I still don't own Bleach.

Chapter 2: The Bar and the Brutes

It was just another day in the 18th district of Western Rukongai for Rojim. Like most days, he had started working shortly after the sun came up, and now in the middle of the afternoon, he was finally almost done. Not that he minded a long day's work, but it was frustrating knowing that this was all just prep work for his real job. Still, when Rojim looked at the nearly repaired Running Ronin, he couldn't hold back a smug sense of self-satisfaction at his handiwork. The first time he'd been forced to repair the place, it had looked like hell. Over the past couple years of constant practice, he had developed into a true handyman. There was very little he couldn't repair, or make if the original was beyond fixing. Not so long ago, the Running Ronin had been a fairly calm, small time operation serving sake and food to the locals. It wasn't anything big, but Rojim had been content. He made enough to get by on, and had a nice little apartment above the bar with a second apartment that he would rent out like a hotel room to people passing through. Then he came through. At first, Rojim was ecstatic. The idea of a shinigami, and a seated officer, no less, coming to his bar was beyond his wildest dreams. The man may not have been rich by shinigami standards, but compared to what most of the locals could afford, he was spending money like crazy. Rojim kept the sake flowing, and by the end of the night, he had become rather friendly with the shinigami. He was a bald man with odd makeup under his eyes, and he told Rojim his name was Ikkaku, the third seat of the 11th Division. Rojim ate up the stories of Ikkaku's battles with hollows, his sparring sessions with other shinigami, specifically his captain, a Zaraki Kenpachi, and even gave Ikkaku a couple drinks for free over the course of the night. By the time Ikkaku left, Rojim had already made as much that night as a normal week would bring in, and so he was even more excited when Ikkaku promised to bring his friends back next time. If only he'd known…

-Flashback-

Ikkaku was better than his word. Not more than a week later, Ikkaku came back with 13 members of his squad, and Rojim couldn't prevent a small amount of drool from escaping the corner of his mouth when they all started ordering food and drinks. Everything was going great for the first couple hours. Sure, they were a bit, well, enthusiastic, but these were distinguished members of Soul Society. They wouldn't go too far. Then all hell broke loose when two of the shinigami bumped into each other, causing one to spill his sake. Soon it turned into a shouting match, followed by shoves, and, at the encouragement of Ikkaku and the other members of the squad, the two decided to settle things with their zanpakuto. All Rojim could do was hide behind the bar and listen as others got so worked up watching the original fight that they just had to have one of their own. Soon the bar sounded, and looked, like an active war zone. It wasn't until a few hours later that things were quiet enough for Rojim to feel comfortable looking over the bar. He couldn't believe what he saw, men lying all over the place, covered in cuts, the floor and walls covered in blood. Well, three walls covered in blood, the fourth wall was essentially nothing more than splinters remaining from the many swords and bodies to be sent through it. Just when he was about to pass out from shock and terror, Ikkaku reentered the bar, a few bruises and scrapes, but clearly one of the winners from the battle. Rojim wanted desperately to yell at Ikkaku, to give him a piece of his mind for destroying his business and his home, but in his current state, could only get out a single question. "What…the…HELL!?!?!?!"

After laughing at the mixture of anger and shock evident in the barkeep's face and voice, Ikkaku regained his composure. "Heh, sorry buddy. We tend to get a little carried away from time to time."

"A little carried away?! You've ruined me you bastard! This is my livelihood and my home, you ass! What am I supposed to do now?"

"Relax. It's not like we aren't going to pay you. Yeah, for the damages too. Here, this oughta cover it." With that, Ikkaku dropped a bag with more money than Rojim had ever imagined in front of him. "Now, if it's ok with you, I'm gonna get these guys back to the barracks. If you can have the place up and running again, we'll be back with more money in a couple of days."

-End Flashback-

Rojim had actually come to like the guys in the 11th after a while. Sure, they were brutes and more destructive than he believed humans were capable of, but they were great customers. They always paid, and generally overpaid for the repairs. On the other hand, being up until the early hours of the morning everyday serving booze and then having to spend the entire next day outside under the hot sun rebuilding his bar was getting damn tiring. If he only had a way of keeping them from destroying the bar without banning them from the place, he'd have it made. Finally snapping out of his day dream, and realizing the sun was fading to nothing more than a few bits of pink and orange on the distant horizon, Rojim went inside to get ready, just in case the guys came back again tonight.

"Sir, you ok? Hello?"

The concerned voice shook Rojim from his sleep. After wiping the drool from his mouth and looking around, he knew what had happened. Sleep deprivation won out, he had fallen asleep at the bar with there being no customers tonight. Now he took a minute to look at who had woken him. There in front of him was a man about 6' tall, with a muscular build in a white zipper vest that was zipped all the way up to just beneath his chin, and silver eyes that looked him over with genuine concern. "Yeah, yeah. Sorry 'bout that. Can I get you anything?"

After getting this response from the barkeep, the man's face softened into a gentle, relaxed smile. "How 'bout an order of rice and beef and some conversation?"

"I'll get the food right up for ya. When I get done cooking, I'll start working on the conversation." Now that he was a bit further from the stranger, he noticed something that he had missed from his previous angle. "Hey, is that a zanpakuto? Are you a shinigami?"

The man cringed a bit at the question, but quickly regained his smile and said, "A zanpakuto? Nah, just a sword, I'm afraid. And no, I'm no shinigami, just a wanderer." Rojim decided not to push the issue, and instead focused on his cooking. A few minutes later, he brought out the food.

"Alright, here's the meal, and now for the conversation. Guess I'll start it up. My name's Rojim, I'm the owner and lone employee of the Running Ronin. How 'bout you? What's your story?"

"Well, as far as a name goes, I don't really have one. Most people just call me 'Wanderer', which is actually what made me stop here at the Ronin. As for what I do, well, it's basically the same as the first one. I don't have a set job, I just kind of roam around and do what I have to do to get a meal."

"What? Are you a mercenary or something? Just roaming Rukongai selling your sword?" The stranger laughed hysterically at the question, making Rojim more than slightly nervous. "What's so funny?"

The Wanderer kept laughing, and removed his sword from his side, while still in its sheath, set it on the counter and said, "Go ahead, look at that sword."

Rojim nervously removed the sword and gasped audibly. "There's hardly any blade?"

"Exactly!" he said with a chuckle. "Nobody would hire a mercenary with a sword that makes a kill so difficult. The sword is purely for defense."

Now getting the joke, Rojim chuckled as well before the two settled into pleasant conversation about everything and nothing. Rojim talked about some of the weird customers he had encountered, and the Wanderer shared a few stories about the outer districts of Rukongai. Eventually, as the night was winding down, the Wanderer paid his bill and headed for the door, when Rojim stopped him. "You being a wanderer, I don't suppose you have a place to stay, do you?"

"Nah, I normally get by pretty nicely in a tree or under the stars."

"I've got an extra apartment if you wanted to rent it."

"I appreciate it, but I don't have enough money to pay rent."

"I'll tell ya what, you give me a name better than this 'Wanderer' crap and help me out with some maintenance tomorrow, and we'll call it even."

"Kakumau. Kakumau Konrinzai." he said with a smirk.

"Shield for all? That's your name?" said a confused Rojim.

"I know, I know, it's cheesy, but a friend of mine gave it to me, and to be honest," he continued with a big, yet genuine, smile, "I really like it."

"Alright, fair enough. I'm the one who said Wanderer wasn't gonna cut it. I'll show you to your room, Kakumau."

The next day was some of the most intense labor Kakumau had ever experienced. Apparently, Rojim was convinced a hurricane was going to be coming through soon, since he had Kakumau installing metal braces on every load bearing part of the Ronin. After a solid ten hours of this, Kakumau saw Rojim returning from his trip to the store, his arms and back completely loaded down with bottle after bottle of sake. After helping Rojim unload his supplies, he couldn't contain his curiosity. "Ok, what's going on? Nothing personal, but based on last night, I find it hard to believe that you need that much sake. And what's with the fortifications? You expecting a natural disaster?"

"Not a natural one, no," he answered with a smirk. "You see, the fact that last night was slow guarantees tonight will be a mad house. Those guys never stay away two days in a row."

"Those guys?" Kakumau asked with noticeable concern in his voice.

"Yeah, some shinigami from the 11th squad. I make a mint off of them, but they always trash the place. Normally, since I'm on my own, I don't have time after basic repairs to really build the place up, but with you helping today, it shouldn't be a problem."

'Shit. Shinigami? What now old man?'

'Relax Kakumau. Thank Rojim, and leave before they get here.'

'Thank goodness you're here, Kishin. I nearly panicked over nothing.' "Hey, Rojim, thanks for letting me use your apartment last night. I've gotta get going, but hopefully I'll see you again on my next trip through."

"Going? Are you out of your mind? After all that work, you have to let me feed you at least."

"That's ok, I've really got to…", but before he could even finish the sentence, he was interrupted by a certain bald shinigami and his group of friends.

"Yo, Rojim! We're back! Place looks pretty good, too. Who's the new guy?"

"Hey Ikkaku. This is Kakumau, and helped me get this place set to hopefully take the beating you guys always deliver."

"Oh yeah? We'll put it to the test later, I'm sure. In the meantime, let's get the sake going here, Rojim!"

"I'm on it. Hey, Kakumau, grab a seat at the bar, I'll get you some dinner before you leave."

At this point, Ikkaku finally took a good look at the new guy. 'Looks like a tough guy. Wait a sec, is that a…' "Hey, Kakumau, isn't it? Mind telling me why you have a zanpakuto?"

'Well, it worked once, let's hope it does again.' "Zanpakuto? You got it all wrong. This is just a normal sword, see?" With this he drew Kishin and showed the blade to Ikkaku. "Would a zanpakuto have so little edge to it? This sword is purely for defensive purposes."

"Well then, let's see what it can do to defend." In an instant, Ikkaku drew his own blade and launched himself at Kakumau with his blade aimed at the man's throat. At the last possible instant, Kakumau deflected the attack and jumped out through the door. Once he did, he realized his mistake. He was now in the middle of a circle of 12 shinigami, all grinning as they drew their swords.