Even after having seen it happen over five dozen times, watching his Zanpakutō return to his mindscape still caused Ichigo a sense of unease. To bear witness to a being (a person)—with whom you have been speaking and fighting only moments ago—becoming energy before your very eyes came awfully close to a scene you might find in some sort of horror movie. It isn't gruesome, by any means; there is no blood, gore, or any of those nausea-inducing sights involved. Nevertheless, seeing someone's body lose definition and shape in the blink of an eye had something unsettling to it that Ichigo doubted he would ever get used to.

With one of his two spirits back where they belong, Ichigo permitted himself to heave a small sigh of relief. (While manifesting his spirits had no adverse side-effects, rapid energy consumption notwithstanding, he always felt more at ease once Zangetsu returned to him.) Now that he didn't need to worry about another fight breaking out and with Zangetsu safe and sound in his mindscape, Ichigo could set his attention on the other half of his Zanpakutō.

Tensa—(wait, should he still call him that?)—The spirit had his head angled down and away, his mess of dark brown waves shielding most of his face. Still, Ichigo could see the lack of focus in his gaze, betraying how far down in the woods of his own thoughts the spirit wandered. His posture lacked his usual confidence and poise, with his arms still wrapped around himself, back bent and shoulders hunched, the spirit looked every bit a child as his appearance would suggest he is.

(Odd.)

Not wanting to startle the other too much, Ichigo ground the little rocks under his waraji as he turned in the hope the noise would alert the spirit, which it did; only, it worked a little bit too well. The spirit shot to attention, eyes wide and body frozen; the image of a deer in headlights and a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar came to mind.

'Alright, now it's our turn to talk'.

Upon hearing the word "talk" the spirit shook his head, eyes flicking back to the safety of the ground to avoid Ichigo entirely. 'T—there is nothing that I wish to talk about'.

'That's too bad—'

Two hands planted themselves firmly on the spirit's shoulders, sending a tremor down his spine that locked up every joint down to his toes. His head snapped up, meeting the determined eyes of his meister (that boy is not our master)—he hadn't noticed him move!

'—because I do'.

The pressure those hands exerted on him increased, becoming a strong suggestion to sit down. Ichigo wasn't using his full strength, he knew—it wouldn't even force Yuzu to the ground. The spirit could stay standing if he wanted to and could take a step back if he so wished. The contact did nothing more than silently convey what Ichigo wanted him to do. (Not forced; not ordered).

'So we are going to have a talk—' Ichigo continued as the spirit let himself be guided to his knees—' because I do not want a repeat of what happened today'. Once the spirit was on the ground, Ichigo sat down across from him in a seiza. 'And I know you don't want that, either'.

(We do not have to justify ourselves.)

(We wouldn't have needed a repeat if we had not let ourselves be distracted.)

(How dare he order us around like we are but a child. We are over fifty times his age!)

Ignoring the objections that wanted to be vocalised, the spirit swallowed the harsh words back and nodded in agreement. He had taken no joy from seeing the other so beaten down, had regretted his actions the moment he committed them. The mere memory of feeling (second-handed) satisfaction at seeing genuine fear in their eyes made him feel dirty in a way that couldn't be cleansed with a mere shower.

(I…I should never have hurt them.)

Shifting his weight off his knees and brushing them off with a quick swipe of his hand (vacating the rocks that were trying to dig themselves a home in them), the spirit brought one knee up to his chest.

'So…' Ichigo started, sounding a lot more uncertain than he had when declaring they needed to talk. 'I heard you shout a lot of things…heard Zangetsu shout a lot of things. I didn't catch everything but I think it all boiled down to you…to you not seeing yourself as my Zanpakutō and Zangetsu not being happy about that for various reasons'. Ichigo paused, eyes flicking away for a moment as he gathered his thoughts. 'I think the first question I need to ask is: what's the name you want to be called by?'

Tensa Yhwach Zangetsu.

The spirit tightened his embrace around his knee, 'I—I'm afraid that…that is where the problem lies'.

Do not say another word. I don't want to keep secrets. He doesn't understand. All the more reason to explain it! He is but a child. He's still my meister! That boy is not our master.

The spirit pinched his eyes shut as the voices returned with renewed vigour. Loud and demanding did they plead their case, trying to counter each other's words with contradicting facts and reason. He pressed his forehead against his knee hard enough to bruise if he had been a human, wishing he could squish the proverbial devil and angel on his shoulders into silence.

He didn't want to listen to endless arguments. He's sick of hearing the voice of his shikai claim Quincy supremacy, and tired of hearing the voice of his bankai try to mediate and defend the other's personhood. The spirit just wanted to think for himself without their influence, make decisions and form opinions based on his own experiences and emotions and not be coerced into—

'Hey…'

A hand on his right shoulder silenced the voices like a king's decree. The spirit looked up, meeting the pair of brown he loved more than anything in the world. (The only thing both voices even remotely agreed upon.)

Behind those brown eyes, however, was a brain working overtime trying to find the words needed to traverse the situation. While Ichigo had gotten better at opening up, about talking with others about his (and their) feelings, in no way could he be considered fluent in the subject. The various self-help books he had gotten from Yuzu certainly helped but they didn't magically fix the various types of trauma he had collected like they were trading cards.

Nevertheless, this was the situation he now found himself in. Ichigo couldn't ask the spirit to wait so he could call Yuzu for help; he couldn't postpone the conversation so he could read up on various tactics and risk the spirit falling deeper than he already had. It was sink or swim, do or die, hit or miss-you get the point. So Ichigo opened his mouth and started talking, hoping his luck kicked in and it would end up okay.

'I am not gonna ask if you're alright or doing okay because we both know something is bothering and upsetting you. And I want to remind you that I—No, that…even when I'm upset with something you have done—hate something you have done…you are a part of me and I will never hate you'.

Internally, Ichigo cringed at the words coming from his mouth. (Why did I say it like that! Kami, that sounded so—Uhg! Fuck! Damnit—No. Let it go. Let it go. I've said it, I can't take it back. Just—Just roll with it and try not to die from embarrassment.)

'So…if something is bothering or upsetting or troubling you, something you need to get off your chest, know that I will listen and—' His brain finally provided him with the information he needed, one he wished he had remembered before adding a cringe-worthy memory that would haunt him for the rest of his life whenever he would try to sleep—'What I'm trying to say is…Please, tell me what's on your mind'.

The genuine concern in Ichigo's eyes; the uncertainty in which he had bumbled through his sincere assurances; the care-worry-upset-curiosity in his reiatsu; each chipped away at the wall around the spirit's core, breaking it down brick-by-brick to free the self that had been restrained for so long.

'I—I'm sorry'. The confession escaped him in a whisper amidst an uneven exhale. His chest grew tighter with every breath, each more shallow and quick than the one before. 'I didn't—I didn't mean to, I—I'm…I thought that…that I knew but I didn't and then—and then—'

An inhale, one as sudden as it were unexpected, exchanged the rest of his sentence for a watery gasp. The burning in his eyes became too much to bear, he pinched them shut, feeling something warm and wet roll down his cheeks.

He was crying.

He shook his head, trying to wipe his face dry with his sleeves but the sobs wrecking his frame messed with his coordination.

By the gods, he must look like such a child. Wasn't he a soul over the age of a millennium? To get upset over something so trivial was an embarrassment—

Rough fingers found their way up the back of his neck, burying in the mess of brown strands to press his head against a clothed shoulder. An arm around his waist secured him in place, giving him space to shift but not move.

'It's okay'.

It wasn't until he felt a hand on his back move in slow circles that his brain caught up with what happened. He immediately tried to push away, to separate himself from the beacon of warmth he so desperately craved but Ichigo only held him more firmly.

'Not until you got it out of your system'.

The spirit wanted to object. He wanted to shout in indignation but the words struck too hard and too close to home. Whatever wall had been left standing crumbled at the sincerity of them, releasing the tidal wave of emotions he had suppressed for almost a year now.

Happiness at being reunited with his meister after being torn apart so viciously,

Shame at his own complacency at being considered a Zanpakutō,

Jealousy at the other for getting to spend so much time with their master,

Regret for hurting them both,

And pain at being feared by the one person he was (supposed to be) closest to.

It overwhelmed him in its intensity, pushing everything else aside. Tears flowed like waterfalls down his face which he hid in the crook of Ichigo's neck, hoping to muffle his wails of anguish.

And Ichigo let him. Ichigo kept his gaze aimed ahead, his main concern being preventing his own emotions from leaking into his reiatsu, not wanting the spirit picked up on it. He kept his hold firm and continued to breathe in steady intervals as the other clung to him. Ichigo had been the one in the spirit's position once, having cried himself to sleep on Yuzu's lap after uncapping the bottle he had been filling since he was nine.

But unlike Yuzu (bless her soul), Ichigo had one more thing to deal with aside from the tears, sobs, and blubbering from another on his shoulder…

(ShameI'mSoSoSorryGriefILoveYouSoMuchRegretIShouldn'tHaveIWantToTakeItBackIDon'tDeserveForgiveness.)

And that was being exposed to the spirit's emotions that were leaking into his reiatsu, which, due to his current breakdown, were a lot more potent than what Ichigo had experienced before.

As consumed in his own thoughts as he was, Ichigo lost his grip on time. The spirit's sobs lessened, becoming the occasional hiccup and sniffle. How long it had taken for him to calm down, Ichigo didn't know. What he did know, is that it had taken a while since he started to feel tired from keeping him manifested.

'Are you feeling better now?'

The spirit shook his head as he wiped his face dry. While he did feel marginally better after that…undignified display, the guilt and shame he had previously been suppressing made him feel much, much worse.

'Too bad, we're still going to talk'.

It seemed Ichigo would not allow him any more compassion than he already was—which was much more than he deserved.

'Now, let's circle back to the question you haven't answered yet: tell me what's on your mind'.

'It's... it's something asinine', the spirit tried to dismiss out of habit (one he definitely inherited from Ichigo and not the soul he once was a thousand years ago). Judging from the eyes he felt on him, he hadn't been successful in his feeble attempt at persuasion. He shifted back to his previous position, with his right knee pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped around it.

'I-Urahara has told you, hasn't he? About how special your soul is; how you are the "perfect hybrid" of the four main races'. Ichigo nodded. 'That is where the-I don't want to say "issue" but my... my confusion, stems from.

'You might have already surmised but the Quincy, unlike Shinigami, do not have a mindscape; they don't have a sentient representation of their powers that can teach them how to wield a bow, or how to perform a technique that is unique to them'. He turned his right wrist, opening up his palm to look at his hand. 'Yet, here I am: a representation of your Quincy heritage and power with a form and mind of my own'.

Clenching his hand into a fist for a moment, the spirit lowered it to play with the folds of his boot. He angled his head, cheek now resting on his knee, so he could look at Ichigo—his meister—who listened to him attentively. 'Do you know how the Quincy came to be?'

'Oh, uhm...No, I don't think anyone told me'.

The spirit hummed. 'Once upon a time, over a thousand years ago, a child was born', he began. 'This child could not see or hear, had no voice to speak with nor the strength to move. However, they could share a piece of their soul with others, who would gain the power to fight against the demons that terrorised their people.

'In return, once those people died—may it have been from illness, age, or violence—their piece of borrowed soul and power would return to the child, gifting him with the skills and strength of the one who had passed'. The spirit eyed Ichigo, 'And if those who were gifted were to give birth in their lifetime, that soul piece would split and pass on to the child'.

Ichigo blinked as he processed the information, 'You mean that... every Quincy has a piece of that child's soul in them?'

The spirit nodded, 'That is correct. It is supposed to merely exist within a Quincy as their source of power but—'

'—that's for a Quincy', Ichigo finished. 'And I'm not just-Are you saying that you are that soul piece?'

The spirit looked away, tightening his hold on his leg.

'But then you aren't-No, that can't be true, Urahara told us that—oh...' Ichigo's eyes widened with realisation, 'That's…that's the problem, isn't it?'

He hummed, 'I... I do remember who I was part of originally; I remember the kind of person I was, my morals, my values, and my goals. Centuries of memories from over a thousand years ago and they are as vivid to me as my short time with you'. A fragile smile dared to appear, 'So you would think that I-that I would know who I am. That I am merely a piece of him, passed over to you, given form due to the unique soul you have'. An empty chuckle full of self-loathing fell off his lips, 'And I was so certain of it that I never even questioned it'.

'But then they claimed I was wrong, that I don't know myself. They made me pull things I thought I knew as fact into question and... well...' The spirit trailed off, drawing senseless shapes in the dirt as a frown formed on his face. 'Bankai... bankai makes it different. I feel more—I don't know... at ease? More certain? No, I... I feel less bothered by the knowledge of what I am'. Their fingers ceased its senseless drawing, digging into the ground as the frown deepened.

They cut through their drawing with a deep, clean line.

'But how can I trust myself when my view changes so easily? How do I know which view is mine—truly, mine—and not a mere result of the other factors at play?' He looked up, finding Ichigo's eyes. 'How do I know who I am?'

'You know that is not a question I can answer for you'.

The spirit let their eyes fall down again, wrapping their arms around their knee once more. 'I wish it were'.

And if that weren't a mood Ichigo recognised himself in. He had asked himself that same question, had asked Yuzu but she had given him the same answer as Ichigo would give the spirit.

'You will need to find the answer yourself'.

'How? How am I supposed to know who I am when my view of myself changes so easily?'

'Does it, though?'

The spirit blinked, taken aback by the question.

'I mean, shikai and bankai...they are just a power-boost in the end, aren't they? It might change how we look and what we can do but they don't...they don't change who we are', Ichigo tried to explain. 'It's kinda like…my mask, I guess. When I use that, I get more impulsive and I know I get more ruthless in battle. I will do things I normally wouldn't do because it—I don't know... amplifies things, some of which I don't particularly like about myself'. Ichigo rubbed the back of his neck, hoping Zangetsu didn't take offence to his words if he was listening. 'But it is still me, you know? The mask amplifies things in me but doesn't change who I am; do you get what I'm saying?'

'It—It does, I... I hadn't thought about it like that'.

'Then, maybe, you should take some time and think about it a lot', Ichigo suggested.

The spirit nodded, eyes wandering across the floor as he started to fidget with the cuffs of his sleeves again. 'And what about... what about them?' he asked softly-careful-hesitant; as if afraid he wasn't allowed to be concerned after having caused them such grief.

'I'll go talk with him tonight; don't you worry about it. I want you to focus on figuring yourself out, okay? You can apologise to him later', Ichigo assured. 'And if you feel like you need help, like a second opinion, or someone to vent to, or heck, a fight to get your frustrations out, you can always come to me-no matter the time'.

'But what if you—'

'No matter. The. Time', Ichigo repeated sternly. 'I will make time for you—and don't think you will be a burden or something stupid like that. I care about you and I don't mind spending time to help you, you got that?' When the spirit's only response was a belated nod, Ichigo scowled. He knew exactly what was going on in his head and Ichigo was going to take a page from Yuzu's book. 'Repeat what I said back to me'.

That garnered a response. 'I beg your pardon?'

'Repeat what I said back to me'.

'Is that really necessary?'

'Yes, it is'.

Exasperation flickered across the spirit's features. He crossed his arms, a facsimile of a pout forming on his face—a contained but clear indication that he wasn't quite happy about this sudden turn of events. Still, he released a sigh as he relented to the request. 'If I need help I can come to you; no matter what, you will make time for me'.

'And?' Ichigo pressed.

'You don't mind spending your time to help me'.

'Because?'

The spirit looked away, fingers fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeve. 'Because you care—' blue flicked to brown and he continued— 'about me and I'm not a...a burden'.

Ichigo's scowl eased, 'Exactly, and don't you forget that'.

'C—Can I leave now?'

Ichigo nodded and allowed the spirit to return. He didn't leave immediately, eying Ichigo for a moment as if contemplating speaking but then looked away, form changing into energy that joined Ichigo's golden aura.

He waited. Waited till he was sure both his spirits had settled before shutting them off from his thoughts. Heaving a deep breath—

'Fuck!'

Hitting his forehead with both palms, Ichigo let himself fall backwards. The ground was unforgiving, small and sharp rocks digging into his spine and scalp. He paid the pain no mind, continuing to abuse himself by hitting his head over and over again in self-reprimand.

'Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid idiot!'

Ichigo thought he had learned from his past mistakes; that his year and a half without powers had given him insight; that fighting in a war had matured him. He had thought that, by doing everything over, by taking it slow and doing it the "right" way, he wouldn't make any more missteps at the cost of his Zanpakutō.

Ichigo really is an idiot; he made the same mistake twice.

#

End / To Be Continued

(might add another chapter, not sure yet)

(The character act will be continued in a separate piece…eventually)