Chapter Six
Strawberry Drifts
Uryū was on his daily visit to Kurosaki Clinic on the walk back from school. It had become rote in such a short amount of time: walk in, duck head to avoid eye contact with any customers, slip behind the curtains and sit for an inordinate amount of time next to Ichigo's stubbornly unresponsive form, silent and hoping to avoid any unwanted attention from either the clinic's patrons or (more importantly) Isshin Kurosaki.
He gave a brief nod to the couple that were sitting in the waiting room, scuttling past and into the back room behind the curtains.
He should have known something was wrong when he heard the sounds of sobs coming from behind the partition, but he lacked the common sense to prevent himself for sliding in anyway.
Sure enough, Ichigo wasn't alone: there was Orihime, sitting on the chair next to his bed, absolutely sobbing her eyes out.
Uryū wasn't entirely sure what it was that Orihime felt for Ichigo, being bad with feelings in general and those of other people in particular; all he knew was that there might have been something one-sided happening between them. To be fair, Uryū wasn't even sure if Orihime knew that his relationship was serious.
There was one thing he was very sure about, though, which was that Orihime was bent over crying her eyes out over him.
He suddenly felt like he was intruding on something he shouldn't have, which was ridiculous. They were friends; even if Ichigo had been the functioning middle link between the two of them.
After standing awkwardly in the corner for a couple of minutes, Orihime lifted her gaze to notice him for the first time.
"Uryū? I hadn't noticed you here."
"It's fine, I was just…" He had no idea where this sentence was supposed to go, so he let it hang in the air.
"It's so sad that we're not able to go to find him and bring him back, isn't it?"
"Yes." Uryū simply nodded his head, suddenly aware that the two of them hadn't been alone together (and they were, despite Ichigo's soulless body being in there in the room with them) since their time in the Seireitei. Conversation rarely flowed well for him, but to sound too stilted might come off as standoffish. Why did social interactions have to be so complicated?
Despite himself, he thought that conversation with Ichigo had never been that difficult. He'd always seemed to know exactly what Uryū was trying to say.
"If Hueco Mundo was open, I'd want to go charging off right away to make sure he comes back safely. He'd do the same for us and I just feel so guilty that we're not able to. Like we're taking all his care for us for granted."
Orihime had managed to verbalize some of the helplessness that had been eating at Uryū since that fateful night.
"You're right. It is unfair, isn't it? If you or I were kidnapped by Aizen, he'd have left for Hueco Mundo already."
She nodded, gaze still somberly fixed on the gentle rising and falling of Ichigo's chest.
"I don't like feeling this helpless. Especially not when someone I care about is in danger."
"You almost have to wonder if they even care."
"Hmm?" Orihime glanced up at Uryū for the first time, her grey eyes wide in question.
"They've shut all communication off after ordering us to not go looking for him. The Gotei doesn't care if he lives or dies, Orihime, otherwise they'd have sent a reconaissance group out to investigate. They don't care if he lives or dies because they'll get him eventually anyway, whether in death as a Soul Reaper or at the end of their sword as a Hollow."
"You don't mean—surely they must care a little bit? Ichigo helped them."
"Think about it from their perspective. He came barging in, poked at a dozen different chinks in their armour, fought to a draw with one of their commanding officers. Aizen was going to reveal himself anyway, he just took advantage of the chaos we caused to make his break for it. If I'm honest, I think we're lucky we made it out of that alive. Why would they feel anything for Ichigo?"
Uryū knew his tone was bitter, dripping with barely suppressed contempt for the Gotei 13's laissez-faire attitude towards the ongoing kidnapping case of Ichigo Kurosaki that they had abandoned as soon as it was reported.
"How—how can you say that? How can they not care for Ichigo at all?"
"They're a military association, Orihime. Why would you think they'd care about a single teenager who goes missing without a trace, regardless of how much spirit energy he has?"
A tear slithered down her cheek, probably because she recognized the truth in Uryū's words even if she hated it.
"I just can't understand why they would be so careless. Don't they know his loved ones are out here waiting for him to come home, and worrying that he never will?"
Suddenly, the words loved ones awoke a wave of paranoia that rose in Uryū's mind that the feelings Orihime felt for Ichigo were romantic, and that she didn't understand, and Ichigo you stupid idiot you never told her that you weren't interested and left her hanging—
"Ichigo and I are dating," he blurted out, regretting it as soon as he did and clapping his hand firmly over his mouth to prevent any more awkward interjections.
Much to his relief, however, Orihime simply looked confused. "Of course, you are. I don't understand—I've known you were dating for months."
Then her expression shifted into an oh. "I'm here because I'm Ichigo's friend and I'm worried about him! If you think—"
"I don't," Uryū said, letting out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding. "I don't know what came over me, I guess I was just worried that he'd hurt your feelings by leading you on or something."
Orihime shook her head. "Oh, no, Ichigo told me back in the winter, once you two started getting serious. I was very touched that he cared enough to let me in on his personal life, really."
All of a sudden Uryū felt superbly foolish, a warmth creeping up into his cheeks.
"I'm just really worried for him, that's all. It's so strange to look over at his desk in school and not find him sitting there, you know? I miss his smiles."
"Yeah." He cast his eyes sideways, still embarassed for reading far too much into the situation and quickly changing the subject. "There haven't been any Hollows around town since he left either, have you noticed?"
Orihime sat in thought for a while, then nodded. "You know, I hadn't thought about it that way, but you're right. It probably has something to do with Hueco Mundo being closed off, I'd think."
"It's just—there's something not right about all this, something off-colour. Maybe it's just my imagination, my grief working overdrive."
"I don't think it's your imagination. Considering we usually get at least one hollow attack a day, it is weird we've not had one in ten."
"You don't think…" Uryū knew the words he wanted to say next, but was too embarassed to say them. Instead he let them hang there, unspoken, weighing down on both of them: You don't think anything bad is going to happen to him?
He'll come back fine, right?
Neither of them had the heart to answer.
Probably because they knew the answer they both wanted to hear was a lie.
Orihime was the first to get up from their now silent vigil, but Uryū made a point of following suit.
"You can walk back with me if you like." Her smile was understanding.
"Thank you." His words were quiet. "But, first, could you, could you follow me up to his room? I guess maybe looking around might make me feel better."
She simply nodded. "I understand. I'll go with you."
And she did, following him out of the clinic quietly and into the house, delicately taking the stairs to make sure no one heard them. It was a silly precaution, really, but neither of them were in the mood for a confrontation.
Quietly Uryū eased the door to Ichigo's bedroom open, the 15 plaque clacking with the sudden motion.
He took a deep breath as soon as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him, inhaling the lingering smell of the laundry detergent the Kurosaki household always used and the same noxious fruit hairspray, faded after so many days but still identifiable. Also faint, but still as heady as always, was traces of his spiritual pressure half-faded, the smells of smoke and summer rain having so thoroughly permeated every corner of the room from his lack of control that Uryū expected it would take years for it to fully vanish.
He hoped they wouldn't have to test that particular theory.
The room was exactly how Ichigo always had it, undisturbed as if he'd just left it five minutes ago.
"It's like he's still here."
Orihime's sudden hushed whisper made Uryū jump, not having noticed her coming in behind him.
"It's eerie, isn't it?"
She simply nodded, drawing even with him.
While Orihime stood, slightly awkwardly, in the middle of the room, taking everything in, Uryū strode over to the bookcase in the corner of the room. He ran his hands along the spines, taking in the juxtaposition of smooth untouched spines and the deeply cracked ones lined with fissures of use and affection.
There was one his fingers caught on, particularly familiar with its individual feel. Slowly, hesitantly he pulled it out.
The book had seen better days, he knew that; between Ichigo's ravenous consumption of its contents and Uryū's own five readthroughs before him. He knew Ichigo would have tried to be as careful as possible with it, simply by merit of it being Uryū's own possession, but that didn't prevent dogeared pages from acquiring creases that came from love.
He ran his hand down the cover, admiring how the texture changed just slightly for the illustration, the slight indents from his own hands, the simple gold and white of the cover such a familiar and comforting sight from all the days he'd been alone in his house with nothing but it for company.
The pages had a smell he couldn't describe, that no other book smelled like. He almost wanted to slip it into his schoolbag, take it home to complete his lineup of nine along the most sacred place on his bookshelf. Almost.
But to Uryū, taking it back like that was almost confirmation that Ichigo would never get to finish it, and borrow the next book in the series from him until he'd found his way to the harrowing end, at the very quote he always used to dry his tears.
No, he told himself, gently sliding the borrowed copy of The Lord of the Rings back onto the shelf next to a small battered anthology. He would leave it there for when he came back.
Uryū pushed himself up, taking another glance around the room. His eyes fell on a loose burgundy sweater lying haphazardly in a pile on the floor, recognizing it as one of Ichigo's favourites, one he'd received from Uryū himself for his most recent birthday. He bent down to pick it up, pressing it close to his face and breathing in the smell. It was the same as the rest of the room only concentrate, the fibres locking the smell of Ichigo Kurosaki and his spiritual pressure deep inside.
Uryū slid it over his head, inhaling twice.
"I'm good. We can leave now."
Orihime simply nodded, following him out into the hall and out of the house.
Hueco Mundo
[Present Day]
Ichigo had gotten so hungry, he was astonished with every additional moment he was on his feet without keeling over.
He was following Ulquiorra into the sparring room again, dizzy and light-headed, head pounding in time with every footfall on the cold stone.
He knew he was going to have to fight Grimmjow again, parry each of his strikes until his strength gave out and he collapsed. Since the first day, he hadn't endeavoured to make any moves of his own, the joy of fighting rapidly devolving into a struggle to survive as his hunger levels rose. Of course, Aizen wasn't about to let Grimmjow or anyone else kill him.
Every day since the starvation mandate had brought diminishing returns to the hunt in his inner world for his zanpakuto spirits. The rain was still falling voraciously in his mind, but it echoed off the sides of the buildings in silence. No one was listening to his pleas for help, both Zangetsu and the Old Man leaving him to Aizen's torturous hands for the time being.
Once Ulquiorra let him go inside the sparring room, Ichigo stumbled forward, only staying upright by spreading out his arms.
"Is the baby hollow too scared to fight me today?" Grimmjow's face bore a brutal grin, his mask's teeth illustrated in a sharp series of white lines and shadows in the room's lighting.
"You wish," Ichigo snarled, lip curling back just slightly to reveal teeth he knew paled in comparison to his opponent's. Hand shaking, he unsheathed Zangetsu, nearly dropping it on the floor twice before he lifted it to an defensive position. He was not looking forward to this fight; his only goal was to stay alive.
No sooner than he had his blade at the ready then Grimmjow made his move, shooting towards Ichigo like a bottle rocket and clashing zanpakuto with such a force that it sent him skidding backward and unable to hold on. Black spots started to spin at the corners of his vision that would not be blinked away.
The second attack completely blindsided Ichigo, knocking him sideways and into unconsciousness.
Ichigo came to pinned to the wall, Grimmjow clawing at his arms and snarling with a hunger for blood.
Blood…the smell hit his nostrils and reminded him just how hungry he was. Zangetsu was knocked to the floor five feet away, lying there inert and unwilling to answer his cries for help.
What happened next, Ichigo didn't really think through. He was aware that Hollows often acted by pure instinct, and that in dire situations a fight or flight response kicked in for humans too, but it was the sort of thing you always assumed would never apply to you.
Grimmjow lunged in again, claws bared and ready to rend another tear in Ichigo's fragile skin, and the wild instincts he had tried so hard to bury deep inside him came roaring up in a white spray of fury. Before he knew what he was doing, he'd lunged forward and snapped, jaws closing in around his hand and teeth sinking into his hierro. The metallic taste of blood grew in his mouth, a strange relief after so many days in abject hunger even if by all other measures it tasted awful.
Grimmjow's eyes widened and his mouth bared in a snarl, shaking his hand in an attempt to knock his attacker loose and failing. Instead he used his free hand to grab Ichigo by the neck and push him up against the wall. He frantically tried to scrabble against him, hoping for his fingernails to receive any sort of purchase whatsoever but their dull stubs simply slid right off.
Grimmjow gave a little laugh at this act of futility, spit flying out of his mouth and onto Ichigo's face. "Are you trying to hurt me, baby Hollow? Let go of my hand and then maybe I'll give you a bowl of milk, hmm?"
Ichigo tried to make a comment, but the words got lost on the side of Grimmjow's thumb still firmly lodged in his mouth. This was the first time since they'd started fighting that he'd made any dent in the Arrancar's armour at all, and he was stubbornly unwilling to relinquish.
Eventually, however, Ichigo's tenacity lost to an unfair matchup with Grimmjow's strength and his crippling hunger. He was shaken loose, the impact ripping a tiny chunk of the Arrancar's flesh with it while Ichigo hurtled to the floor and skidded sideways like a kicked puppy, knocking the flesh out of his mouth with a little spray of blood.
"You really are pathetic when you're that hungry, Espina," he snarled, the nickname making Ichigo's stomach churn with both hunger and disgust. Nothing more than a small fish bone, stuck between his teeth. He had never enjoyed the way a fish looked plucked clean of its flesh, and he hated how the name had stuck, reminding Ichigo that he wasn't much better off, being slowly stripped of his humanity as Aizen and the other Espada watched on like it was some great entertainment.
"Ibara, are you getting hungry?" Aizen's voice was cool, unconcerned.
Ichigo liked to think he was strong, could stand against anything and fight until death. But in that moment he felt so desperate, so starved…
It wasn't surrender, he told himself. It was self-preservation. That was all.
Later, Ichigo wouldn't be able to recall much of the actual act of eating the Arrancar, something he was genuinely grateful for. His deep and profound state of hunger had driven him mostly on primitive Hollow instincts he hated to think were still lurking inside his soul even now, but had at the very least done him the good deed of blocking out most of the details.
Ichigo was hunched over in his room now, sobbing as he stared at his own reflection. The mirror was a new addition, evidently a ploy on Aizen's part to destabilize him that was unpleasantly effective. The reflective surface had his previous activities on full display, his white shihakusho splashed in stripes of crimson. Ulquiorra typically brought him a new one each time the old one got stained or ripped, but tonight he was left to wallow in the bloodsoaked one, a constant reminder of the unnatural and horrific act he'd committed mere hours ago.
His face was dotted with blood too, which wasn't necessarily his own, around his mouth and chin where most of the excess that he hadn't managed to lick up had settled and dried like a hard sticky crust, too thick to properly flake off under his fingers. His hair was also stuck to his face in thick, matted, bloodstained clumps after not only today's exploits but the beatings of Grimmjow from the entire week. He had not been cleaned since he had arrived at Hueco Mundo. His fingers were bloodied as well, although not as much as his face; however each fingernail was highlighted red underneath as an inevitable collecting point of the hollow's blood.
The tension building up in Ichigo was too much. He opened his mouth and let out a bloodcurdling scream, a fox's piercing caterwaul, something so deeply unnatural sounding that it made him feel even worse after it came out than if he'd just let it stay in and steep.
His open mouth showed him another deeply unsettling thing, prompting him to lean closer to the mirror out of morbid curiosity. The white enamel of his teeth was entirely covered in a red veneer, looking like they belonged to some psychotic fantasy monster.
If this keeps up, I'm going to look like a monster that lurks in a child's closet, he thought despondently, scrubbing at his chin in a desperate attempt to remove at least some of the evidence that he had given in and started his awful transformation to something other than human. But the room was bare of water or anything else to get himself clean, and his clothing was too ruined and stiff with dried blood to be of any use. So scrubbing with his hands it had to be, woefully ineffective as it was. He almost wished that his nails were longer, so they would pierce his own skin and mark him as the horrible—thing he truly was.
For the first time, Ichigo wondered if he'd made the wrong decision. He wasn't just a prisoner or a hostage. Aizen was methodically destroying him one step at a time, ripping off layers of humanity until all that was left was a hard and brittle Hollow core. If he made it out—and even that was uncertain, given how woefully underpowered he was—would it even be Ichigo making his way home?
Would it be Ibara Tamashii instead?
Ibara, the beast, the cruel soulless monster who ate an Arrancar, tore into it like it was a gourmet steak and still wore the remnants like a badge of honour.
Was this who he was becoming? Was there any way to stop it?
You saved the lives of Yuzu, Karin and Uryū, he told himself, the mantra he'd been repeating to himself in a desperate attempt to make his sacrifice not in vain.
But what would they say? That I gave myself up to become a monster just so they could live?
Would they even want to see me now, twisted and covered in the blood of my last meal?
Would I want them to see me? Like this? When did I become so desperate?
I swore to protect them. This was the only way forward, he told himself, barely staunching the flow of misery and shame. My own humanity—is that the price I'm willing to pay in order to do so? Somehow, it was a more difficult question than simply whether or not he'd sacrifice his life for them. The answer to that question was unequivocally yes, it had always been, he understood this. But the prospect of dying for them was far less scary than losing himself in their name. He was driven to protect them because of who he was; if Aizen stripped all that made Ichigo Kurosaki away, what would that leave him with? He would still be alive, but did that matter when you were no longer yourself? Hollows always killed their own families first, as soon as they were able to. Sure, they were safe from Aizen; but if he kept going down this dark, horrible, bloodstained path, would they be safe from him?
Scratching at his skin like it would somehow create holes for the monster to escape through wasn't working.
You couldn't drain a part of yourself away, after all.
Author's Note: Sorry this update took so long! I kept procrastinating editing the cannibalism scene at the end to make it pg13. I hope I managed to do it properly, even though I had to cut a few paragraphs.
Now that this chapter is over with, updates should go back to biweekly :)
