A/N: I know I'm supposed to be working on Crash-landed. But inspiration struck me so...


The room was white and clean, the sky unusually clear for such a pale day. She stood still, staring in disbelief at the cold corpse lying before her, her heart in her mouth, her guilt gnawing at her insides. It wasn't possible. It wasn't. This couldn't be real – she couldn't have lost two of her closest confidants in the space of an hour.

He wasn't…

"I'm so sorry, Lieutenant, but he's gone. He died on the operating table less than an hour ago." Unohana said quietly, the blood on her gloves drying slowly, painfully slowly.

"No! No, you don't understand, he can't be dead! He can't!"

"Lieutenant, please! Calm yourself!" Someone shouted, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her physically away. She was still too weak to resist, still too frail to fight, but she did anyway, clawing at the doctors pulling her away. But she screamed for him, over and over and over, crying for him to wake up, to answer. He didn't respond, the ever-frozen frost that clung to his pale white cheeks accentuating the hollowness of his thin body, the way that his haori no longer curved close about the power of his icy frame.

She broke down, sobbing. It was her fault. She hadn't trusted him – the boy she'd known since she was a little girl. She'd chosen her captain.

And now he was dead.

"Toushiro-kun! Shiro-chan! Shiro-chan!"


The Tenth Division held his funeral the next day, lowering their captain's petite corpse into a coffin and sealing the lid with hard iron nails. His Hyourinmaru lay unsheathed in his hands, which were clasped peacefully over the slashed breast beneath, and he wore his haori even into the grave.

The sweet, cloying scent of funeral flowers – it smelled like plum blossoms – was thick in the air, the unbroken silence deafening. She was still in shock, she knew, and the pitying whispers that followed her were numerous.

Momo had never felt so lost in her entire life.

Her captain had betrayed her.

Toushiro had been slain protecting her.

And she'd pointed her blade at the very boy who had given his life to save hers.

After he was buried, she stayed by his headstone for a long time, reading and re-reading the careful, elegant characters on the grey tombstone. With trembling fingers, she reached out, traced the familiar, strong marks of her little brother's name. It was dark by the time she stood up, the moon gleaming brightly off the tears on her face, and she pressed a watery kiss to the top of the grave marker, her grief burning holes in her heart.

"Goodbye, Shiro-chan." She whispered. "I loved you. And I will avenge you."

Hiding in the shadows at the edge of the graveyard, nails dug into calloused palms, and for a moment the shadow felt regret overwhelm the triumph beneath the bone mask.

Then both the shadow and the girl turned and went their separate ways.


She grew strong.

It was a gradual change, but slowly she managed to build herself up, the flames of her soul burning bright and angry. When she achieved her Bankai, the Fifth Division erupted in cheers. But she stayed grim and silent, her anger and hatred boiling over the sweet kindness she had once exuded so effortlessly. She was appointed Captain not two months later, and she accepted stiffly, wearing her brother's old mask of harsh stoicism.

Toushiro's division remained in mourning, and no successor rose to fill the empty void which the child captain had left in their hearts. Matsumoto didn't drink anymore, only sat blankly at her desk, methodically doing her captain's paperwork.

No one dared to mention the young man's name anywhere within their earshot. Momo only became angry, and Matsumoto sank into tears. And should Matsumoto not manage to drown the unlucky speaker, then Hinamori was well prepared to mutter Aizen's name with murderous intent in her chocolate eyes, hand on the hilt of her explosive Zanpakuto, and flare her reiatsu so powerfully that even the Head-Captain was surprised by her vehemence.

They trained incessantly – Momo with her fire and rage, Matsumoto with the grey, grieving ash of her sorrowing blade, and the training grounds would smoke once they finished, the dust of Kido floating in the air like the halos of fallen angels. But both had vowed to destroy the traitor, and so nothing was done to prevent them from breaking themselves.

And slowly, the weeks drew out into months. Aizen's Arrancar invaded Seireitei with surprising frequency, each one wide-eyed and scared. The clawed marks of a vicious beast were scored into their Hierro, and some even bore these deep wounds on the sides of their faces. When questioned about the gashes, each would tremble and mutter something fervently under their breaths before responding quietly.

"Imperfection is not tolerated by Aizen-sama." They would say quietly. "So HE is allowed to toy with those who displease Aizen-sama at his leisure."

Nothing else would be said about the matter, but each time Hinamori wiped the Arrancar blood from her burning blade she would feel the kiss of snow on the back of her neck, the sweetness of watermelon tingeing the air and she would suspect. And the shadow in the distance would vanish, the bone mask on his face separating them.


The sun is harsh and bright, the wintry air chilling her blood, but she hold her ground with an iron glare and a blazing scowl, one of the many traits she'd adopted from her late brother. Aizen stands before her, faintly startled by the white haori hanging gracefully from her capable shoulders. The might of the Gotei Thirteen is behind her, their anger and hatred giving might to the wrath burning away at her scarlet soul.

The clash of her blade against the Tercera Espada's must have been fate – fire versus water – and briefly her thoughts drift to how well-suited Toushiro would have been to such a battle. Harribel sees the look in her eyes and stops briefly, the bloodshed between them quelled with the Arrancar's quiet curiosity.

"You have felt the pain of sacrifice, have you not?" Harribel asks quietly. And Momo smiles with mirth, the tips of her haori charred by her smoking power.

"My younger brother sacrificed himself to protect me from Aizen's blade." She says sharply, her tone serrated. "We buried him six months ago, and more's the pity for it. His power was far greater than mine ever could be."

Harribel cocks her head to the side, puzzled.

"Then how can you fight so fiercely?" she asks calmly. "You are as vicious as a Hollow."

Momo laughs, a hateful, mirthless sound.

"My heart was torn from my chest with Aizen's betrayal and my brother's death." She replies coldly. "And thus I swore myself to vengeance. I may as well be a Hollow."

Harribel says nothing, but when she falls to the burn of Hinamori's fire, the new captain cannot help but wonder if there is not the slightest glimmer of respect in the other's eyes. Yet the thought is quickly quashed, stifled by the rising heat of her hatred. She will avenge her brother or die trying and it is with this thought in mind that she attacks her former captain, brown eyes smoldering black coals in the stark whiteness of her face. Their blades meet in a flash of sparks, her voice roars a command to Tobiume, and the explosion is born purely of the simmering power of her wrath.

If Aizen is taken aback by the full force of her rage, he hides it well, parrying her blade easily. They exchange vicious blows for several more minutes, and soon the other captains and Kurosaki Ichigo join her, swords and Kido and flame flashing like fireworks in the pale sky. Finally, however, her traitorous former captain drops back a pace with that infuriating smirk of his on his oily face.

"So violent, Hinamori-kun." He says, and his voice's soothing quality only enrages her further. "Why so vehement?"

Matsumoto is at her side instantly, the ash and fire whirling round them like the tumultuous windstorm of their anger, and Momo snarls.

"I want your blood." She hisses, fury like lava in her veins. "I want your head in exchange for what you did to Hitsugaya-kun."

Aizen laughs cruelly, and the cool breeze that follows is laced with snow and ice, a familiar snap of winter. Hinamori's eyes widen, and her former captain motions to the empty air with a gentle, coaxing motion.

And the shadow steps out from a Garganta.

The bone headpiece is more of a crown than anything else, but two long, bone fangs curl down his cheeks and the hole through his chest is painfully visible. He still wears white, but he's traded the shihakusho for a pair of white slacks, a crisp white jacket which he wears open, and an odd black choker. Hyourinmaru's crest has been tattooed in icy blue on one high cheekbone, the pale white of his skin deathly cold, and he still wears his Zanpakutou across his back. But the mesmerizing jade of his eyes is dead, a dull flat green that neither sparkles nor shimmers with any of the intelligence he once had.

On the side of his neck, Momo sees a Zero inked in black.

"Oh Hinamori-kun." Aizen simpers quietly. "Do you truly believe that I'd kill someone with so much potential?"

The captains stare in open-mouthed astonishment and horror, and slowly Aizen speaks, his lips curved in a smile.

"Hitsugaya-kun."

The young Arrancar-Shinigami turns jerkily to him, a flare of hatred quickening the green of his eyes back into jade for the briefest of seconds, and then Hinamori knows she has a chance to save him. As he'd saved her.

"Kill."

The command Aizen gives is brief, and for a split second Hitsugaya fights for control. But then he snarls, the sword shearing effortlessly through the ice on his back, and leaps forward, attacking with a mindless sense of drive and desperation. And in his despair he lunges for Momo. Their Zanpakutou meet, each crying out in agony, and the world goes white.


"H-Hinamori…"

Momo opens her eyes. Standing in front of her is Toushiro, his Hollowified appearance still cloaking him even in this white place. However, he's trembling and frightened, a quivering mess. He's Shiro-chan again, and she knows that this is the real him, not the monster that Aizen has conjured up.

"Momo…oh god, help me…" he murmurs, clutching at his hollow chest.

She nods, unused to being the one providing support, and kneels by him, her face full of wild joy. She has a chance.

"Just tell me how." She says, and it is her determination that finally makes him believe again. "I spent six months training because I promised to avenge you. Now let me use that training to save you."

Hitsugaya smiles at her then, a sad smile, and whispers in her ear. Her eyes widen, and she screams in denial. But then the white is fading, and she knows it is her only choice.


As he'd warned her, he cannot stop fighting, but his swings are slower, messier, and as the others turn to watch she starts to overpower the young Espada. In a panic, Aizen yells at the white-haired boy, ordering him to stop holding back, and as he does so Kurosaki's blade stabs him from behind, and Matsumoto removes the traitor's head.

So it is just as Hitsugaya releases his Resurrecion that Hinamori's flaming blade pierces his chest. The great wings and bestial claws of bone, webbed with ice, crack in midair behind him, and he sighs in relief, his chest expanding around Tobiume's blade, buried in him to the hilt. Ever so gently, still smiling in thanks, he takes Hinamori's hands in his and twists the blade.

Momo chokes when he shudders, a wide-eyed gasp of pain escaping him, and she holds him close as he slips off her blade, the Hollow hole in the center of his chest closing slowly, softly, the shards of bone on his forehead breaking, his tattoos disappearing.

"I'm sorry." She whispers to him. "I'm sorry for not trusting you, Shiro-chan."

Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth and down his chin.

"Stupid…Bed-wetter…Mo…mo." He whispers back. Then he smiles, tips his face to the sky and chuckles weakly, faintly.

"Thank you…" he mumbles with bloody lips, and stills in her arms.

Momo screams.

Unohana carries the light little body away, and Matsumoto picks up Hinamori like a child, cradling her gently, tears running down both their faces. And the shinigami pick themselves up and trail back into Soul Society, nursing broken hearts and broken minds.


Two months later, Hinamori receives a summons from Unohana, and so she trudges to the Fourth Division, her gaze haunted with visions of snow and ice. The healing captain watches her for a while as she slouches up to the gates, her mouth quirked in understanding, but finally she motions for the young captain to follow her.

Unohana leads Momo to a secluded corner of the large hospital in which all Seireitei's patients rest and stops before a locked door, keying in a complex passcode. The door pops open, swinging outwards, and Hinamori starts as the frost rushes over her white tabi socks. A quiet chuckle sounds from within the room, and then Hitsugaya Toushiro steps out, clad in his shihakusho and haori, Hyourinmaru strapped proudly to his back. The collar about his throat is gone, and only the hints of glinting white bandages poke out from under his shirt collar.

He rolls his eyes.

"Bedwetter Momo." He snaps, smirking, and Momo bursts into both laughter and tears, flinging her arms around her brother and wrapping him tightly in her embrace, determined to never let go.

"Shiro-chan!"

And for once, he doesn't correct her.

~Owari~


Thoughts?