Thirteen

Chapter Notes

I know I haven't updated this in a few months and there are MANY reasons why.

First, I was writing other fics, and very fixated on Obito who is my all-time fav character and when I fixate on writing him I tend to block out other writings.

Another, is that I lost my job. Right after getting thrust out of my writing phase thanks to a very unfortunate head-ache problem that has since been mostly taken care of, I had to start looking for a new place to look and that was a whole other bag of stress – I have, thankfully and luckily, found a new place to work, however, the first month of working anywhere new is an entirely different form of stress and anxiety that my own anxiety latched onto like a fucking limpet.

As a result, I haven't been writing in general for about two months or so.

And then Scaramouche was announced and- let me tell you… I have an entire ppt dedicated to how him and Obito are practically the same in so many ways and I even made my friend watch it… so. Scara fics are coming so soon. Honestly, 2 yrs of me being in love with this game and I have written like one fic for it and even that is one chapter and something I'm not entirely loving… it feels strange ngl.

On the bright side, I have a very soft blanket.

anYWAY, onto the story…

Yoruichi led him through the dangai.

It was painfully nostalgic.

When they finally stepped out into the underground training area, it felt like only half his heart was with him, even if his resolve to go through with the surgery hadn't wavered in the slightest. It was simply a bad moment. Coming down from the high of a fun day to crash back into his reality – fighting to survive in order to fight someone he wasn't sure he wanted lift his blades against anymore but had to.

Sometimes, moving forward was like taking two steps and being pushed back four. He'd managed to get his powers back at the cost of his own time. Managed to save his mom and friends from their fate at the cost of knowing most of them. Managed to have a chance at stopping Aizen and instead…

"Are you ready?" Yoruichi asked, and it was then that realized he'd frozen only a few steps into the room, hands clenched tight into fists.

"Yeah," he said on the release of a breath, forcing his fingers to unfurl and his feet to move.

The rungs of the ladder were colder than he remembered them being.

Almost as cold as the chill that ran through him upon seeing his mother standing in Urahara's poor excuse for a candy shop, all soft sweaters and softer smiles. At least, for him, because whatever she'd said to Urahara had the man looking positively cowed and as meek as anything.

"Ichigo!" Urahara chimed. "So good of you to join us!"

"Mom," he said, ignoring Hat-an-clogs because that was never not a good idea.

"Ichigo," she greeted warmly. "Yoruichi told me everything."

He would have shot the traitor a betrayed look, but that would mean taking his eyes away from the way the light made his mom's hair glow and the way she opened her arms for him to fall into. He didn't even hesitate. She smelled like vanilla and curry and tea.

She wasn't supposed to know. He hadn't wanted to worry her or drag her into any more of this than she already was. Whatever this was. This surgery. This mission to stop Aizen. To save everyone. A pipedream? A fool's task? No, he assured himself with a mental shake of his head, it couldn't be. Not when he'd already come this far. The surgery would go well. Aizen wouldn't find out – because that was the crux of it all. He'd thought of it once as a way of testing Aizen, and perhaps down the line it would be, but right now…

Right now, he took it back. He wasn't willing to gamble his spirits on the likes of Aizen's sentimentality. If he had any. Ichigo stumbled from that thought; pushed it back alongside the others that rose in protest with a veritable mountain of bitter evidence. It didn't matter. Couldn't. He wouldn't let it. Not when it was his soul on the line. Not now. So, no. This wouldn't be a test. Not until he knew the deathball was gone once and for all; or at the very least, until taking it out was all but impossible or unimportant for his survival. Aizen would find out only when Ichigo wanted him to. On his terms. No one else's.

"Everything will be fine," his mom said into the top his head, her voice muffled by his hair.

"Of course it will," he agreed. It had to be.

Yoruichi snorted, "Don't get cocky, kid. Despite what Kisuke will have you think, the surgery has risks."

"Why, I never-," Hat-an-clogs started. "Of course I'd tell our little berry all-."

"Big risks," Yoruichi shamelessly interrupted.

"Ichigo," his mom said, pulling back to look at him, "you could die."

"I'll die anyway," he pointed out, not unkindly.

His mom's lips thinned. She didn't take her eyes off him, but her next words were clearly for Hat- an-clogs, "If he dies, I will tear your soul apart strip by strip and savor every second of it."

There was a brief pause, "Good thing I have no plans of letting him die, then."

Ichigo hugged his mom for a long minute then, because he wasn't dumb enough to not realize it may be the last chance he'd get. And then he was following Hat-an-clogs into the bowels of his home. They passed by the usual lab and into another room. More sterile. Bigger. The second he stepped inside the world dampened.

"It's lined with reiatsu absorbing seals and stones," Hat-an-clogs answered his unvoiced question.

"It should be enough."

"Should?"

"Yes, well, when one invents an entirely new procedure with two over-powered entities in play-."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it."

Hat-an-clogs hummed, his fan tapping lightly against his leg. "Yoruichi was right, you know? There are risks."

"I die if I don't, I might die if I do," Ichigo countered, plainly and almost dry. He pulled himself onto the metal table.

Urahara watched him, eyes shadowed – and it was Urahara now, not the cheerful and mischievous expression of Hat-an-clogs. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"This isn't a decision you should have to make."

Ichigo scoffed, "It's hardly your fault. It's no ones, really."

Orihime hadn't meant to send him back in time; only help. Hat-an-clogs hadn't known this would happen. Hell, it wasn't even possible to blame Aizen, either. Somethings, he had come to learn, simply were. And fair or not, the only thing you could do was face it and move forward with steady steps. No matter how much it pushed back. No matter how many times you tripped. Even if taking two steps forward had you sliding back four. Even if your heart ached and your resolve wavered and you faced the insurmountable.

Steady steps.

That was what he needed now.

"Yes, well, I wanted to say it all the same. Now," he said with a clap of his hands, "first we'll put you under with a special blend-."

Ichigo cut him off. "I don't need the step-by-step," he told Hat-an-clogs, resolve set. "Just tell me if it'll work."

"It will," he said with resolve of his own.

"Okay." Ichigo laid back, doing his best to ignore the way the cold of the table made him want to flinch. "Let's get started then."

It hurt. It hurt. It hurt.

Everything hurt.

Ichigo was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to feel the way his insides were being rearranged. His heart was in his mouth, his eyes on fire, his bones melting. The scream that should have been tearing his throat apart was lodged behind his cracking ribs and glass lungs. He twisted, trying to

pull away but the restraints held fast.

His reiatsu wasn't inside him anymore.

He didn't know how.

He didn't know where it went.

A perverse emptiness bloomed in his very soul. Searching, reaching, falling.

The scream broke through and he shattered.

Purple.

The deep purple you saw when you closed your eyes swirled tantalizingly with a crisp flower- orange. It was a strange thing to see, he thought, when dying. Starburst colors that fell into the palm of his hand like snow. They were cold like snow, too.

If he could've breathed, would he have seen it in the air?

Was there air in this place?

He didn't know.

Red sparked out of the darkness. It cut like a knife beneath him – or was it above him? to the right? – a stream of something. Bright. Brighter. Blinding.

"What do you want?" it asked. What 'it' was, he didn't know. Or maybe he did, but he couldn't grasp the name for it in that moment. It slipped like sand through his fingers. Like the snow-light scattering this world.

"I just want them back," he thought. "My spirits. I just want them back, to go back. Give them back."

"They're here," something whispered back. "They're here. Stay."

Stay? Could he? This place was empty save for bursts of color. How could he stay? "I have so much to do."

"Stay," it whispered, caressing his cheek. "Stay. They are here."

Who? Who was here? There was no one else. He needed to get back to his spirits. Before they disappeared. To his mom. His sisters. Rukia. Yachiru. Aizen. He couldn't stay.

"I'll bring them here," it promised. "Just wish for it and I shall bring them here. Stay."

"No." He didn't- wouldn't let them be stuck here in this place. Left to darkness. None of this was right. He was supposed to be- supposed to be-

"Stay. Your spirits, you will have them. Now, stay."

His spirits. Ossan and Shiro and Mura. His. The reason he was here. The reason he'd ended up- ended up- Somewhere. Somewhere important. He needed to-

"Stay."

"No," he ground out, aloud this time, pushing himself to hit feet and stumbling a step forward. He couldn't stay. He wouldn't. There was something he needed to do and he was certain that if he left this place then he'd remember what it was.

"If you can't remember then it must not be all that important," the voice said right into his ear.

He whirled around but no one was there. Just the swirling purple and orange sky. The darkness that shouldn't exist. This was… he knew this place.

"You've finally figured it out, little Shinigami."

He didn't bother trying to find the voice again. "This is my soul."

"Our soul."

"Mine."

"Your scientist friend stuffed me in here. It is ours now."

"You're the Hogyoku."

"Such a smart little Shinigami. Lucky me. Lucky, lucky," it laughed. "So much resolve. So many desires and wishes. I could give you them all, you know."

Ichigo narrowed his eyes, "What's the catch?"

"You don't destroy me."

Ichigo frowned. While he'd understood that was a possibility in having the surgery, he hadn't realized the deathball was sentient enough to understand the concept itself. But would letting it live be the best idea?

"How rude," it hissed, seemingly having heard his thoughts. "You'd use me up and throw me away like trash, hm? When I offer you everything?"

Ichigo spun in a slow circle, taking in the swirling sky, "You asked me to stay."

"I did."

"You said this was our soul now."

"I did."

"How would you grant me these wishes?"

"Clever, clever," it hummed. "But not clever enough."

The pain came back. Had him falling to his knees, curling inward. He wanted to scream but couldn't get the air to do so.

"It seems we must do things the hard way," it laughed into his mind. "You will stay and I shall go free. A lovely little deal, I think."

No.

No. He had far too much to do to die here. Far too many people to protect; his sisters, his mom and

dad, the vizard and his friends. He needed to save his spirits.

"Didn't I tell you? They're already here."

Three thumps.

Ichigo peeled his eyes open just enough to see Ossan, Shiro and Mura writhing on the ground, in just as much pain as him.

"Ichigo," Ossan managed to grit out.

The Hogyoku laughed and Ichigo screamed.

This wasn't supposed to be how it went.

"This wasn't supposed to be how it went," the Hogyoku repeated, mocking and high-pitched. "Don't you get it? Your friend messed with time. And now you want to change it? Want to trade me for it. You don't get to do that, little Shinigami. Now you can rot."

"No," he spat on a gasp.

"Still so defiant," it hummed. "No matter. It'll all be over soon, and this soul of yours will be mine."

"No," he repeated, jaw tight as he tried to push himself up, arms shaking and muscles straining. "No."

A weight landed on his back and he found himself flat against the hard ground once more. There was nothing behind him, though; no looming figure he could glare at.

"How pitiful." The voice came from all around and Ichigo wanted so badly to find its source and cut it in half.

"Fuck you."

"Oh, the little Shinigami is cursing now! What would your father say, hm? Oh, and I mean Aizen. Not the one hiding away in the world of the living. Really, you thought you could out-resolve me when you won't even admit you love the enemy you promised to kill?"

He opened his mouth to send a biting comment back, but a flash of all-too-familiar reiatsu stilled his tongue. For a moment he thought he'd imagined it. Then it came again and his heart flipped in his chest as it reached for him. Warm and encompassing and weighted. A reiatsu he'd felt at his back so many times in these past years that all he could do was bare his teeth in a grin at the relief it brought. At the burst of resolve it fostered.

"What's this?" the Hogyoku hummed. "Someone besides your scientist has come to help? No matter. It's already too late."

"It's never too late," he snarled. Aizen's reiatsu pulled him to his feet. He stumbled at he found his footing, glaring at the swirling sky.

"Isn't it?" the Hogyoku asked. "You can't even escape on your own. How sad. How pathetic that you'd need help to save your own soul."

"There's nothing pathetic about asking for help."

"Are you sure there isn't?"

"Yes."

"And yet you never ask for it."

Ichigo ignored that, continuing as if the deathball had never spoken, "But, you're right about one thing, this is my soul." With a staggering step towards his spirits, he urged Aizen's reiatsu to encompass them as well. "This is my soul," he repeated, heart pounding and blood rushing in his ears. "And it will stay whole."

There was the sound like a bubble popping. Only louder. Resounding.

Final.

And then the world disappeared in a flash of light. Red and purple and white with the lightest tinge of gold wreathing the edges.

Ichigo came to slowly and then all at once.

The first thing to come back was the sterile smell of disinfectants. Then the cool metal pressing against his skin. As he forced his aching eyes open, he came face to face with the obnoxiously bright ceiling lights of Hat-an-clogs' lab.

"He's awake," someone said from his side.

Ichigo turned his head just enough to see Hat-an-clogs standing between his mom and Aizen. Ah, he thought, so that was why he'd felt his reiatsu. And then the implications of Aizen being here hit and his heart stopped.

"Ichigo," his mother said on equal parts relief and tears. "Thank god," she half-sobbed. "You almost-." And then she was bowing over, forehead pressed against his ribcage where his heart continued to pound.

Slowly. Painfully. He lifted his hand to place it on her head, "See, you were right. Everything is fine."

A choked sound tore from her throat and Ichigo winced.

"Real smooth, King," Shiro scoffed, loud and clear in his mind.

"Shiro!" he couldn't help but shout back, relief a heady thing. His reiatsu was back as well, he noticed. Strong as ever. Although, there was a lack of something. Pain, or strain, if had to name it. He hadn't even realized it was there before. But now that it was gone, the difference was astounding. Like coming up for a full breath of air rather than breathing through a straw. He ached, yes. But he had a feeling that was from the procedure rather than the soul-deep twist of slowly being pulled apart by the fabric of the very world. "Are you all-."

"We're all here, King. Now focus."

"What were you thinking?" Aizen broke into his thoughts. "Running off like this to get a surgery that could have killed you? You didn't think to mention this?"

"You wouldn't've agreed," he shot back, all at once annoyed that he was lying down while Aizen could loom over him, his figure darkened with the backlighting of the lab's lights.

"You're right. I wouldn't have."

"Even if it was the only way to stabilize his soul?" Hat-an-clogs asked, voice steady and low and nowhere near his usual over-pitched cheer.

"You hardly know that," Aizen snapped.

"Don't I? Of the two of us, who has actually stabilized souls before, hm?"

Ichigo took the moment then to take in their disheveled states. Aizen's hair in disarray. Hat-an- clogs' hat nowhere to be seen. Sweat beading both their foreheads and a flush to them that the cool air of the room shouldn't have allowed. Had the surgery truly been that taxing?

Aizen glared at Hat-an-clogs for a long moment, before turning back to face him, "We'll be speaking about this later. For now, we'll be heading back home and asking Unohana to have a look."

"Not quite yet," Hat-an-clogs butted in. "I still need to run some tests. Make sure everything is tip- top."

The look on Aizen's face would have gutted a lesser man.

"Come. We can steep some tea while we wait," his mom blessedly stepped in. Lifting her head from his chest to cast a look Ichigo couldn't catch at the other two men.

Whatever was on her face had Aizen agreeing.

His mom was truly a miracle, Ichigo thought as the two of them left the room with only the shortest of glances back.

"Well," Ichigo started, pushing himself up with all the effort it should have taken to split a mountain, "are you going to tell me what happened?"

"You died."

Ichigo blinked. "But-."

"I know," Hat-an-clogs said, shoulders sagging and eyes darkened and looking older than he'd ever seen him. Even at the end of the war. Even when he'd met with him and Orihime that fateful day years ago. "I know. It was only for a minute, but you died. You have Aizen to thank for pulling you back. You needed a familiar reiatsu and for all you know mine, mine doesn't know yours nearly well enough. And you mom… in the state she's in…"

Staring down at his hands, Ichigo flexed them. Closed. Open. Closed. He dug his nails into his palms to feel the slight sting. "It talked to me," he finally said, once he'd gathered himself and his thoughts. "It asked me not to destroy it."

He met Hat-an-clogs' gaze.

"Did you know it was sentient?"

"I knew it had some way of choosing its wielder," he said slowly, "but, no. I didn't think it was sentient enough to fight its own demise."

Ichigo looked back down at his hands. He wasn't sure if that made it better or not.

"Swing your legs over the side," Hat-an-clogs said once the silence had settled for a full minute. "There's a few things I need to check."

They ended up moving to the dining room not long after, if only to join his mom and Aizen in having a pot of over-steeped tea. A cup of which was pointedly shoved into his hands by Hat-an- clogs at the same time Aizen held out an apple for him. His stomach tightened in both hunger and disgust at the thought of eating anything. Everything still ached.

Aizen and Urahara wasted not a second longer to start arguing in harsh whispers as Ichigo leaned against his mom's side and pretended not to listen. Not that he didn't already know everything. Hat-an-clogs hadn't exactly minced his words after he'd finished his exam – everything was fine for now. They just had to keep an eye on it to make sure it stayed fine.

For now, he'd sit back and let them hash it out; he had too much to think about himself, anyway. Too many questions with too many answers that he wasn't sure he wanted. Or could accept.

"He cares for you."

"What?" he asked, jolting in his seat.

His mom continued, voice still low and thoughtful, "You should have seen the look on his face when he barged into the shop, and when you almost died during the surgery." She took a deep breath. "I was too focused on you at the time, but thinking on it now… it's obvious how much he's grown to care for you."

"Aizen doesn't care about people."

She shrugged. "I didn't know him before." In your time, she didn't say, but Ichigo heard it all the same. "I don't even know why he's trying to become Soul King. But I do know the look he had." She faced him then. "People change," his mom said lowly and insistent. Soothing. "Especially when they become parents."

But Aizen- Aizen was Aizen. He wasn't sure he could believe it. Ichigo knew he cared; that he had come to see Aizen as something other than his enemy – and that that terrified him because he had done so much for those he cared for. He stormed Soul Society for Rukia. Invaded Hueco Mundo for Orihime. Went to war for his sisters and friends. What would he do for Aizen if he let himself? More than he should.

So, yes. He cared.

And he knew Aizen felt some way about him. The loneliness he should have felt during their spar was replaced by a warmth that Ichigo knew the name of but refused to call. Because if he, himself, could ignore his growing bond, then Aizen surely could with far more ease and less guilt.

He trusted his mom.

Trusted her instincts.

But he couldn't believe this.

Not when he could still picture the flash of Aizen's eyes and twisted sneer he'd worn when he'd tried to convince Ichigo that love wasn't enough. Aizen wouldn't let something as trivial as caring about Ichigo get in the way of his goals.

But.

A quiet, traitorous part of him whispered. Sticky. Hopeful. Dangerous.

But his mom was sitting there with considering eyes on Aizen and with kind words for him. But Aizen hadn't ripped the Hogyoku out of him during the surgery or after. Hadn't responded the way he expected when Urahara revealed it had been destroyed as it stabilized Ichigo's soul.

But he had felt the warmth down their locked blades. Had been dragged shopping and to plays and brought to his friends and allowed to see his parents and…

Aizen was Aizen.

But people changed.

Ichigo just had to figure out what to do with that.