slightly to get both hands free and in sight, Getsu started to sign. "What happened?"

'What do you remember?'

"King passed out".

'I had hoped you would remember a bit more than that'. The spirit placed both hands on his lap. 'I know we have been forcibly materialised. You hollowfied shortly after'.

"What about King?"

'I found him unconscious in a room upstairs. He is suffering from severe energy depletion, hence his current stature. His memory seemed to be affected as well, to some degree'.

"How long?"

'I don't know. Captain Kotetsu estimates around two weeks but she has never seen a case like this before'.

Looking down, Getsu watched his wielder for a moment. Ichigo had calmed down again and appeared to be sleeping relatively peaceful. There was still a slight crease in his brows and his face was flushed, cheeks moist from tears.

"Why was he upset?"

'You lost consciousness after he had removed your mask. I fear you might have frightened him when you would not wake up'.

Guilt dropped heavily onto his heart, holding it in a vice that drained him from his warmth. He didn't need to ask, Getsu knew exactly why his fainting had scared his wielder so much.

It had reminded Ichigo of his mother. Of being stuck beneath her cooling body, getting soaked in cold rain and warm blood.

Fuck. Getsu looked back down at the child his wielder had become, taking in his features with the knowledge he now had.

It pained him to see his wielder cry. To see those tiny droplets of salted water-which left shiny lines in their wake-roll down flushed cheeks. To hear soft hiccups tear from his throat and feel them wreck through the small frame.

His wielder-the most powerful soul to have ever existed-ha been reduced to this. A defenseless and weak child. One that was clinging desperately at their Hollow Zanpakutō, crying tears of relief for not having lost him.

And it was all his fault.

His hand trembled as it moved on its own accord. Mindful of his claw-like nails, he wiped away some of the remaining tears that still clung to Ichigo's cheeks.

I fucked up again.

'Getsu?'

Blinking, Getsu looked back up to face his other half. His hand had instantly removed itself from Ichigo's face, as if burned. There was a moment in which his brain failed to process what was spoken, leaving Getsu to stare with confusion.

Tensa frowned at the display. Getsu seemed to still be suffering from the after-effects from his hollowfication. Clearly, the six hours of sleep hadn't been enough rest for his mind. Or body, Tensa added as he noticed the way Getsu's hands and fingers shook and twitched.

Before he could bring the matter up, a faint click silenced him. In his surprise, he turned his head towards the stairs while throwing out his senses, one hand quickly throwing on his hood. The captain? Why would she–

Realisation dawned and Tensa cursed himself for letting his guard down. The cameras. She must have been watching.

Turning back towards the cell-to assure Getsu that the one approaching wasn't a threat-Tensa found and empty space.

Getsu was gone and he had taken Ichigo with him.

#

TO BE CONTINUED

BLEACH – Tite Kubo