I started this fanfic in 2019 and then it sat, 3000 words of rambling ~vibes~, collecting dust in my WIPs folder. I've alluded to it in numerous other fanfics, and earlier this year, my good friend bleachbleachbleach said she wanted to see it and I thought "wow, how hard could it be to knock it into publishable shape? a week or two?"
lmfao months later, here it is. I hope you like it, b3, and everyone else as well.
Many thanks to my beautiful beta reader, Luna12.
Main chapter and all chapter titles are from "Go Places" by the New Pornographers.
It's been four days since they left Inuzuri.
They cross into Shiotsuka shortly after dawn and nearly run headlong into a border patrol. Just a couple of sleepy youths with spears, neither as tall as Renji, easy enough to avoid. None of the other districts south of 70 ran patrols though, and it put them both on edge. After sneaking their way through eight districts, it would be devastating to get caught so close to their final goal.
Healthy caution ferments into caginess by the time they reach the main population center in the northern part of the district. It turns out to be an actual town, rows of streets separated into business and residential areas, not like the dumpy little clusters of buildings that spot Inuzuri like mold.
Rukia is hesitant to ask for directions, but Renji eventually convinces her that most of the townsfolk are not going to demand to see their non-existent travel passes. For the sake of her frazzled nerves, he even goes to the trouble of ginning up a bullshit story about needing to make a delivery. (It is very convincing. Renji did a lot of delivery services in Inuzuri, even if the 'delivery' in many cases turned out to be a punch in the gut.) The first set of directions are roundabout, though, and the second, inaccurate. Rukia is skeptical of the latest set, courtesy of a pair of geezers shooting the shit outside a storefront, but the sun is dipping low in the sky and they have no other leads.
Filthy and exhausted, they turn a corner and a small miracle occurs: they spot a sprawling wooden building with the Shin'ou seal painted haphazardly on the sign above the door. An older man wearing the black and white robes of a shinigami is at the front entrance, pulling the rain shutters closed for the evening.
"Are we too late?" Rukia gasps, half out of breath and three-quarters out of hope.
If Renji is out of anything, it's certainly not words, which pour out of his mouth in a barely punctuated flood. "Hello, sir! We're here to try out to be shinigami! We're sorry we're so late! We would come back in the morning, but we came all the way from Inuzuri and we don't have papers and we don't have any money and-
"Shut up, dummy!" Rukia scolds before he confesses to every crime they've ever committed.
The old man blinks at them for a moment, then pushes the shutters back open. "You've come a long way. Welcome to the District 70 Consolidated Shinigami Recruitment Station. My name is Mr. Mochida. Why don't you come in?"
Rukia looks at Renji. Renji looks at Rukia. Side-stepping their question and asking them to move to a less-visible location. If this were Inuzuri, they'd laugh in his face. But this isn't Inuzuri, and they need something from him.
"You two haven't eaten in a while, have you?" Mr. Mochida asks.
They shake their heads.
"There's no point in administering the tests if you aren't well fed," Mr. Mochida says.
Ah. Well. That is that, then.
But before the last dregs of hope have a chance to drain from Rukia's body, Mr. Mochida smiles, a big, friendly grin. "The station offers a free meal for that very purpose. Come in and eat. Goodness, am I happy to see the two of you!"
No adult has ever been happy to see Renji and Rukia in their entire afterlives.
On the other hand, Mr. Mochida is not just any adult. He is a chump. He also talks a lot.
He tells them about the candidates he has seen so far–the same punks and smart-asses that showed up the previous year, trying to score a free meal out of him and to laugh at their friends trying to pretend they have even an atom of spiritual pressure. He says recruiters change posts every few years, so that no one has to spend too much time in the far-flung districts, but this is his second year here, and he has a good memory for faces. He doesn't mind, though. He says it's a rough life out here and it's not like the food is particularly fancy and also, sometimes people get a burst of spiritual pressure as they grow older, it's been known to happen.
He is very confident that Rukia and Renji are going to be worth his time, though. He can feel it in his bones.
The procedure is this, he says: They will take some tests. If Mr. Mochida thinks they are good enough, he will send off some applications to the Seireitei. Whether or not the applications are approved depends on how many other candidates there are this year. If they are, they will be given travel passes and an allotment of resources sufficient to travel from District 70, already the poshest place Rukia and Renji have ever been, up to the Seireitei itself, home of the Shin'oureijutsuin, a place so far off and fantastical, it might as well be the moon. There, they will take another exam, and if they rank highly enough on that one, they can stay and study to become shinigami. Between passing the initial tests and receiving their travel approval, they may stay at the recruiting station, and Mr. Mochida will help them with some of the gaps in their knowledge. He receives some sort of commission, so it is in his best interests to prepare them.
Rukia and Renji do their best to absorb as much of this torrent of information as they can, while also stuffing their faces. Fancy or not, the dinner is no joke. Mr. Mochida has brewed actual tea for them and cooked fluffy white rice, and pulled out all sorts of other things they have never seen before, probably shipped down from the city. The soy sauce is so dark, light doesn't even shine through it. Mr Mochida warns them to use it sparingly, it isn't like the watered-down stuff they already consider a luxury. Renji nearly spits his out at the shock of the strong flavor, but Rukia thinks it's the most amazing thing she's ever tasted.
Once he finishes his own explanations, Mr. Mochida asks them questions about Inuzuri and their trip. He listens carefully to their answers, smiling at the parts where they were clever and frowning at parts where they ran into difficulties.
"The Office of…Travel–whatever-you-called-it, where we were s'posed to get our papers–burnt down a few years ago," Renji, who has been doing most of the talking, explains between shoveling big bites of rice into his mouth. "Three?"
"Two," Rukia supplies, picking up her soup bowl.
"And no one reported it up-district?" Mr. Mochida asks, his eyebrows furrowed with concern. "It should have been repaired. I will write a letter. Those offices are the responsibility of the Seireitei."
Renji looks blank. "Well, I think the guy who ran it burned it down himself. He'd been taking a lot of bribes."
"A lot of bribes," Rukia adds, putting her empty soup bowl down again. The soup is salty and good, with bits of green stuff and chunks of tofu in it. She has never had anything like it. That was her third serving. "Are there more pickles?"
"I can open another jar." Mr. Mochida gets up to fetch one from his pantry.
"Don't be greedy, Rukia," Renji says under his breath, as if he hasn't been packing away at least as much as her.
"He said we needed to eat to do a good job on the tests," Rukia mutters back. Besides, if this all turns out to be a bust, at least they'll have gotten the best meal of their afterlives out of it.
"Enforcing travel regulations between Rukon districts is outside of shinigami jurisdiction," Mr. Mochida mentions as he reappears, wrestling the lid off of a jar of takuan. "But I can write up temporary passes for both of you. You won't need to worry about paperwork while you're here in Shiotsuka." He leans over and sets the jar on the table in front of Rukia. "You two seem very tired." He's not wrong. The food is helping a lot, but Rukia can barely keep her eyes open. She has no idea how she is going to prove to this guy that she deserves to go to shinigami school. "Why don't you stay the night, and we can do the tests in the morning?"
Rukia freezes mid-chew.
"But what if we fail?" Renji gawps.
Mr. Mochida shrugs. "Then I have provided hospitality for two young people who have already been through a lot in the interest of joining the shinigami corps."
Truly, this man is the biggest chump she's ever met.
There is a special room at the recruitment station, just for cleaning yourself. It even has a big bathtub, although it hasn't been filled in a while, which Mr. Mochida, in his ridiculousness, apologized for. Rukia has managed to wash a lot of the road grime off, although she still has some under her fingernails. To be fair, she suspects she will never not have dirt under her fingernails. She's been given a clean, second-hand sleeping yukata and led to the girls' dormitory, a room large enough for five young ladies, although tonight it's just her. An entire room with just her in it. It's insane. Unthinkable. She has a futon and a pillow and a blanket. They are all a little flat and musty from being stuffed in a closet for a long time, but compared to the bedding Rukia has used prior to this, they might as well be silk and swan feathers.
She can't believe the old man just left them here and went to sleep in his own living area on the other side of the station. What if they steal all his stuff? Rukia has definitely considered stealing all his stuff. She keeps reminding herself that it isn't a good idea because if they pass these tests, their life is going to be fancy as hell. Why would she risk that for a bunch of heavy shinigami textbooks and training swords, especially since they don't know any fences up here in 70? It's hard, though, because Rukia isn't very good at looking too far ahead, and making off with some loot seems a much surer thing than passing all these tests.
Also, Renji would never go for it.
Renji hates stealing and is very much looking forward to never doing it again.
Sometimes, Rukia isn't sure how they're even friends.
There's something fundamentally honest in Renji's soul, something moral and rule-bound that hates what they have to do to stay alive. Rukia herself isn't burdened with such a demon, but she suspects Renji's will lead him to his death if they stay in Inuzuri much longer, and she's determined to see him off to bigger and better things.
Rukia tosses and turns. She sticks her feet out of the blanket and then draws them in. She pulls the blanket over her face. This is so stupid.
She only needs one hand to count the number of nights she has slept by herself since she threw in with Renji's gang, and to be honest, she didn't sleep very well on any of those occasions, either.
She can't do this.
But when she throws open the door of the dormitory, Renji is standing there, his hand raised to knock. Scrubbed clean, hair combed, dressed in something with no rips or tears, he looks like someone she has never met. His mouth hangs open stupidly.
Rukia jerks her head to the side. "Get in here, dummy."
They have each been given a set of practice clothing- sturdy cotton kimonos and hakama. Even though she's wearing the smallest set Mr. Mochida had, Rukia's hakama are pulled up under her armpits and still drag on the ground. This is somewhat humiliating.
Renji, on the other hand, looks perfect in his, like whoever invented hakama did so with him in mind. Furthermore, he's holding an actual wooden practice sword like he died with one in his hands. Renji has been habitually picking up sticks and swinging them around the entire time she's known him. It is obvious to Rukia that he belongs here, that he was meant for this. His face looks like all his dreams have finally come true.
Mr. Mochida holds his own sword expertly and calmly. "Go ahead," he says, patiently.
Renji runs at him swinging.
Mr. Mochida blocks the blow, pushing Renji off to one side. He shakes out his sword arm. "Good. Again."
Renji has no skill at swords, but he has a lot of enthusiasm, and he has a lot of strength. Mr. Mochida doesn't seem to have even broken a sweat by the time Renji is panting and exhausted, but he claps her friend on the shoulder and tells him he has talent.
Don't tell him that! Rukia wants to scream. He'll be unbearable!
"You're next, Miss Rukia."
Renji comes to replace her on the sidelines as Rukia takes up her own sword. It's puny compared to the one Renji carries, and it's still too long for her.
"You can do it," he tells her. "You just have to push part of yourself into the sword, make it stronger."
She nods, as if that makes any damn sense.
Rukia tries to imitate Mr. Mochida's stance, knees slightly bent. She contemplates the weapon in her hands. It's not a rock or a shard of glass or even a shiv. It's just for practice, but it's the size and shape of a weapon and you can certainly hurt someone with it. You and me, Rukia thinks at the sword. We can do some damage, you and me.
Push part of yourself into the sword. Maybe that's not such nonsense after all.
She charges.
Now it is Rukia's time to shine.
She spins a fine globe of energy into her hand, purple and dazzling.
Mr. Mochida looks pleased, and Rukia preens.
Renji needs two hands to do this trick, and his sphere is much smaller and dimmer than hers. It takes all his concentration to keep it from winking out again.
"Good enough, Mr. Renji," Mr. Mochida says, "You can let it go. Miss Rukia, that's very fine work. Now, what can you do with that?"
Rukia blinks. "Do with it?"
Rukia and Renji might not know much about fancy swordwork or book-learning, but there is one thing they are good at and that is scrapping.
They survived ten years in Inuzuri. There are only three ways to do that. You can be subtle and sneaky, and they are no slouch at that, either. You can throw in with one of the big, violent gangs, who offer protection, but may well knife you themselves for any reason or no reason. Or you can find yourself a partner and learn to become a two-headed, eight-limbed monster, a cloud of fists and fangs with the mercy of a winter storm.
Rukia knows this. She knows it like she knows the taste of her own blood or the sound of a nose breaking. She was sure, absolutely positive, that this would be the one area where they would be able to impress Mr. Mochida.
That's not what's happening.
Mr. Mochida knows a lot of formal hand-to-hand- throws and grapples and things, and Renji hasn't been able to land a punch yet. Rukia can see the phantom of herself every time Mr. Mochida finds an open space to move into, every time he finds a second to breathe and regroup.
This isn't fair, Rukia thinks. Renji hits hard. It's true that they're better as a duo, but Renji can still take down anyone in Inuzuri even without her help. Mr. Mochida is being too rough on them. They would make good shinigami. It isn't their fault they haven't learned any of this.
Rukia makes a decision. She jumps into the fight.
Mochida is pressed hard now- he's blocking Renji's swinging fists while Rukia is trying to sweep his feet. He flips Rukia over his hip, only to get slammed in the head with Renji's foot. Rukia rolls to her feet and twists one of his arms behind his back. In under a minute, they have him pinned on the mat.
Mr Mochida laughs and laughs. Slowly, they let him up. "Were you worried I was going to hurt him, Miss Rukia?"
"I didn't need your help, Rukia," Renji grouches.
Rukia frowns. "We're really strong and we deserve to go to shinigami school," she announces. "You're judging us too harshly."
Mr. Mochida laughs some more. "You are both well past the minimum qualifications. But I need to get a full and fair assessment of your abilities for my report. That's why I was pressing him hard, so I could see what he is capable of."
They exchange wide-eyed stares.
"We can go?" Renji murmurs.
"You will have my recommendation," Mr. Mochida says firmly. "Remember, that is only the first step. The other reason I am testing you is that, while you are here, I can help prepare you for your entrance exams. We do not have a lot of time, but I will do my best to help. And unfortunately, you will each have to gain admission on your own merits. It is a shame, I think, since you are obviously a very good team." He looks back and forth between them, at their slack, unbelieving faces. "Perhaps I should have said something earlier," he says in a kind voice. "I thought your suitability was clear." He clears his throat. "I should start on your forms, so we can put them in the post this afternoon."
They were right in the middle of a test. It is obvious that Mr. Mochida is giving them a moment of privacy to process their feelings. At least, it would be obvious if Renji and Rukia were capable of thinking about anything at all beyond the idea that they are leaving, they are getting out.
Rukia swallows. Renji blinks. And then she is running toward him and he is holding his arms wide and then he swings her up into the air and they are laughing and gasping and gripping each other far, far too hard. Renji presses Rukia to his chest and buries his face in her hair. Rukia digs her fingers into Renji's shoulders and squeezes her eyes shut and presses her cheek into his neck. They can't breathe, either one of them. But even dead souls can only hold their breath for so long, and when they can't anymore, he puts her down, and they step away.
They don't do this. They don't hug or even touch more than strictly necessary, really, not during the day. They used to, for a while, and then Fujimaru died. They know that distance is important, that it is necessary for survival. This is a blip, an outlier. A special circumstance.
Renji's face splits into a grin, nervous and relieved at the same time.
Rukia feels her own face echo the expression.
There is nothing to say. All they can do is grin awkwardly at each other and count on the other to understand. As always.