Bleach (c) Tite Kubo
Once more, if only to see you again
One Degree of Difference
Double the giggles and double the grins, and double the trouble if you're blessed with twins.
That blessing bounces around like a promise in Masaki Kurosaki's mind from the very second the ultrasound detects a second heartbeat.
Six months later, there she was; a new mother blessed with two children. Two healthy baby boys. Her twins. She loved with all her heart before they were born. Now she cradles these beautiful fragile treasures in her arms, they hold her heart in their tiny hands.
They instantly become the centre of her universe. Beacons of light shining in the darkness. Her very own little sun and moon.
They're astoundingly similar yet so different in many ways.
Masaki names her firstborn Ichigo. With a head crowned by a gorgeous strawberry blond fuzz and brilliant amber eyes exactly like his mother. Her darling protector, her precious strawberry, already fast asleep clutching the Quincy cross around her wrist.
The second child, unlike his big brother, has strong lungs and loud opinions from the very first. Born exactly four minutes after Ichigo, wailing like he'd lost the race of a lifetime, he wears a raven scruff and his father's nose, adorably scrunched up as he announces his displeasure.
Isshin names him Kaien.
After a late nephew, Isshin explains reluctantly, as if the name were a product of whim he already wishes to recant.
He offers a rare morsel of his past, then. Explaining the name belonged to an elder brother's son, a promising young soul by shinigami standards, whose life was cut tragically short before his prime. Written with the kanji of sea swallow, it's a beautiful name. And the way Kaien flails his arms about, Masaki has no doubt he'll tear up a storm with those little wings. (A rare cynical voice in the back of Masaki's mind wonders if it's cruel to saddle her second child with yet another legacy when the bitter feud between their bloodlines is burden enough).
Unfortunately, there are times where that same joyful rhyme rings a forlorn toll.
As it did when the bliss of new motherhood fades. Masaki's heart sinks when she senses the truly colossal reiyoku sleeping within her sons, beholding a terrific raw power that individually outstrips herself, their father and even that shopkeeper Kisuke Urahara combined. She catches occasional glimpses of Isshin's quiet contemplation, and Urahara's unreadable calculation when they pay a visit to his quaint candyshop two weeks after Masaki was discharged from hospital, ostensibly to introduce the man to the newest additions of their small family.
For a man whose entire repertoire consists of loud proclamations of love and affection, frequently obnoxious bluster and comically inept but oddly charming attempts to function as an ordinary human being, Isshin is an exceptionally private individual. Adept at concealing his true thoughts behind that goofball's facade, though nowhere near to the degree as that enigmatic Kisuke Urahara.
Absentmindedly boiling it down one day while the twins are napping and Isshin's off… somewhere, because he's certainly not in the clinic, Masaki is mildly perturbed to realise that Isshin probably knows enough about her to fill entire volumes, yet she knows barely enough about him to fill in a pamphlet.
Perhaps that's why it's so easy to conclude the worst whenever she's left to take care of the twins alone.
Isshin sacrificed his powers to preserve her life, and Masaki will forever be grateful for that, but that doesn't change the fact that Isshin wasn't any front line officer - he was a Captain . As was Urahara in ages past, which Masaki discovers in snatches of conversation she probably wasn't supposed to overhear.
Whether it be enforced retirement or exile, Captains are ultimately dangerous individuals.
A subtle look here or an odd turn of phrase there, it's not difficult to think Isshin and Urahara conspire together about her sons' futures. To conceive these dangerous men concocting equally dangerous schemes for her twin sons; hybrids born with the blood of the living and the dead, of a king and usurpers. They are a unique synthesis of Shinigami, Quincy and Hollow. (Sometimes, at her darkest moments, which she only half-convinces herself are her hormones out of whack from either pregnancy or postpartum depression, Masaki thinks they don't see them as babies at all. They see weapons. Potential tools and assets to further their agendas).
A suspicion Masaki feels all but confirmed when the twins are two months old. Isshin comes from a midnight walk, a vain attempt to soothe Kaien through a colic episode while Ichigo mewls quietly in their crib. Wearing another inscrutable expression whilst settling their second son for sleep, he casually suggests ( orders ) that he'd prefer the boys to be raised as humans. As far away from the Shinigami and Quincy mess as possible, as he puts it.
And…
If they only had one child to worry about, Masaki might've even been persuaded to play along. For a short while.
A potential argument could be made about preserving innocence. That their sons should be allowed to be boys, completely untroubled by the burdens of their lineage before the crushing weight of expectations shatters those halcyon days forever. Masaki herself is no stranger to being raised for a purpose, and while she has no idea about how Shinigami handle their children, Quincy traditions are... summarily put, messed up.
However, Masaki is no fool. She might be young but she knows the utility of ignorance. It's a means to protect but it's another method to manipulate. In her mind, she already sees the Sword of Damocles looming over her babies' heads. Ready to plunge down at the precise moment to push the boys in whatever direction Urahara and Isshin need to advance their grand unknown plan.
And after being thrust into an unknown, unfamiliar world - or thrown headlong into it, cruelly deprived of knowledge that's required for their very survival - they could easily swayed into less-than-favourable situations or forced into dangerous pigeon holes. The kind of which would make them desperate enough for any form of help. The kind that would allow conniving malcontents exert their insipid influence over her babies for their own twisted ends, and at not heed to the potential cost.
The notion revolts Masaki to her core.
And as soon as that thought cements in her head, it's hard to look at Isshin the same way. Hard to put on a smile the way he acts like a complete buffoon with those overly dramatic displays of affection towards her, like he isn't conspiring to throw their sons, her babies, into the jaws of hell.
She will not accept their schemes quietly.
Masaki will never allow her children to be used like that, not as the Ishida family intended to use her.
Unfortunately, she's well aware of her limitations. And the problem is as strong as Masaki is, she is only one person. Confronting Isshin and Urahara outright about their intentions is frankly suicide. Another unfortunate truth is there will be times the boys will be separated by necessity, for school or childhood appointments, well outside her protective gaze. Masaki can't be in two places at once to guard them.
So with her resolve set in calculated defiance of her husband and one-time saviour, Masaki nods in agreement, smiling to cover her lie.
Her little sun and moon make friends before they can form coherent sentences.
It's glaringly obvious by the time they're a year old that Ichigo and Kaien can see spirits. They babble and wave and point at empty air and the ordinary human would dismiss it as typical baby play. Masaki knows better. Can see better, watching the even the most stubborn dearly departed wave and coo right back at the adorable toddlers. Even if her husband physically can't.
Of course, Masaki isn't surprised. With their sheer power, how could they not?
Masaki naively believed this fact would've been enough to change her husband's mind about how they raised the twins. She subtly broached the subject on numerous occasions. She offers gentle suggestions about teaching low level techniques, basic skills that can be disguised as average childhood learning games or rudimentary meditation hidden in nap time, to help them get a grip on their reiryoku. Very minor things the twins would dismiss as boyhood focusing techniques as they got older. It's merely the prudent course of action, ensuring Ichigo and Kaien would avoid drawing unnecessary otherworldly dangers they weren't prepared to face quite yet.
Masaki offered what she thought were persuasive arguments and pleaded her case; pointing out the fact that only one person in their family unit had powers to defend the rest; the fact that Karakura town is a den of hollows on a good day; that Shinigami would likely be patrolling the area and learning to avoid active skirmishes could only be a good thing. They didn't have to tell the children the whole story, Masaki insists, not immediately. Simply explain that seeing spirits was part of a natural part of their lives, it's a mark of family and something to take pride in.
Masaki does has her own private hopes, but she keeps those quietly to herself. She would never enforce her family's borderline fanatical pureblood obsession onto the boys (though she takes pride their very existence spits on it), but Masaki does wants her children to know where they came from. To learn from their histories and, much more importantly, learn from the mistakes of their forbearers. To rise above them and grow into better men. It can be argued that by virtue of their existence, Ichigo and Kaien represent a kind of hope for a brighter future. Living breathing proof Quincy and Shinigami could cast aside aeons old enmities and overcome bitter hatreds. They could work together, live together, start families together. In a very real sense, they're an avenue to achieving everything Uncle Souken ever dreamed of for the Shinigami and Quincy.
For one dizzyingly hopeful moment, Masaki thought her impassioned plea might've swayed Isshin's stance. She could practically hear the gears turning in his brain. But, despite the flagrant dangers and making a compelling argument, Masaki is equally unsurprised and disappointed when Isshin doubles down. The man is nothing if not bull-headed. When his mind is set, he is utterly inflexible, categorically refusing to consider alternatives. Its one of his... less attractive attributes.
No supernatural business. Ichigo and Kaien didn't need to know their history, they didn't need to know the potential they wielded. They would have a clean slate. And Isshin walks away from that conversation as if there's nothing left to say.
If you didn't want them to be what they are, why did you bother having them in the first place? A resentful thought crosses Masaki's mind before she could quash it.
They're fraternal twins. That's a fact.
But Masaki marvels at how physically similar Ichigo and Kaien are. If she didn't know better, she would swear they were identical all along and someone's been sneaking into their nursery to dye Kaien's hair or bleach Ichigo's when she's not looking.
Bright side, it makes it easy to distinguish them. Their father's genes run quite strong, it seems. Even if there's times where Isshin stares at them - Kaien specifically - with haunted eyes when he thinks he's alone, like he's seeing a ghost come to life.
A couple weeks after their third birthday is when Masaki begins whispering her secrets about their history and legacy.
In the middle of that night, Ichigo and Kaien are being particularly stubborn about their bedtime (a trait they've inherited and magnified into an artform), scurrying around their bedroom with inexhaustible energy, fliting between one imagined game to the next while Masaki prays they somehow tire themselves out.
Three years in, Masaki discovers the boys have exactly two settings: "Go, go, go" or "sleep".
And despite her considered experience, Masaki has to concede they're quite the mischievous handful.
Thankfully, she manages to wrangle the twins onto Ichigo's bed with a few choice words. Not paying her any mind, they choose to crawl around his mattress, continuing their game of tag and clinging to mummy's arms loudly proclaiming her as 'safe'. Giggles bubble up in her throat when they start bickering about it. Before it could devolve into a full-on crying argument, Masaki manages to snatch their full attention with promises of a secret. But only if they settle down. The boys fidget and fuss but ultimately comply, eager to hear what their beloved mother has to share.
They watch as she tender cradles their hands in hers. Innocent blue and amber eyes bright and wide with awe and wonder, mesmerized by the sparkling blue lights dancing in simple patterns in mummy's palms. She tells them they have this power too, that she'll teach them about when they wake up in the morning.
But they must keep it a secret from Daddy.
After that demonstration, and solemn (positively adorable) promises from her boys, Masaki chooses to spend the rest of the night in their room.
Isshin sleeps like the dead so her absence isn't exactly missed, and with him leaving for a three-day medical conference early tomorrow morning it's unlikely he'll be awake before then anyhow.
It's a tight squeeze, but they manage on one bed. Masaki plants herself in the middle while the twins cuddle up on one side each, eagerly babbling away until they settle for sleep while she hums a lullaby.
After Isshin is gone, Masaki introduces the twins to the basic concepts, delivering a much simplified lecture on the subject, dumbing things down to a level they could understand over breakfast. There are good spirits. Friendly (mostly) who await their eternal rest. And the bad spirits that need to be avoided at any costs. At least until the boys are big enough to protect each other and themselves.
"The goodies and the big meanies." Ichigo adorably coined them.
Masaki promises to teach them how to distinguish between the two. Then after breakfast is cleared away, she slowly tutors them through the fundamentals; how to gather and mould reishi.
Stories continue as they grow older in snatches of privacy away from their father. As they grow, the more they can understand. Masaki endeavours to leave nothing out. She tells them the best and the worst of their history. They soon understand their inheritance is birthright, tragedy and burden wrapped in one. Though none of that grimness dulls their eagerness to learn nor those identical delighted grins that beam up at her for her approval after mastering yet another technique in record time.
They learn at their own paces, of course.
For example, Ichigo shows more aptitude for gathering pure reishi whereas Kaien leans towards instinctively drawing upon his innate reiyoku. Not a bad habit per se, it's simply not how a Quincy typically operates. Masaki helps him practise the steps once more, guiding him through refining that skill. It takes an hour of careful explaining before he's got the knack.
On the flip side, Kaien's far more naturally gifted in his control and adept at shaping the reishi he commands. Ichigo can gather an abundance of energy until the cows come home but his constructs are sloppily made, even for a child. Kaien's are pristine and, dare Masaki say it, perfect, like he'd been born knowing how to manipulate spirit particles at their most fundamental level.
Fortunately, neither child allows those road bumps to discourage them.
When one struggles, the other eggs him on in the name of playful teasing and spirited competition. When they both fall short, Masaki tutors where she can.
Challenges aside, their talent for the spirit arts is prodigal. It's frightening, borderline terrifying at times. Between reishi training disguised as games, construct creation, histories hidden in nursery rhymes and bedtime stories, the twins soak up everything she has to teach like a sponge.
Their appetite is positively ravenous and as she continues their clandestine studies, Masaki tries to ignore the growing weight of guilt gnawing her insides as she moves onto the next lesson.
A routine mission.
That's what Rukia Kuchiki's orders said. That's what Kiyone and Sentaro promised when they jointly briefed her on the details, followed by rather heavy-handedly insisting this wasn't a transfer or demerit on Rukia's record, simply a temporary posting.
The duration is one standard month. Rukia's task is to patrol a region called Karakura Town with her jurisdiction covering four square kilometers. If all went according to plan, she would rendezvous with their contact in the World of the Living named Urahara (an individual the rumour mill had pegged as a seedy reprobate), set up a base camp and operate from there.
Hardly the most complex thing ever.
Captain Ukitake came to see her off on her first solo assignment personally. And, as it happens, the assignment was his proposal. He reassured Rukia that he had every confidence in her abilities to handle herself and reasoned that field experience would look good on her combat record. Especially with the opportunity for promotion to a seated role on the horizon.
Of course, Rukia is honoured that Captain Ukitake would take the time for her, and for the faith in her capabilities.
Thing is, most people would be thrilled to have their first assignment. On the other hand, Rukia isn't giddy. Not in the slightest, to be perfectly frank.
In terms of difficulty, it's a task usually reserved for low-ranked shinigami. The same kind of rank and file who wouldn't warrant a second glance from most others. Rukia knows her way around a fight so theoretically speaking, the mission should be a breeze. Plus years of drill from the adopted nobility and regimented life as a shinigami have long since drummed such scruples out of her. But she can't help an edginess that paws at the edge of her thoughts, culminating in an unease that gathers like a weight in her stomach.
Shinigami are not creatures of whim, however. Rukia will push aside personal reservations and obey her orders just like a good soldier and a good Kuchiki should. She continues to tell herself that over and over while she's guided by a fluttering black jigokucho through the senkaimon.
Karakura town is... well, like any other in the human world, Rukia expects.
Rukia hasn't heard much about the human world beyond idle gossip in the Seireitei. Those who return from extended patrol duty often give contradictory accounts of the place. Every decade or so - no, closer to every five years, they return home jabbering about some new development or trivia in the human world that completely overshadows or contradicts previous ones.
Naturally, those conflicting accounts make it difficult to paint a coherent picture of what the human world was actually like. And Rukia did her level best to downplay her expectations, but if she were to sum up her initial impressions in one word, it would be 'different'.
Not better or worse. Just extraordinarily different.
Illuminated by a mid-morning sun, this strange backwater town is thrown into sharp relief. Everything from the infrastructure, to the roads, the clothes and the people, the reishi density in the air - even the smell . Rukia truly stepped into a foreign world, in its strange and disorientating splendour.
Indulging in spectacle will have to wait. Barely a half hour into her assignment, her denrenshinki chirps insistently in her robes, signalling the materialisation of a nearby Hollow. Rukia fishes it out to examine the details and predicted time of emergence and glides through the air in that direction. She arrives at the designated point with a minute to spare, ambushes and purifies the hollow as it manifests from the netherworld, performs last rites and konsou on the innocent soul nearby and submits her report. The orders are closed.
Just like that, Rukia slips into that pattern.
Every day or two, a hollow would emerge. She would purify it, perform last rites on the lost soul it targeted, rinse and repeat. It's a mind-numbing cycle and Rukia embraces the monotony. She allows her mind to drift into nothingness, performing her duties as evenhandedly and dispassionately as possible. As a good shinigami should.
A week into her assignment, she should've known she'd had it too easy.
While patrolling the area, leaping from rooftop to telephone pole, with a weather eye glued to the horizon and awaiting her denrenshinki's insistent trill of fresh orders, Rukia finds a young departed soul by a local pool. Quite the busy one in fact.
It's a collection of laned pools, circled by stands for crowds to sit and hooded benches to either end for the swimmers, currently playing host to a competition. Spectators fill the stands, shouting support for their preferred teams while teenagers dressed in swimming attire, which Rukia presumes are the students, eagerly watch from the edges, adding their own voices to the chorus.
That's one form of entertainment, Rukia supposes. The next race is set to start with eight competitors standing on the raised podiums at one end. When the announcer fires a starter gun, they spear into the water to even louder adulation.
The child soul is among them. He's a boy, roughly eight or nine years old, wearing what appears to be a swimming costume. No great mystery how the poor boy passed then.
Regrettable but no sense allowing him to haunt this place, waiting to become a snack for the next hollow to swoop by. Rukia makes her way over to where the boy has his face pressed against the chain link fence, spectating intensely and bouncing with barely restrained excitement. Rukia schools her expression into polite blankness when she accosts the child softly, whose response with irritation.
Rukia sticks to her script and introduces herself, promises to usher him to a peaceful hereafter and even had her hand wrapped around Sode no Shirayuki's hilt, preparing to draw her and administer the konsou. But, expectantly, the boy initially resists. No surprise. Souls tend to linger on because they can't shake their regrets. Even children as young as this would have their share.
Rukia persists. She tells him the next world is a peaceful place, one where he may rest eternally. Unfortunately her attempts to coax his compliance are met with more resistance. She's pondering whether or not to simply force the matter, cruel as that sounds, until the the boy clarifies why he's refusing.
Surprisingly enough, its not out of hesitation, fear of the unknown, lingering attachments or any combination of the three, like Rukia initially assumed.
There's someone he wants to say farewell to first. That puzzles Rukia greatly. When she's about to speak again, he clasps his hands together, eyes shining with hope.
"Pretty please, miss?" The young boy pleads so sweetly, "He's really nice! He plays with me when everyone else ignores me. I'll go to the other side, I promise, I just wanna say goodbye to my friend first. He'll worry if he can't find me anymore. I don't want him to think something bad happened."
That catches her attention. A human who can see spirits? How bizarre.
Rukia frowns to herself.
When she looks back at soul's pleading eyes, Rukia feels her heart wavering for a couple seconds.
For those seconds, her mind throws back to many decades past where she was swept up and adopted by the Kuchiki family and separated from Renji, her only family, without being able to offer an appropriate farewell. The loneliness and isolation it leaves behind.
Pulling her focus back to the present, Rukia relents. She won't deny the boy an opportunity to say goodbye to his only friend. Precious few ever receive that privilege. With a slight smile and a gentle nod, Rukia accepts his request.
"Very well. We may linger for a moment, but just a moment. Long enough to say your farewells."
The boy beams and bounces on his toes. "For real?! Thanks Miss! I'll be super quick, I promise! He just finished his race. See? He's right there!"
He spins back to the race that just concluded, pointing at the teenager who'd just pulled himself out of the pool to the applause of spectators. From the almighty ruckus they're causing, and the way other swimmers either clap him on the back or give him sour looks, its obvious he's the victor. Drenched from head to toe and staggering back towards an undercover bleacher near their spot, he's bombarded by claps on the back, cheering and whoops from his teammates and coach.
Idly, Rukia finds her attention drawn to a distinct mark running down the length of his sternum. A long pale line, pearly against his tanned skin. A surgical scar it seems, she wonders what happened to cause such an injury then dismisses it. Its not like she needs to know anyhow.
Chest heaving, Rukia watches as the teenager all but collapses on a bench with his back towards them, yanking off the sky blue rubber cap and goggles revealing his spiky black hair, lazily shrugging on a button-up shirt and draping a towel over his shoulders, greedily gulping down a water bottle the coach proffers. Even from here, she can hear the words of congratulations from his friends.
A moment later, the teenager's teammates and coach leave him in peace, gathering at the pool edge, eagerly anticipating the next race.
Once again, Rukia finds herself lapsing into bittersweet reminiscence. Moments of revelry from ages past come to the forefront of her mind. Ancient days, it feels like. Instead of a swimming pool, her mind's eye sees the Thirteenth Division's outdoor training grounds. Instead of teenagers and teachers, she can see her squadmates gathered around for another gruelling yet enthusiastic training session with Lieutenant Shiba. How he'd goad them on with a mix of well-meaning ribbing and encouragement.
Back when the barracks held a cheer, merriment and warmth, like the sun itself walked among them. There remains a fierce camaraderie and devotion to each other like family, but an ephemeral irreplaceable essence has been lost. A heart and soul which had been tragically torn out that night forty years ago. A heart she murdered.
It's a herculean effort of will for Rukia to pull herself back to the present and quiet the sudden turmoil in her heart. She takes a shuddering breath to steady herself and buries those feelings once more, sealing them back inside the past where they belong. She doesn't need those emotions interfering with her work. They're unnecessary. Distractions.
Rukia chides herself for her lack of control and wonders what on earth's gotten into her lately?
Watching as the young soul sprints a few metres away, effortlessly slipping through a gate in the chain link fence and climbs onto the bench, throwing his arms up and exclaiming happily as he accosts the teenager.
The exchange is brief, as the boy promised.
Rukia feels her lips turn up in a slight smile when the teenager ruffles the boy's hair. But when the soul points at her and the teenager follows his directions –
Rukia's blood turns to ice.
Before her is a ghost from a blood past. That dark spiky hair, lean frame and bright blue eyes. Her mind superimposes a much taller man, older and more experienced, wearing a black shihakushou and the Thirteenth's Lieutenant's badge around his left sleeve, wearing a proud beaming grin. One that flashes a mutated vestige of inhuman horror and cruel savagery, humanity torn out until monstrosity and malice was all that remained, flesh transmuted into a sickening blue, black lifeless eyes and orange ichor staining his cheeks. Then she sees rain soaked skin, pale with death, lifeless green eyes staring off into a realm only the dead can see, and blood flowing from the stab wound in his chest.
Rukia blinks the illusion of horror away and it's replaced by the exhausted teenager wearing that agonisingly familiar face, who stares right back at her, head tilted to one side as though determining what to make of her. (She ignores the lance in her heart when she sees no recognition in those bright blue not green eyes.)
After a half-minute, the teenager wearing her former Lieutenant and mentor's face decides to offer a haunting grin and wave.
Rukia disappears runs away in a flight of shunpo.
She runs, bile rising in her throat.
Totally shameless, she'll chastise herself later when she regains a measure of wits. Abandoning her duty due to a wildly uncalled for panic attack. And truly, why are the odds that she happens upon the reincarnation of a man she murdered forty years earlier? There's hundreds of millions, no, hundreds of billions of souls in the worlds - more than that. A truly incalculable number.
And here she was, arrogant enough to presume, even for a second, that she'd stubbled upon someone she'd known in a prior life? One that happens to have a sufficient amount of reiyoku to see her? No. That's ridiculous.
The more obvious answer is he had similar features by a sheer coincidence. That's all. There's no need to read portents into flukes and random dumb luck.
Of course, now Rukia feels guilty for that young soul and decides she'll return later, apologise sincerely and perform the konsou properly with due reverence.
As for the lookalike? Well, give it a few days and he might put this whole encounter out of his mind. Or, worse came to worst, if his curiosity gets the better of him, Rukia can always use the memory replacement device. She'll have to adjust it for someone for higher than average reiyoku but it should work.
Mercifully, by the time Rukia's manic thoughts calm down and she manages to compose herself, her denrenshinki trills with a new set of orders. A hollow is set to attack the town centre.
Having regained her earlier poise, Rukia sets about her next task.
Author's note:
As they say, third time's the charm.
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't rocking out to the new SennaAnn's Reaper MV while polishing this new chapter off (my boy got a cameo! I'm so happy!)
Admittedly I wanted this done last week but life got in the way; birthdays (namely mine), procrastination, interstate travel, etc etc. You know the drill. Thankfully I have a much more comprehensive storyline this time, so the shit that made no sense or felt rushed in the last version will be cut or more refined this time around. Ah, the curse of being a pants-er writer.
Anyways, hope you enjoy this new version.
Regards,
Aurora313