...on second thought, I guess Drama suits it better.

-Nir

Perhaps that final sentence was not entirely true, because Hanatarou opened his eyes again very soon after he closed them that last time.

Beads of dew had formed on his eyelashes. He blinked them away as he sat up and took note of his surroundings. Fog, lying thick and heavy and low over an iron-gray lake still as a mirror. It was cold. Not bone-chilling, but enough to be uncomfortable, especially with the dampness. He was sitting on a rocky little island covered in sparse grass. A sickly red maple to his left, its leaves drooping sadly. The area held an aura of lethargy, like it was not meant to sustain life. The lake itself reminded him of a stone bowl filled with water, clear and clean but utterly lifeless.

Hanatarou knew this place. This was the inner realm of his zanpakuto, Hisagomaru. Why was he here? He'd been dropped off a cliff more than 300 feet high. He should be dead.

He felt his nose, expecting a sticky mass of congealed blood. On the contrary, it was clean and unbroken. There was no pain anywhere. Was this what happened when a Shinigami died? He didn't recall ever being told… That was a stupid thought. The dead couldn't tell you what rebirth was like.

"You are not dead…"

The voice was light and lilting, like a small child's. He had not heard the spirit approach. It emerged from the gray mist, its florid color almost painful to look at against the monotone backdrop, walking on the water's surface with its delicate little paws.

"Hisa…"

"You are not dead." It repeated, stepping onto the rocky shore and walking up to the Shinigami who commanded it. Hisa did not sit. It circled Hanatarou slowly, its small pointed ears erect and listening. "What happened, Hanaaaa…?"

He followed it with his eyes whenever it came into view, dropping his gaze back to the ground when it went behind him. "I was dropped… I mean, I fell… Did I really survive that?"

Hisa traced a line of coolness up his spine with its prehensile, vine-like tail. He could feel it through his clothing. "Yes… but you are asleep..."

"Asleep…"

"Yes… in a very deep sleeeeep…" The spirit stopped in front of him and fixed him with a blood-colored stare. "One that you may not wake up from for a loooong time…"

Hanatarou was quiet. Asleep. Probably a coma. Better than death, but not by much…

"Had I not pulled you into my inner realm in time, you would have been stuck in limbo, in a black, thoughtless void… You should thank me, Hanaaaa… Thank me for saving you from that…" Its gaze was almost pleading. Hanatarou reflected on his current and future situation. He was stuck here with the spirit of his zanpakuto, which he had, yes he would admit it, consciously neglected. Hisagomaru frightened him, with its lust for causing and devouring pain in order to create more.

This could be a good thing too, he reminded himself. While he waited to wake up he could try to forge a more secure bond with his misunderstood spirit. The situation forced them to be together, and avoiding interaction would be impossible. This was Hisa's home, and Hanatarou would do his best to be a gracious guest in it.

"Thank you, Hisa…" He said, giving the spirit the most optimistic look he could manage at the time, which was little more than a sad smile.

"Of course…" Hisa grinned, showing off an array of small, sharp teeth that had no place in the mouth of such a harmless-looking creature. "Anything for you, Hanaaa…"

--

"It's… it's practically a miracle, isn't it?"

"No." Unohana shook her head, her eyes still fixed on the small, unmoving body on the bed before her. "Shinigami, even frail ones like Yamada-san, are very resilient. It is difficult to kill them with blunt physical force. You should know this, fukutaicho."

Isane nodded quickly, turning away, a bit embarrassed by her captain's words. "Still…" She said quietly. Why was she whispering? It wasn't as if Hanatarou would be woken up by her voice. Though, if only he would… "I can't believe he's alive after that."

He could very well be dead, lying there silent and still but for the slight rise and fall of his chest and the fog from his breath on the oxygen mask he wore. Had Isane not spent nearly an hour fixing all his breaks and bruises, she probably wouldn't have recognized him. His skin was nearly as pale as the bandages plastered on his arms and chest. They'd had to cut away some of his hair to fix the damage done to his skull. It formed a dark, lopsided halo against the white pillow.

After a while, Isane spoke again. "He will wake up, won't he…?" The officers who'd dropped him were being punished accordingly, but locking them away for life or even executing them would mean nothing if Hanatarou never recovered.

Unohana didn't answer right away. In the corner the ventilator hummed with somnolent white noise. "It is hard to say. I believe he will pull through, but he will not wake any time soon. He may be unconscious for several months, or a year. Two years. But in the end, he will wake. All we can do in the meantime is care for him."