Twelve
Chapter Notes
I've been gone for a while for a lot of reasons, but one of them you will all be super happy to hear no doubt – I have started plotting/planning out an Aizen-POV "sequel" to this story. In other words, I will take some major scenes or even behind-the-scenes sections and write them from Aizen's perspective. Now, this is only in its planning stage, and something I'm still debating, as part of the joy imo of this story is the freedom to decide for yourself when EXACTLY Aizen starts to care or even realize he is starting to care about Ichigo, if at all. I think that an Aizen-pov fic would take away that freedom as it'll give you my take on it… all the same, I'm lowkey craving writing from dad!Aizen's pov… Another reason is that I finally sat down and finished two different Obito-centric fics I've been working on, and it felt really really nice to get back into the swing of writing from his POV considering he is literally my all-time favorite so… DADZEN has been added as a tag btw because the lovely ChelseaJay had commented with it and- it's just perfection so. ANYWAY, onto the chapter, I hope you all enjoy 3
This was not the first and definitely wouldn't be the last time that he shuffled into Aizen's office with half-lidded eyes and a yawn working its way up his throat. "Morning," he said listlessly. He'd been up almost all-night training with Shiro off in the woods. His hollow side had demanded to pick up with practicing – read sparing – together again considering he was doing so with his other two spirits on the regular.
"Good morning," Aizen replied, a frown marring his face.
Ichigo ignored it, instead sinking into his seat at the table to try and work up the energy to eat. The soft rustle of fabric and occasional turn of a page were the only sounds filling the room as Ichigo moved the rice in his bowl around; half-heartedly making the effort to pick it up for a bite. It was like someone had stuffed his head full of brambles and dumped a mountain on him. If he could just close his eyes for a few more minutes, he was sure the feeling would go away.
"Ichigo," Aizen started, voice deceptively soft, "is everything all right?"
"I'm just tired," he mumbled, the words distorting with how his face was pressing into his fist to keep upright.
"Tired, hm? If I remember correctly, you went to bed early last night."
Right. Damn it, he had, hadn't he? "I couldn't sleep."
"And why not?"
If he were any less tired, he might have bristled at the question, but as it was all he could muster was an annoyed huff, and a snappish reply, "I had a nightmare, okay?"
Ichigo let his chopsticks click against the table obnoxiously loud as he put them down before
sprawling across the floor, his eyes falling shut as he tried to ignore the pounding of his head. It ached with each beat of his heart. "You know you can come to me and talk," Aizen said an indistinguishable amount of time later. "I'd be happy to listen."
Oh, Ichigo was sure Aizen would love to hear all about his nightmares. The better to manipulate him. He didn't say any of that though. "I know."
The words tasted like iron and lies.
Another few throbs. His entire body ached.
"How about you meditate for today," Aizen offered, making Ichigo crack his eye open. "You can finish the history report tomorrow."
"I thought we were going to Hueco Mundo tomorrow."
"We are," Aizen said, "but we won't be spending the whole day."
Ichigo twisted on the floor and let himself lay on his side for a moment. Staying here would mean falling asleep, and for all that sounded heavenly, he wanted- no, needed to continue training on reiatsu absorption and transfer. He was so close to getting it down. Just one more breakthrough; that was all he needed. So he heaved himself to stand and shuffled over to sit behind Aizen, back leaning against his. The weight of Aizen's reiatsu chased away a tiny part of his pounding headache.
"We both know you won't be meditating if you sit there," Aizen admonished.
But Ichigo paid it less than half-a-mind, already settled as he was. "It's comfortable," he mumbled out.
"Comfortable," Aizen repeated wryly and with the slightest hint of teasing.
"Like a blanket," Ichigo said or maybe didn't as he was already falling into his inner world, chasing away the frightening warmth in his chest; the heavy blanket of reiatsu felt dangerously close to home and safe.
The rough press of a flower-covered pillar against his back was fast becoming one of his favorite feelings. Cushioned by vines and leaves and petals as it was, Ichigo could almost fall asleep if he wasn't so focused on the ebb and flow of reiatsu from both Muramasa and Ossan. One second it was a short burst. The next second it was a slow trickle. The next after it was a tsunami barreling into him. They'd distract him with conversation and questions and every time he faltered he'd have to go a minute against Shiro in a spar.
Months ago, they'd started slowly. One at a time and with the reiatsu held in front of him until he could absorb it all. Now, it was fast and all at once – no breaks, no gentle instructions. Soon, he knew, he'd have to start pulling it off in spars. But not today.
Today he could press his back into the rough stone and soft flowers and listen to his spirits' soothing voices and feel their comforting reiatsu envelop him.
"You should wait until after your visit to Hueco Mundo," Ossan was saying right then. "Your
reiatsu will be more stable."
"I'll miss my sisters' birthday."
"You'll miss it regardless if you're stuck in the dangai."
"I won't get stuck," he denied, more out of stubborn hope than anything else. He'd already missed so many of his sisters' birthdays. He didn't want to miss another. It would just be for the night. A few hours at most, and he'd already set up the idea that he'd be going to bed early with how tired he was and his earlier conversation with Aizen. It was the perfect chance.
Tellingly, Ossan and Muramasa didn't reply right away. They glanced at each other instead, as if deciding who would try and reason with him next.
"You need to sleep, Ichigo," Ossan finally said.
"My sisters and training are more important right now," Ichigo snorted. For all that Yoruichi and Gin had said he wouldn't be the one facing down Aizen at the final battle, he couldn't bring himself to believe it. Last time it wasn't supposed to be him either. Or at least, that was what he liked to think. But where did that hope lead him?
"Rest is part of that," Muramasa replied, sending a burst of reiatsu between their locked hands.
"I'll rest when I'm dead."
"Technically, King-."
"Shut up," he said automatically. "When did you even get back? I thought you were off hitting things?" Shiro had grown bored when Ichigo failed to make a mistake ten minutes into the training and scampered off to do who knew what.
"The fact you didn't notice proves my point," Ossan said.
Ichigo sighed.
"I know you want to protect me, but I need to get stronger. Aizen hardly had to try when-," Ichigo cut himself off, not wanting to think about that particular day.
"When ya had a mental break down?" Shiro unhelpfully suggested.
"The point," Ichigo said around clenched teeth, "is that I can't afford to take a break."
"You can't afford not to," Muramasa said softly. "You'll burn yourself out soon, Ichigo."
"And it'll be worth it," he countered, because it would have to be. Because he'd been here before when Rukia was taken and when the Espada invaded and kidnapped Orihime and- Well, Ichigo was never one to slack. And maybe none of that ended particularly well, but it was hardly because of his work ethic – that only let him survive until he didn't.
"Sleep tonight, at least," Ossan pressed. "Being a day late for their birthday won't mean anything when it means seeing their brother safe and healthy."
Ichigo opened his mouth to protest.
"I'll teach ya cero."
"I already know how to use cero."
"Ha! As if," Shiro scoffed, arms crossing and grin widening. "Ya' only know when I'm in control, Kingy."
That- That was sadly true, Ichigo had to admit. And it would be nice to have it up his sleeve without having to pull on his mask…
"Fine."
Despite the sleep, he still had to drag himself from bed and through breakfast with half-lidded eyes the next day. Aizen gave him a sickeningly concerned look not once but twice. The first coming when Hinamori dropped him off at his office, and the second when Unohana had arrived. Unohana herself asked about how he was feeling, but Ichigo had stuck to his nightmare excuse because if either thought it was from his abnormal growth spurt then they'd call off their little trip all together and Ichigo was decidedly not about to let that happen. Not a chance.
He may feel like he'd been stuffed full of rocks wrapped in barbed wire, but he wasn't going to let that stop him from seeing Nel and Lilynette and Starrk and getting to listen to Unohana's explanations of different plants.
Even when they ended up going farther than normal that day.
Past the lush forests sticky with humidity and spilling over with fresh herbs. Past the whispering streams and thundering falls and a canyon that Aizen insisted Ichigo be carried over. Past another forest, less lush with a floor cushioned by pine-needles that made each step almost silent, before finally, finally starting to forage through an open tundra somewhere in a mountain range far far far to the north. The cool air kissed his heated skin and had his nose turning red as he cautiously looked around. The grass was almost brittle and the plant life so sensitive to ambient reishi that Unohana had warned him one wrong step could destroy them. Especially a wrong step from him. Considering the amount of reiatsu he leaked normally, any sudden spike would probably throw a whole mountain into disarray.
"Try stepping just above the ground," Unohana had instructed them at the start. "But be careful, too close and they'll be affected, too far and it'll make collecting them awkward."
Wonderful. Just wonderful. They brought him to a place like this.
"You'll be fine," Unohana had said when she'd seen the look on his face.
Aizen's hand had fallen into his hair a moment later, ruffling his already wind-swept locks further, "You can finally put all the hours of training in control to practice."
Did it really count as practice if there'd be widespread, catastrophic consequences to the surrounding area? Probably to Aizen.
Not that Ichigo had much room to talk. His training sessions with Hat-an-clogs before and even during the war had been… well, they'd needed to rebuild that bunker a good few times.
Within five minutes his worries were pushed away in favor of gently inspecting a sun-yellow flower. He was pretty sure the leaves were used in teas but he couldn't remember the name of it.
"Over here, Ichigo," Unohana called out, voice deceptively soft and easily pulling his attention. He didn't' have long for this lesson – a mere half-hour before they had to head to Hueco Mundo – and he was determined to learn all he could.
He crouched down beside her, careful to keep himself from disturbing the plants. "These act as mild antibiotics, and can be good for less severe wounds," she explained, going into more and more detail and what to mix them with and how to handle them and- the half-hour went by so fast Ichigo wasn't even sure he'd had time to breathe.
Aizen had spent the better part of the time reading through a book he'd brought with him; only occasionally glancing up. Now, he was leading Ichigo through the barren and white halls of Hueco Mundo, a hand on Ichigo's shoulder as if to stop him from running off… again. In his defense, it was only the once.
"We're going to visit Szayelaporro first," Aizen told him.
The mad scientist?
"Why?"
"He'll take a look at you and perhaps find something Captain Unohana, and Kisuke missed."
Ichigo bit his tongue to stop the scoff he wanted to let out. There was no way that was the only reason. Not with Aizen.
Renji and Ishida had told him about the fight they had with the pink-haired madman during their attempt to save Orihime. About his use of inventions. About how he'd almost killed them after barely touching them at all. How he was as mad as Kurotsuchi.
Yeah… Ichigo wasn't looking forward to this.
Not to even mention everything he'd been managing to keep secret.
There wasn't a chance Szayelaporro wouldn't tell Aizen everything he found and then all of Ichigo's carefully constructed plans and tucked away abilities would be left to die. It was hardly fair. And there was nothing he could do about it. Not now that Aizen had made his choice. If he tried to complain or get out of it there would be far too many questions to answer and none of which would mean Aizen wouldn't go through with this little check-up.
The room he was led into was something out of a nightmare.
The smell of bleach and whatever other chemical supplies were used to clean it so thick and yet entirely unable to cover the iron tang of spilled blood and the burning stench of experiments in progress. Too-bright lights covered the ceiling and had Ichigo squinting to make out the tables and machines and- you know what, he didn't want to see that suspiciously shaped pile clearly. Not. At. All.
He slid close to the exit, and consequently closer to Aizen.
Not even three steps into the room saw a pink-haired head pop out from behind a towering pile of papers and books towards one end of the room. The rest of their body soon followed.
"Lord Aizen," who Ichigo assumed was Szayelaporro greeted, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Szayelaporro," Aizen said placidly. "This is my-."
Whatever Aizen was about to say was cut off and Ichigo wasn't sure if he was thankful or not.
"Ichigo, isn't it? Lord Aizen's child? What a treat! Oh, I can't wait to see what's grabbed our lord's attention about you."
Ichigo only just caught Aizen's eyes narrowing, his smile turning flinty and cold and deadly, "You're to see what could be causing his growth spurt and nothing more."
"Of course, of course," he said, smile too-wide and gaze never leaving Ichigo.
Seriously, what was with all the creepy scientists wanting to dissect him? It was weird enough to have happened once, but now twice? And that wasn't even counting the one that actually experimented on him.
"You can call me Szayelaporro Granz," he said with a grin more befitting Kurotsuchi than Ichigo felt comfortable with, "the eighth Espada and the epitome of perfection."
"I'm not calling you that," Ichigo said bluntly.
"Oh?" Szayelaporro leaned in slightly, "But it's all true."
Ichigo's teeth bared with his scowl, "Nobody is perfect, and eighth seat or not I could kick your ass."
"Ichigo," Aizen sighed from where he'd moved to lean imperiously against a wall.
"What? I could."
"That wasn't the point."
"It was my point."
Aizen looked skyward as if he'd ever pray to any other god than the one he saw himself as, "It wouldn't be much of a feat regardless. Szayelaporro is more useful in his lab than on a battlefield."
Tellingly, Szayelaporro took that as a compliment, his grin growing impossible wider and practically swooning. "My, my, today is just full surprises. First a fine specime- I mean, patient, is brought to me and now a compliment from Lord Aizen himself!"
Ichigo was going to gag.
Szayelaporro wasted no time hooking him up to all manners of machines and taking samples of everything he could get his hands on: blood, reiatsu, hair… The oddest part however was the fact he took Ichigo weight and height and age and all the normal things a doctor would have done. It shouldn't have been a surprising as it was.
Aizen hovered the entire time.
Or, at least his version of hovering.
He stood in the corner and stared with calculating eyes and a cold face. Szayelaporro didn't seem to care, or maybe he was too focused on whatever he was finding out about Ichigo to be bothered.
Ichigo didn't know how long he was sitting there being poked at, but by the time Harribel was knocking on the door to inform Aizen of something or other and offer to bring Ichigo to Starrk, he seconds away from shoving Shiro down Szayelporro's throat.
"Go on, Ichigo," Aizen told him. "I have business to attend to."
Harribel gave Aizen a short bow before turning to leave, expecting Ichigo to follow. He hesitated for only a moment before slipping out the door after her.
"He has not one but three different signatures mixing together-." It was all Ichigo could hear before Harribel closed the door and started leading him away. The excitement in Szayel's voice almost equal to the dread swimming in him.
He had no idea how he was going to fix this.
When he got back home-
Ichigo almost tripped at that thought. Since when had he started thinking of Soul Society, of the fifth, as home? That- was dangerous. Too dangerous. He'd need to be careful. The fifth wasn't his home and the second everything went down with Aizen and with trying to get the Vizards' names cleared he was sure it wouldn't be anymore. After all was said and done, he wanted nothing more than to head back to the world of the living and spend time with his family.
He took a deep breath.
Soul Society wasn't home.
It wasn't.
He ignored the traitorous voice whispering in the back of his mind.
When he got back, he'd have to tell Gin and get word to Yoruichi and Hat-an-clogs. They'd be able to work around this in some way, and prepare a lie for why not only had Aizen not been told, but why Hat-an-clogs had kept Ichigo in the dark as well. (It wouldn't be hard, he knew. Hell, even he could come up with one right then – Hat-and-clogs not trusting either of them. But it paid to be prepared.)
Harribel didn't comment on his silence or on him nearly smashing face-first into a wall. She strode confidently through the halls and didn't even bother to knock before swinging a set of doors open and announcing she'd brought 'Aizen's kid'.
"Finally," Grimmjow called out from where he'd sprawled himself out in a spot of what would have been sunlight in any other world.
"Ichigo!" Nel, who'd he managed to rope into a game the last time he was here, rush forward and swept him into her arms. It was odd seeing her all grown up and not a kid toddling after him. Odd but good. "Lilynette and I brought cards this time."
"Don't spoil the surprise!"
"I didn't," Nel shot back with a huff, not bothering to put Ichigo down until she'd carried him to Starrk where he was promptly deposited. "Besides, you're the one who has them spread out all over the floor!"
"I wanted to set up the game before he got here," Lilynette said, arms crossing.
"What game?" Ichigo asked before it could devolve into a fight. He'd leaned himself back against Starrk's side, already sinking into the blanket of dense reiatsu.
Nel brightened at the question, practically beaming as she explained, "We each get some cards and then we try to make the cards match with other cards. If we don't have a card, we can ask another person for them and they have to give it to us but if they don't have it then we have to get a card from the deck, and whoever doesn't have any cards in their hands first wins!"
Go Fish.
He was going to play Go Fish with a group of what used to be his enemies in a war.
At this point, why not? How could his life get any weirder really.
Harribel and Grimmjow were both dragged into the game, and Lilynette managed to convince Starrk. They lasted a good twenty minutes in relative peace.
"Are the stars here and the ones in the living world the same?" he asked softly as Grimmjow and Lilynette's squabble started to become more heated. He'd been curious about it for some time now, and been meaning to ask Hat-and-clogs. Starrk was old though. He must be for how powerful he was. Surely he'd know something about it all, right?
Wrong.
"I don't remember the ones in the world of the living," Starrk said quietly, his gaze locked on his cards still and eyes half-lidded.
"I used to be a sailor," Harribel said from the left of their little circle. "I don't remember much of the world of the living but I remember that and I never liked the stars here."
That… was a lot more than he was expecting, honestly. "But why'd they be different?"
"You should ask Szayelaporro or Aizen. They'd know."
Ichigo merely hummed noncommittally.
Grimmjow and Lilynette ended up rolling around in a slap-fight as Nel cheered them on and Starrk took the opportunity to nap. Ichigo watched it all with a growing smile and a plan. He may kill Aizen but if he could convince the Espada to lay down their arms then he could save them from whatever fate Central Forty-six would want to put them through. He didn't think he could bare to lose them. Not at this point.
As claws and teeth joined into the slap-fight, so did reiatsu. The pressure in the room built and Ichigo found himself sinking more and more into it. It went from a warm blanket to several and then even more and- well, the analogy fell apart because that many blankets would be suffocating and this wasn't. He felt lighter. More energized.
"Enough," Harribel barked out. "That kind of pressure will hurt or kill the little lordling."
"The what," Ichigo said before he could stop himself, shocked out of the cocoon of reiatsu he'd been gathering to himself.
"Lord Aizen is our ruler and you are his child," Harribel said. "That makes you our lordling."
There were moments in life when you heard or saw something so resoundingly dumb or shocking
that any response fled your lips. In that moment, Ichigo could only grasp onto Harribel's other point with any clarity, and so instead of saying what he wanted to say, which would have been along the lines of not being Aizen's kid and to never call him that again thank-you-very-much, what came out instead was: "The pressure felt nice."
"The pressure doesn't hurt you?" Starrk asked, voice questioning and brows furrowed. "Are you sure?"
Ichigo shrugged. "I already told Aizen. It feels comfortable."
"Comfortable," Harribel echoed, much like Aizen had and with just as much wry doubt. "You have several high-ranking Espada around you and two of them spiked their reiatsu enough to put some of our fraccion on the floor and it felt comfortable?"
Everyone's eyes were on him. All he could do was cross his arms and scowl to try and rid himself of the way his neck prickled under the weight. "So?" he half-snapped.
"It's unusual," Harribel said carefully even. "And you said Lord Aizen knows?"
"I told him yesterday." Ichigo shuffled in his seat, cards forgotten and laid out on the floor. "I- could- I mean can you raise it again?" he asked, forcing his gaze to not waver from Harribel's. "It's a lot more relaxing."
She looked towards the others; all of them wore curious expressions. Although, Ichigo noted, Grimmjow looked more blood-thirsty than anything else. Go figure.
"We'll raise it slowly," she decided at last with a sharp nod.
Ichigo felt the pressure building back up, encompassing in not unlike water would when he used to swim. The ambient reishi in the room had already been thick before. Add to that the reiatsu naturally leaked by the Espada, and most spirits would go into shock. Ichigo, on the other hand, only felt content. His breaths came easier. An ache in his neck he'd been ignoring all but disappeared. Tentatively, he started to pull it towards him. Let it seep under his skin the same way Ossan had been so diligently teaching. The world became clearer even as if spun slightly and- what did this remind him of? He'd felt something similar before but he couldn't put his finger on when or where.
"Ichigo?" Starrk's rumbling voice – had it always been so deep? – broke through some of the haze.
"'S good," he mumbled, blinking a few times to focus on the looks of wonder and shock staring at him. "What?"
"You're getting drunk on it," Grimmjow snorted.
Ichigo frowned. "I'm not getting' drunk. 'S just comfortable."
"You're absorbing it and getting high," Grimmjow said dryly even as his eyes sparked with humor. "So- drunk."
"We should stop," Harribel said, and Ichigo immediately felt the difference. From floaty to sinking.
"What? No," he protested.
"I will not be responsible for getting you intoxicated. On reiatsu or otherwise."
"But it's nice."
"As nice as being drunk can be," Starrk said, "it's no state for someone as young as you to be in."
"Then I'll stop absorbing it," he reasoned.
The door opened then and for a heart-stopping moment Ichigo thought it'd be Aizen and that it was time to leave.
But no.
Instead, Szayel stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets and smile far too big. "Well, well," he started with, "this is a surprise. How can a little one such as yourself handle so much pressure, hm?"
"Szayelaporro,' Harribel stated more than greeted. Or maybe it'd been a threat, because it had him raising his hands in seeming surrender.
"I felt the spike all the way in my lab," he said. "How could I resist seeing the cause?"
Szayel walked further into the room. The door shut with a soft click behind him and the reiatsu began to rise once more.
"Szayelaporro," Harribel said sharply.
"What? It's hardly anything compared to what you lot had done before," Szayel smiled, ambling closer. "Besides, aren't you curious how much he can take?"
Harribel's eyes narrowed, her hand dropping to her sword, "No."
Szayel tsked, "Aizen brought him to me to test what's wrong. This may help me find the answer. Do you really want to go against Aizen's orders?"
"Lord Aizen," Harribel corrected.
"Please," Szayel snorted, looking at his nails and continuing to raise the pressure, "like you hold any real loyalty to him."
The tension in the room shifted, and for a split-second Ichigo's mind was crystal clear.
"What's with that look?" Szayel teased of all things. "It's not like I'll betray him. Not when he brings me so many fun toys."
"Pathetic," Harribel scoffed with finality. "Run you experiment, but if any harm comes to our lordling, it is on your head and I'll be the first in line to cut it off."
Ichigo would pay to see that. Really. If he had money, that is.
Maybe he'll ask Aizen for some.
But later. After Szayel ran whatever weird test he wanted because right then it aligned with Ichigo's own desires. And creepy or not – seriously that smile was far too wide and where the hell had he gotten the clipboard and pen? – Szayel had swung things in his favor.
The dense reiatsu was back, and Ichigo wanted nothing more than to sink into his inner world to see the affects first hand. But with Szayel here… No. Not a chance. The others would probably
stop the mad scientist if he tried anything, but Ichigo would rather not take any risks.
So he settled in and let the pressure rise around him. At some point the floor started to crack and the door fell off its hinges, but he didn't care at all. If he wanted to, he knew he could stand and run and practice katas and spar and it would be euphoric. He could fight for hours – no days without rest if he was surrounded by this ocean of reiatsu all the time.
Like all good things, however, this too came to an end.
Aizen stepped into the room with his blade drawn and the comforting blanket disappeared in the blink of an eye. It left his head spinning.
"What," Aizen's cold voice was so loud, "is going on here?' It wasn't a question. Not really. It wasn't even addressed at him. Ichigo opened his mouth to answer anyway.
"'S fine," he said, still slumped against Starrk's side and not planning to move anytime soon. "I asked them to."
Aizen didn't even spare him a glance.
"Lord Aizen," Harribel started, already moving into a respectful kneel the likes of which Aizen didn't deserve. "Ichigo expressed favor to being under heavy spiritual pressure and we-."
Ichigo was up and across the room before Aizen's blade could even fully tilt into a ready position to strike. The move had him wide-eyed and breathless because he hadn't moved that fast since he lost his powers. Aizen even seemed startled if the raised brow and twitch in his lips was anything to go by.
"I asked them to," he said, trying to sound commanding around his excitement. Around the lingering whisps of floaty, painless relief.
"You asked several high-ranking Espada to raise their reiatsu in such a way it cracked the walls of my fortress?" Aizen asked in the same clarifying way he'd asked about Ichigo accepting Muramasa into his soul.
Ichigo didn't see what was wrong with either choice, but he got the feeling that wouldn't be the answer Aizen wanted to hear.
"I told you," he settled on saying with his usual scowl, "it's relaxing."
Aizen took ion a deep breath, held it for far too long and then finally loosened his hold on his word. "You are impossible," he muttered, and Ichigo honestly couldn't tell if it was a good thing or not.
"Lord Aizen, if I may," Syazel said, his voice deferential and simpering but still so full of arrogance that Ichigo was surprised he could even contain it all. "I've come to a rather fascinating hypothesis. Your son's reiatsu stabilized exceedingly well under the pressure of our combined reiatsu, not unlike how deep-sea fish-."
"Szayelaporro."
"He was absorbing the reiatsu at the same rate it was being taken from him."
"Taken?"
"Yes, fascinating, isn't it? For some reason, large amounts of reiatsu are being taken at inconsistent intervals. It only become obvious when it stopped, but I believe this is the cause of his instability."
Aizen hummed, an odd look crossing his face as he looked back at Ichigo. Not that that mattered right then. Szayel was terrifyingly close to the truth – if they found out it was time and the universe itself then everything might fall into place. Or, perhaps Ichigo was being paranoid. Time-travel was an impossibility to most, after all.
Then again… Szayel was insane and Aizen wasn't most.
"Any further experiments like this will be supervised by myself or Ichimaru. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Lord Aizen," a chorus of agreement sounded through the room. The entire time Aizen's strange gaze hadn't left him.
The night – after they'd returned, after Aizen had given him strict orders to sleep early and tell no one of his day – Ichigo snuck out to train rather than see his family as he'd planned. He'd have tomorrow for that, surprisingly. Aizen had mentioned being gone for the better part of the next day, and with no lesson or anyone being sent over to watch him for the first time in what must have been forever, Ichigo wasn't going to waste the opportunity.
So for that night he settled in for a spar and come sensory and control practice.
That was what he'd meant to do.
He was even sure he'd made it to the clearing, but no. Instead, it seemed his feet had carried him to Aizen's door. Not he door to his office, but the one to his rooms. It'd been a long day and Aizen had been tired when they got back. It'd been clear in his eyes and the increased gentleness of his smile. Like he was trying extra hard to keep his mask up in the face of his fatigue.
Aizen was tired.
Exhausted, even.
And Ichigo may not be able to take him on in this body, but asleep? With a bit of stealth…
A part of him pulled back at the thought. This wasn't the plan. There were too many ways it could go wrong.
There were also many ways it could go right.
It would be better, as well. He'd thought of the fifth as home earlier – and he knew to his bone that a slip like that would happen again. Knew to his bone even if he didn't want to admit it that he cared. And that was too dangerous. Better to rip the band-aid off.
With a deep breath he reached for the door. It slid open almost silently. Even so, he was sure Aizen would hear the way his heart was pounding in his chest; roaring a cacophony in his own ears.
A stuttering breath in.
A steady step forward.
Aizen lay prone on his bed. Asleep.
Face slack.
Unmoving.
Ichigo gripped his sword.
The hilt felt wrong in his hands, something was- He shouldn't-
He raised the blade above Aizen's chest and with a last breath sunk it down with every ounce of strength he had and a rather large burst of reiatsu. He could feel the slide of it through muscle and then bone and heart and- Aizen let out a strangle, gurgling sound, but Ichigo's eyes were squeezed shut to not see the blood he knew was bubbling from his mouth. He stood there for one breath. Two. Three. Something warm was soaking into his socked feet, matching the heat in his eyes. He choked on a gasp of iron-tinged air and fled before he could think to look at what he'd just done.
What had he done?
His legs ached and his lungs burned by the time he stopped, falling to his knees, open-mouthed and heaving in the very clearing he'd been planning to train in that night.
What had he done?
What had he done?
And why did it hurt?
He twisted his hands into the dirt as he groped for reason and breath- he couldn't breathe- he-
His eyes flew open to focus on a star-speckled sky rimmed with the shadows of reaching branches. Soft grass tickled his bare neck and tangled with his hair. His lungs still shook and his face felt wet but-
He shot to his feet and was at the fifth before he'd even managed a breath that didn't have to squeeze past the lump in his throat. One full of panic. Wild and untamed; raging through him like a storm.
Surely he hadn't-
Surely it was all a dream.
It had to be.
Twelve
Chapter Notes
I felt so bad about the cliffhanger so... I am also, as you can probably tell, in a "writing phase" as I call them. The last one had me writing almost 40k words for Obito so let's hope this one will get a good amount of chapters done for this fic!
A dream.
It had to be all a dream.
Or maybe one of Aizen's illusions- but no. He'd always been able to see through those.
Ichigo skidded to a stop before Aizen's door; reaching out, he slid it open without bothering to knock. Aizen would yell at him for it. For being rude. He didn't care. Let him be mad. Just let him be-
"Ichigo?" Aizen stood by his bed in a ready position, moonlight coming in from the door. His hair was mussed, and his clothes still rumpled. "What are you-."
The floor was clean of blood, he noted as his throat hitched; hiccupping each inhale. The floor was clean.
And Aizen wasn't laying lifeless in his bed.
He was okay. He was alive. He was fine.
It was just a nightma- dream. It was just a dream. And-
A hand gently rested on his shoulder, "Ichigo? What happened?"
"I-," he struggled to get even that much out. He what? Thought he killed him and that had turned him into this mess? This uncontrolled mess? How pathetic and how very much not what he was going to say. The truth then. Just a different one. "I had a nightmare."
"I see," Aizen said slowly, kneeling down in front of him. "Shall we talk about it?"
Ichigo shook his head. There was no way in hell he was going to talk to Aizen about what he just saw. No way he was talking to anyone about the fact his chest hurt so much at seeing it. That he considered it a nightmare at all rather than what it should have been. A dream. A fantasy. His future.
"How about a story then, hm? It'll help you get back to sleep."
Ichigo didn't think he could sleep again that night. He must have fallen asleep during training but whatever exhaustion had dragged him into it before was long gone now.
His thoughts must have shown on his face, because Aizen merely hummed before leaning back
slightly. "A walk then, to clear your head," he said. "Let my grab my coat."
Aizen rose and started towards his wardrobe and for a heart-stopping second Ichigo thought that he'd blink and Aizen would be back to nothing more than a body sluggishly bleeding into the tatami mats. He didn't. Of course he didn't. It had all been a dream and if his damn heart would catch up with the program than he might just be able to stop gripping the doorway so tightly.
A too-large cloak being draped over his shoulders broke him from his thoughts.
"In case it's chilly," Aizen told him, gently ushering Ichigo out into the night and shutting the door behind him.
On its own accord his hand shot out and fisted into Aizen's sleeve, Ichigo watched it passively. He was too full of emotions already to feel any shock or anger at his sudden childish urge. Aizen, himself, didn't even react.
"Come along," he said, shifting so that instead of his sleeve Ichigo was holding his hand. Any other day he would have complained or pulled back with a scowl. Not now, though. Not when the warmth of it reminded him that Aizen was here and alive and Ichigo hadn't stabbed him with a sword that didn't even feel like his own.
He pressed in closer and Aizen said nothing. Merely kept walking towards somewhere. The gardens perhaps, or maybe they were going into the woods so Aizen could kill him because he somehow knew- read his mind or it'd all truly been an illusion and Ichigo was an idiot for thinking he would never get caught in one because he'd seen through all the others.
"Was it about losing your swords?" Aizen asked, breaking him once again from his spiraling thoughts.
"What?"
"Ichimaru told me," Aizen explained, "after you accidently got drunk."
"Oh," Ichigo said softly; he vaguely remembered that. What was it, two years ago? It'd been at his and Toshiro's joint birthday celebration. And it was also the perfect out – he'd already said he had the nightmare before, so saying it again wouldn't raise suspicion at all.
The perfect out.
"It wasn't," he said, because he'd never been a good liar. And then; "I don't want to talk about it." Because it was true too, and because he knew Aizen was only doing this to-
Ichigo cut himself off. It hardly mattered why Aizen did what he did. Not anymore. He'd managed to get Ichigo to care regardless. Regardless of Ichigo knowing to look underneath. Regardless of their history that only he remembered. Regardless of his crimes and manipulations and schemes.
And regardless of that care, Ichigo would be his end.
Whether he wanted to be or not.
So why did he feel like crying over it? There was no point in crying over the inevitable. What's more; he was adult damn it. Why was he acting so- so childish. Like a real kid rather than someone just stuck in the body of one.
"There's nothing childish about fearing the loss of someone you care for," Ossan's soothing voice
filtered through his mind.
Care for? Did he care for Aizen so much? Had he become so blinded by the false kindness and the illusion of someone protecting him that it'd come to this? To- to him not wanting to kill Aizen. What a thought that was. What a terrifying, sickening, impossible thought. He didn't want it. Perhaps he just needed a reminder; had to think more often of all the things he lost and the war that he'd crawled his way through.
And yet-
And yet even that fell flat against the mounting wave of fondness he hadn't noticed growing. No. That wasn't right. He had noticed but he'd chosen to ignore it. Chosen to turn away because it couldn't be right, and yet now here he was, being drowned.
He didn't want to kill Aizen.
That was the truth.
He could face that.
Accept it.
But Ichigo had done plenty of things he hadn't wanted to do before. What was one more?
If it came down to it. If he was the last one standing yet again, he would walk forward as he always had and stand for those he loved as he always had and fight. He hoped above hope that he wouldn't have to. That this time the others would pull through and stop Aizen before it was too late; but history said otherwise and even if he was here to change it, nothing ever seemed to go his way. Least of all things that regarded Aizen and his schemes.
Perhaps he could convince the others to simply imprison Aizen at that point. It'd be worth a shot. Or maybe, hopefully, by then he would have scooped these festering feelings out of himself and he wouldn't even hesitate to-
His chest seized and he found himself pressing closer to the warmth at his side. It had his stomach rolling for an entirely different reason, then.
Childish, he thought.
Painfully and pathetically childish.
How could he so easily seek and accept warmth from his enemy?
Was he truly so weak?
"Wanting something doesn't make you weak. It's okay to do what is best for yourself, Ichigo," Muramasa spoke up then. "You taught me that."
Was it really okay now though? Muramasa wanting a connection to his wielder was hardly world- ending and betraying those he fought alongside and for. But this… Wanting Aizen to live and caring for him; with all that was at stake was it truly okay?
He was still mulling it over when they reached a bench in the fifth's gardens. In the dead of night, the towering trees and flowering bushes were almost suffocating; like reaching hands they blocked out the moonlight in the same way Ichigo had when he stood over Aizen and shoved the sword
through his chest. The charming gurgle of the stream twisted into the same choked gasp that Aizen had let out on his last breath.
The hand wrapping his squeezed and Ichigo snapped back to reality. To the soft breeze and the warm coat draped over his shoulders. To the stony bench he'd sat down on at some point.
"It's okay, Ichigo. You're safe. If was just a dream."
"I know," he tried to grumble out, but it came out quieter than he wanted.
He could feel Aizen's eyes on him, but even that didn't prepare him for what happened next.
A gentle brush of painfully comforting reiatsu wrapped around him and when his head shot up in shock at the sheer amount – wouldn't that alert other captains? – Aizen offered a smile that crinkled his eyes even if it was smaller than his usual one. A smile that was real. "When I was your age, I had nightmares as well," Aizen said softly, like it was some kind of secret. "Mine were about hollows and starving. I even had one about the Soul King."
Ichigo's eyes widened. Was Aizen seriously telling him a dream was what made him want to rebel? Surely not.
"I learned to fight hollows," Aizen continued, "and I become a Shinigami. The nightmares won't last forever, Ichigo, all you have to figure out is how to destroy what's making you fear them."
That- was a very Aizen way to handle bad dreams, Ichigo decided. But how did he 'destroy' Aizen being killed? He didn't want Aizen to die. Didn't want to lose him. The same drive that had him storming Soul Society and Hueco Mundo was rising up on a tidal wave. He didn't want Aizen to die, but this time he didn't see a way to stop it.
"And if you're not strong enough then I'll do it for you," Aizen concluded, his hand that Ichigo still had in a death-grip squeezed once more.
It wasn't fair. The only other person who'd truly tried to protect him was his mom. She'd stepped in front of a hollow for him. Died for him. (Yoruichi and Hat-an-clogs tried he supposed; but it wasn't the same. They'd protected him by training him to fight for himself, to survive, to protect others. It didn't feel the same.) Aizen shouldn't be the next in line.
It didn't make sense.
And yet here he was. In a past that he'd made with his own hands, sitting next to someone who should by all rights make his blood boil and reiatsu surge and wanting to protect them instead. Being offered protect by them.
"I can protect myself," he protested because something coiling in his stomach said he had to.
"You're twelve," Aizen said, "and as your guardian it's my job to."
Ah, there it was, Ichigo thought taking in the way his feet only just brushed the grass growing below the bench – he couldn't wait for his growth spurt to truly hit. To Aizen he was nothing more than a job; an experiment.
"Ichigo." Aizen waited until he looked up again, "I may not understand why you find it so hard to believe, but I do care. And I'd loathe to see anything harm you."
Ichigo wanted to believe him. Wanted to not think about all the ways he could be toying with
phrasing and the meaning of words. But he didn't know if he could. Not yet. Although, it didn't matter, really. He already decided, after all, that manipulation or not, Aizen's actions made him care.
He just had to figure out how to stop that care from getting in the way.
But, he decided, that was a problem for tomorrow. For when he could meditate and talk properly to his spirits. Right then, he let himself twist until he could wrap Aizen's arm over him and pressed more firmly into Aizen's side and the cloud of reiatsu he was leaking in some mockery of an embrace which he let chase away a chill that came from more than just the night. Right then, he let himself forget the fragility of it all.
"I know," he lied.
He may not be allowed to keep this forever, but he could keep it for now.
He'd make sure that that would be enough when it all fell apart.
"If you're going to fall asleep, then I'll walk you back to your room," Aizen said then, his arm starting to pull away.
A sickening and viscous fear shot straight up his throat, clawing at the back of his neck. His grip tightened on Aizen's arm, "Don't-."
"Don't what?"
"Nothing," he said as the pounding of his heart started to abate. He forced his fingers to uncurl.
Aizen let out a soft sigh, and then he was shifting forward and bringing Ichigo with him.
"Hey!" he couldn't help but shout.
"You're getting far too big for this," Aizen commented as he hauled Ichigo into a better position to carry him despite his struggle to escape.
"Then put me down!"
"Don't shout," he scolded lightly, "you don't want to wake the whole division, do you?"
For a spiteful second he was tempted to scream as loud as he could, but the members of the fifth did work hard and deserved every ounce of rest they could get.
"You don't have to carry me," he mumbled instead.
"Perhaps not," Aizen agreed, "but I doubt you'll agree to spending the night even if you want to."
Spending the night? As in sleeping in the same room as Aizen?
"I'm not a kid," he snapped, redoubling his efforts to break free. "I don't need to sleep by you just because of a bad dream."
"Will you be able to fall back asleep in your own room?"
"Yes!"
"Then you panicking moments ago when I suggested it was just my imagination?"
"I didn't panic," he denied.
Aizen scoffed, "You did. And what's more is you can't even talk about your dream. Do you expect me to believe you can sleep on your own?"
"It's the truth."
"Is that so?" Aizen hummed, stopping to finally put Ichigo down, only to squat in front of him to stay at eye-level. "Then you should be able to tell me what scared you so much you barged into my room in the middle of the night."
"It's-," nothing, he wanted to say, but the word died on his tongue as the Aizen in front of him turned pale with blood spilling from his lips and a hole where his heart should have been. He turned his head away; focused instead on the pebbles among the grass.
Aizen remained silent. Patient.
Ichigo crossed his arms and dug his heel into the soft dirt, no doubt dirtying his sandal.
"You died," he said as petulantly as he could. Which wasn't very petulant at all considering his voice wavered half-way through.
"I died?" Aizen repeated.
Ichigo kicked a pebble out from under his foot. It skittered across the grass and into a bush.
"I see."
A hand wrapped around his for the second time that night, only now it pressed his palm to Aizen's chest letting the steady thump of his heart drum a pattern that reverberated up Ichigo's arm.
"I'm as alive as any Shinigami, Ichigo, and I don't plan on dying anytime soon."
It shouldn't have been as reassuring as it was. Ichigo blamed the strange night. Blamed his exhaustion and the day of drowning himself in hollow reiatsu and the nightmare.
"I know," he said for what felt like the hundredth time that night. "It was just a dream, I know. I just had to make sure because-."
"Because?"
"You're not allowed to die," he blurted, and then immediately regretted it. That had to be the most childish thing he'd said since coming back. It was a toss up between that and the number of candies he could fit in his mouth.
An almost teasing smile spread across Aizen's face, "I'm not allowed to, hm?"
Ichigo could feel his face turn bright red. Could hear his spirits laughing in the back of his mind. "I forget sometimes how young he actually is," he caught Muramasa telling the others.
"I'm not a kid," he mentally shot back. He was an adult. He might be stuck in this body and stuck with hormones he should've already worked through and stuck being treated like he couldn't put two and two together but he was far from the naïve boy everyone pegged him as.
"By Shinigami standards you're still'a baby, King."
"I hate you."
"Ha! As if."
Out loud, he said, "You know what I meant."
"Oh, I'm not sure I do."
"Yeah, well, I'm not explaining it, so figure it out."
Aizen huffed a soft laugh and pushed himself to his feet. "Come along, Ichigo. We'll get you tucked in for the night." At Ichigo's narrowed gaze, Aizen continued, "In your own room."
Good. And hopefully he wouldn't sleep in too late tomorrow and miss his chance to spend all the time he could with his family.
