Disclaimer: Bleach and all affiliated characters and settings are the creative property of Kubo Tite and all companies holding title to its distribution. Used for non-profit entertainment purposes.

Warnings: minor sensual-ish content, but it's supremely minor; and it's a little dark (again)

The final installment for the challenge! Happy Birthday, Ichigo, and I'm sorry that I'm not as giving in the sex department as most of the other challenge participants are. Haha.

As always, feedback on any of these would be greatly appreciated. Thank you for reading!

July 15 Prompt: Bondage

Freedom

In the end, there was a bargain.

A bargain wasn't how most people would expect a long, agonizing fight to end. Typically, those ended in death; this one, however, did not. Perhaps it was a better outcome for Kurosaki Ichigo, who – as the hero – should have won, but was well on his way to doing the exact opposite. Badly wounded and bruised and beaten, he was on the very last of his reserves during his fight with Aizen. He could no longer summon the Hollow within him; his alter-self had long since expired his use and refused to come out. And when Ichigo braced himself for the final blow, it came in the form of a statement.

"I will allow those precious to you to live, Ichigo, but only if you serve me."

At the time, it had seemed like the best possible option to take. Rukia was half-dead, and Soul Society's numbers had been horribly decimated in battle. The enemy showed no signs of tiring or expending all its resources; that could have either been a very good bluff, or they were just that much stronger. There had been more than enough evidence to suggest the latter's verity, and so Aizen's bargain had seemed like a pretty damn good deal at the time to Ichigo.

He wasn't so sure about that now, after he'd learned more of Aizen's plans just by default of being at the man's beck and call. Ichigo felt more like a pet dog than anything, trained and kept on a leash only to be released when he could serve his master's purpose. Every time he finished one of Aizen's harrowing tasks, he felt a little of himself disappear, and he wondered at some point if that was exactly what Aizen's goal was.

At first, Ichigo had balked against it, fighting to hang on to the shattered pieces of himself with everything he had. But as he saw parts of the puzzle of himself fade to nothing, it drained the fight out of him like a slow bleeding wound.

One day, Ichigo wondered if he'd ever been anywhere but by Aizen's side.

The nightmares no longer visited him at night after his missions, and he slowly began to care less and less about how he handled the tasks appointed to him. As long as the job was completed, he couldn't care less – to the point that he began getting reckless. Aizen told him time and again that he should be more careful with how he handled his life; it wasn't his place to decide what to do with it, after all. He'd given that responsibility to Aizen.

Then Aizen ordered him to kill Yamamoto, and whoever stood between him and his goal.

Ichigo had no qualms obeying such an order; he was no longer given the luxury of an opinion. It didn't matter whose blood he spilled with his drawn blade, or whose face he saw looking at him in shock as he infiltrated Seireitei with greater speed and force that would have utterly intimidated the old Ichigo. The small shred of him that was still left was secretly glad that he didn't encounter many shinigami he knew on his way to the First Division.

That small measure of relief faded the moment he stepped foot on the premises of the First Division headquarters. He felt his nearly blackened heart skip several beats as he skid to a stop. Standing there in his way was the one person he hoped he wouldn't have to encounter on this mission, the only person who could remind him why he was bound to Aizen in the first place.

"Ichigo," she said flatly, but her eyes were shining and lips trembling with emotion.

"Get out of my way, Rukia."

"It doesn't have to be this way."

"Move, or I will have to cut you down."

Rukia took one step forward, and Ichigo suddenly realized that she hadn't even drawn her zanpakutou. Get her now, while she's defenseless! the leashed portion of his mind insisted, Aizen's voice coming clearly through the order. But his hands were shaking so badly that he thought he was going to relinquish his grip on Zangetsu's worn and bloody pommel.

"I-I mean it!" he said, voice cracking with uncertainty, bringing Zangetsu up in front of him.

Rukia didn't seem to care as she placed both of her hands on either side of his face, and searched his eyes imploringly with her own. Her touch was like fire on his face, but her hands were so soft and alive that he couldn't bear to pull himself away. His breath hitched as her thumbs brushed his cheeks just below his eyes, as if wiping away invisible tears.

"D-Don't–"

But he was relaxing into her touch, fingers growing cold and numb until Zangetsu slipped from his limp grasp.

"Please, Rukia..."

She suddenly pulled his face towards hers, and as her soft, warm lips brushed his he was sure his heart was about to shatter into a thousand pieces. The leashed half of him shrieked as it faded under her power, strength and courage and life flowing back into him as if channeled from her very being. His hands – still shaking – circled around her back to pull her closer, and he whimpered as she pulled her lips away for breath. He fell to his knees as the final remnants of Aizen's collar in his mind burst into flame and disappeared, and he pulled Rukia to him in a tight embrace, burying his head into her shoulder as his body shook with sobs.

"It's going to be okay, Ichigo," Rukia whispered into his ear as she stroked his hair consolingly. "You're free."

Not really, Ichigo noted wryly. After all, Aizen's power over Ichigo was no match for Rukia's, and that was one bond he hoped would never be destroyed.