Hey Interwebbers! I'm back again! Hope you all enjoyed the cliff-hanger, and sorry about the wait on this one. It's not that I wanted to build suspense, it's just that I wasn't sure which direction I wanted to go with this part. I wrote three different versions, and this is the one I like best. ^_^

Thanks to any and all who have left comments, I love them! It's so nice to hear from you all! Thanks also to anyone who added the story to favorite lists, as this is also exciting for me. This is the first story I write that I ever publish in any form, so it really means a lot to me.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The sound bore down into his skull, pounding deeper and deeper with each painfully slow drop. It grew in volume and intensity with every repetition, filling him with agony. He could feel it. He could taste it. Why didn't someone do anything? Why didn't someone stop the infernal racket?

Drip.

Another nail drove down into his brain. Couldn't anyone tell this was torturing him?

Drip.

Another stake dug deep into his chest. Couldn't they see he was in pain?

DRIP.

He couldn't take it anymore. He would stop it himself.

With a frown Ikkaku opened his eyes a crack. The light was brilliant and surrounded him. It was overwhelming and for a moment he remained confused. Then he remembered. Hanataro had stabbed him. He closed his eyes again; retreating back into the darkness, but the light seemed to follow him there, too. Now the dripping didn't seem so bad. It was the light. The light pounded away at him, overloading his senses and making him frown harder. He tried again to speak but only managed a moan. Was he dead? If he was, shouldn't there be less pain? Unless this was Hell, he thought and tried furiously once more to open his eyes.

…here… need… wake up… Ikkaku… please… Ikkaku…

Words whispered into his consciousness, blurred and confused and still very far away. He couldn't tell who it was, though the voice was familiar. Could it be he was still alive? He dared not to hope. A slow but steady ache was forming in his body now, starting in his chest and spreading through his extremities. It added to the intensity of the light and the pounding and ringing in his ears. It grew out, deepening and swallowing him in pain, and as it did, the world began to solidify around him. The brightness of the light began to lessen into rough shapes and sounds became more distinct and less distant.

…if I could, Ikkaku. He heard someone nearby talking to him and tried to see their face without success. He was having trouble focusing on their words and was only catching parts of what they said.

…died… would be devastated… Hanataro… for nothing…

The medic's name caught Ikkaku's attention. What about Hanataro, he thought. They had both been injured, and the last thing he'd known, Hana had still been under the control of that hollow. What if the man hadn't been healed enough by Ikkaku's efforts? What if the hollow had eaten him despite everything? Even if he had managed to get away there was no guaranty that the hollow's essence wasn't still in control of the healer. Ikkaku shuddered at the thought of his Hana being hurt. He couldn't bear it. The pain he felt pulsating through him was nothing compared to what he would be willing to endure to keep the other safe, and as he lay there in the fuzzy, half-real world, surrounded by light, he willed himself to wake, if only to know the fate of his flower.

Yumichika sat at the bedside of his longtime friend, holding his callused hand softly and holding back tears. He hadn't left the chair in the fourth division barracks for the five days since the bald shinigami had been admitted, and he knew in the back of his mind that he must look awful. His hair hadn't been brushed, his face hadn't been washed properly, and he wore the same uniform he had that first day.

There had been no change since they had first brought him here, and Yumichika was beginning to lose hope. Those first few hours had been dreadful. The healers had spent the entire time working on keeping him alive, slowly putting him back together. When he had been brought in, he had a hole all the way through him, and was charred so bad that the fifth seat had thought he was already dead, but they had told him the reiatsu was there, but weak. They had stitched him up, doing the best they could to re-grow his skin and boost his weak spiritual pressure. Since then he had been here, unconscious and unaware. He lay in the hospital bed, un-moving, his eyes unseeing but not quite closed all the same. He looked dead, but apparently was in a coma. The medics had told Yumichika that Ikkaku was likely to need some time before the shock on his body faded enough for him to be able to wake up. They didn't know how long it would take, and the balance of life or death rested with him being able to recover reiatsu, but they thought that he could probably hear much that was said to him. The man didn't know if that much was true, but hoped it was.

"I'm here, Ikkaku. Just tell me you're ok." He sobbed quietly, "I need you to wake up, Ikkaku. You're supposed to be the strong one. Please wake up. Please, Ikkaku…" He closed his eyes, trying not to cry again. It was so un-beautiful.

There had been a time when Yumichika had seemed to do nothing but cry, but those days had gone since Ikkaku had entered his life. The man had burst his way into the beauty's world and established himself firmly in place. Since then, Yumichika had never worried about feeling safe, or being used, or abused. He was strong now, thanks mostly to the third seat's help training him, even when he thought he would never be able to lift a katana. Once, he had even been weaker than little Hanataro… He sat silently, remembering.

The fall leaves crunched under his bare feet as he ran, not knowing which direction he ran in or where he was headed. He was out of breath and his lungs burned in his chest, begging for rest, but he would never give in, never stop until he collapsed from exhaustion, or they caught him. The weather was just beginning to turn cold, but the exposure to early morning frost on the ground and the crisp north wind meant Yumichika had not been able to feel anything below his knees for a while now, and his fingers and face were beginning to feel numb despite the sweat that ran down his forehead from running. The trees around him stood tall and dark, casting shadows on the forest floor in the dim light of the sunrise, going all but unnoticed by the thin, malnourished man. He stumbled, falling in the brush, and ripping the silky blue kimono which had rested elegantly on his pale shoulders, put there by men who wanted only to keep the beauty as a doll, a sex toy to be used and abused. He stood again with a glance behind him, the first he had taken since his mad dash out of his prison and own personal hell. He saw no one, but continued to run just the same, knowing they weren't far behind him. Then he heard them.

They saw him, they knew where he was, and they were closing in. He wasn't strong enough to fight them or fast enough to outrun them normally, and not having eaten for days had weakened him even further. Stumbling again, he ran out onto a road that crossed through the forest, and then fell forward altogether when his numb foot smashed against a rock, sending him flying. They were on him in seconds it seemed. They came from all sides, grabbing him and sparing no pain as they re-captured their slave. His ribs cracked as they kicked him on the ground, and a leg snapped in two as it broke, one of them having stood right on him. He had tried to escape too many times, and though they preferred not to kill him, he knew they would do everything but in getting him back, if only to teach him a lesson. He tucked himself inward, trying to protect himself without much luck, and as he lay broken and bleeding on the ground, suddenly the torture stopped. His head spun and his body screamed with pain, but as he looked up he saw his captors being beaten, one by one, by a demon of a man, a feral grin on his face. When they were all down, either dead or near death, the feral man turned to Yumichika, still broken on the ground. His expression changed to one of deep concern and he said something that the injured man's mind either could not or would not decipher, just before the world around him faded to black. The last thing he saw were a pair of black, red-tipped eyes.

After that, Yumichika had stayed with Ikkaku. The bald man had taken care of him while he recovered and held off anyone who thought to re-capture the man. Yumichika had known that Ikkaku had been attracted to him, and had assumed at first that this was the only reason the other was helping him. He had supposed that eventually the man would expect to be paid back for his kindness, and Yumichika had dreaded it, but Ikkaku never pressured him for sex, and though over the years they had indeed slept next to one another in the same bed many times, often due to a lack of funds one way or another, the two had never become lovers. In fact, Ikkaku had simply turned out to be the best friend Yumichika had ever known. He had taught the raven-haired man how to defend himself, then how to fight when he started to get better, and since then Yumichika had never had to worry about being sold back into the sex trade. He had come a long way in recovering from the mental anguish since then. He had become more confident and more independent, though there was still insecurity beneath the surface. He gave off the air of vanity and the impression that he was sure of himself and his ability, but the truth was he wore a mask every day. Ikkaku was the only one who had ever seen what was on the other side of that mask, and he was also the secret source of its power. He always had been, and without him… Yumichika didn't want to think about it.

"Please," He sighed heavily, "I would take this pain for you if I could, Ikkaku. You know I would. You just have to be stronger than you ever have. I know you can do this. You always fight and fight until you win, and it wouldn't be a win if you died." He squeezed the man's hand. "Think of little Hana, huh? All of us would be devastated if you were to… But Hanataro will have gone through his pain just to lose you. I saw the look in his eyes that day. Do you want this to all be for nothing?" He stared at the man, willing him to move, to blink, something, just to give some sort of a sign that he was still alive and not just an empty shell, but there was nothing; nothing at all. A tear slid silently down the pale cheek of the willowy man and, unnoticed, fell onto his orange collar.

"Feather-chan?" A small voice sounded from the doorway, and Yumichika turned to give Yachiru his best brave face. "Baldy-chan is going to be ok, right?" She didn't seem too upset, but then, Yumichika thought, the little girl had seen more death in her short years than most people would in a thousand years, even being in the 13 court guards. The Zaraki district was brutal.

"The healers don't know, Lieutenant," he said, giving her the truth. "They say if he starts to regain reiatsu on his own, then he will start to recover, but as far as when that will happen, or if it even will…" His voice cracked and fresh tears formed at the corners of his eyes. Yachiru put a small hand on his shoulder, as Kenpachi stood silently in the doorway, just looking on at the remnants of his officers.

Ok, I know it's short, but I promise I will get more up soon. The next bit will practically write itself. It should technically be attached to this one, but it's been a while and I wanted to get something up for you guys. Thanks again for all the love and support!

~Andromeda