Ichigo wakes slowly.

Or rather, consciousness returns, but he's still unable to move, to wake, reach out and be in the waking world.

Murmurs of voices, bright lights slowly swallowed whole by darkness, pricks of pain and the familiar bursts of healing kido over his wounds. Someone stands next to him, reiatsu curling in the spaces between and it hums achingly familiar around them, resonating with a large part of him. His awareness is there for a moment, just enough to call for Yama-jii, the words scarcely leaving his lips before he faded again. He doesn't feel the reassuring hand the rests against his cheek.

He's not aware of the pointed look a man in his prime gives to a beautiful woman, one of pride, fierce joy and I-told-you-so. He doesn't feel her edge of reiatsu sharpen against the man's, brilliant and lethal against the fires of his own aura.

Instead, Ichigo sleeps and dreams and wanders the corners of his soul, searching for what's changed, what's different and it's difficult because he can hear the echoes and the surge of reiatsu and it's so loud. But he continues, searches and falls into the darkness, in the depths of the sea.

He's tugged between the waking world and the world of his soul, as the sea empties into the sky and glass and steel glitter in the midday sun. Clouds cast long shadows of shade, cool grass beneath his hands and the bark of a tree solid against his back. A small garden, on the top of a skyscraper, gravity normal only in this spot.

Ichigo stands, stumbles to his knees and presses his face into the ground. Too loud, too much, not enough-

Hands on his shoulders, a presence blooming around him, muffling the noise and he raises his head-

The Old Man kneels in front of him, shame on his face and something like regret in the corners of his mouth. His eyes are slow and proud as he looks at him, at his wielder who barely hesitated before sacrificing him and oh, Ichigo aches with the ash of this painful memory of loss heavy on his tongue. A small turn of Zangetsu's head, a shift of his gaze and Ichigo allows his eyes to slide around the mane of dark hair. His Hollow stands tall, back straight shoulders squared, their sword in his hand.

Only it isn't what he remembers.

It isn't his sword.

Two hands, fingers wrapped around two hilts, braced, ready for a fight. Something like despair and desperate anger contorts the all too similar edges of his expression. But more prominent is the triumph that's painted all across his face and defiance shaking the air around him. There are words, his Hollow spits, white teeth bared against black lips, golden eyes narrowed and glinted with each motion he makes.

Ichigo curls into Zangetsu, eyes slipping shut as wetness drips down his face.

He's okay. He's here. He didn't leave me.

The Hollow abruptly stops. Freezes like someone pressed the pause button and Ichigo barely catches a glimpse of the way his Hollow tenses and draws himself up so tight he resembles stone more than a living being.

A step, a blink and suddenly Ichigo is entirely aware that his Hollow is crouched in front of him. He's not afraid, simply relieved. Yet, he's still wrapped in a possessive grip by the Old Man, whose grip doesn't loosen even when the other moves closer. His Hollow was part of Tensa Zangetsu too. His Hollow wanted to protect him, Ichigo knows that with every part of his soul and unafraid, he reaches out to grab his wrist. There's surprise and wariness on the other's face, but he ignores that and tugs his Hollow in farther, pulling even though his limbs feel like lead and everything is so distant.

He's tense when Ichigo brings him into the space he and the Old Man are sharing, when they're tucked in close, present and there. Tense muscles, eyes blow wide and teeth almost hesitantly bared, but it's been almost two years of silence and an entire extra day since he's had his reiatsu back, and Ichigo doesn't care. What is the Hollow in front of him but all he's ever tried to hide and what is the man behind him, but everything he ever wanted?

He slots the boy against him like one of his sisters, never mind the height, head resting on his shoulder, pressed against his neck and he's never had to hide from them. Only discover truths he's long forgotten or buried too deep to remember.

"Mine," Ichigo whispers against white hair, his lips brushing pale skin and doesn't notice when the blades in his double's hand dissipates into wisps of black reiatsu to settle once more with his soul.

Ichigo rests and drifts off, satisfied with having found what he was looking for.

Genryuusai cannot help the way he paces in the room provided for the boy- whose name he doesn't know- but who is without a doubt his. Retsu stands over him, talking quietly, recording his injuries, of which there are many, and when she pauses, gaining his attention rather quickly, she raises her voice ever so slightly to say,

"Reiatsu detected in his system that matches with Yamamato Genryuusai's record, recently administered, no less than one day, no more than three. Scans show that his reiatsu was heavily damaged and due to the reiatsu added to his soul, is now in the stages of healing. Such an undertaking is similar to a proposed medical procedure in which close relations are able to share reiatsu to help with damage not excluding trauma, exhaustion and other ailments of the soul."

Retsu pauses, the faintest hints of curiosity furrowing her brow as she delicately plucks at the boy's reiatsu.

"Further exploration reveals similarity to documented structured forms of Shiba zanpakuto's, along with forms of at least three, no more than seven of unknown structures. These structures are blended in with the Shiba aspects perfectly, suggesting genetic inheritance rather then simply manually enforced structures."

Genryuusai blinked.

Shiba?

Retsu paused a moment, a quiet triumph stealing over her face before she announced another discovery.

"There are solid structures identified as Shihoin, just a small section, but present and strong. Let it be recorded that it was trained and imparted rather than inherited."

Surprise at the fact that such a high and often distant noble clan would have their marks in a young child by all accounts a member of the Shiba.

Two out of Five Noble Clans of Seireitei, each a force to be reckoned with before there was a Seiretei for clans to claim, each with long histories stretching back and proof they would continue forward for quite some time.

Still, Genryuusai mused as he took in the boy's features, he did bear a greater resemblance to the Shiba, even if neither I nor Retsu could recognize any of the other traits he carried, he is full of potential.

A wry grin curved his mouth.

Trust the Shiba to do what they pleased and end up with a child of my clan who survived the Dangai's worst side effect. And for the Shihouin to sneak in a claim of their own. Who knew what surprises this boy would bring!

The Soutaicho flared his reiatsu and instantly a subordinate was at his side.

"Sir."

"Inform my sons that I require their presence."

"Sir."

Sakakibe Chojiro was a loyal and devoted assistant and Genryuusai would trust him with this, without question. The boy's existence was kept tightly under wraps for the moment.

Perhaps this boy was one of theirs? A daughter who married in or out, a son who fell for a wandering woman only to find out she was a Shiba.

Yet, as Genryuusai traced over the frankly, concerning scars he could see on tanned skin, he couldn't help but wonder if there was a darker side of his descedant's story. He counted at least three that looked lethal. A scattering of some that were worrying in their placement and age.

The instinctive trust the boy placed in him despite what was obviously two different appearances compared to the 'Yama-jii' that the boy knew and who he was today was telling in several ways.

One in that such instances occurred to him that would cause him to age. Trauma, suffering, grief, heartbreak and even a massive amount of reiatsu spent, to an alarming degree, all these caused a Shinigami's features to crease, crack and line.

As such, he was just barely entering his first millennia and Retsu was the only other who was even close to his age. Sometimes he suspected she was older and she still looked younger than he did.

Genryuusai sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face.

Whatever tragedies would he face and whatever suffering would shape him into the man that this boy would call 'jii-chan' in such tones of relief and affection, at least he would meet this child at the end of them.

A harsh breath and burning amber eyes lift and stare over the exhausted and injured form of their host with blazing, righteous anger, and a thousand other emotions, all wrapped up in a silent but emphatic statement of fact, punctuated with a soundless snarl.

I will defy you, should you take me from him again.

The piece of Yhwach, of the Quincy part of Ichigo's soul, sighs, deeply and heavily before nodding once, ever so slightly, conceding for once, without a fight. A dark gaze settles, weighted with emotions, on the true form of their wielder's zanpakuto and he speaks deliberately, each word falling with precision, an explanation, a reason and something like an apology folded in his tone.

"He is my child," says Old Man Zangetsu, declares Yhwach, pleads this manifestation of an ancient being's power and a boy's need.

"I am him!" The Hollow, all the things Ichigo buries about himself, all his rage and guilt, all the darker parts of him screams, no louder than a whisper, spat desperately in the face of the other's excuse. "Didn't I need you?"

Zangetsu, Yhwach says nothing, only closes his eyes and grips his child a little tighter, neither refuting or accepting the confession. Instead, he speaks a truth he never thought he would ever come to regret.

"I did not care for the needs of a Hollow."

Aforementioned Hollow does not flinch. Rather, he makes a noise, a sharp wordless exclamation of anger.

"A Hollow? Is that all I am? Where is my heart? The hole that it made when it left?"

The Hollow has no hole, no gaping lack of a heart and Yhwach does not speak. He is but a piece, now entirely separate and no longer who he was, but he is still Quincy. What is a Hollow to a Quincy but an enemy to be destroyed?

A pause, a breath and the words the Hollow who isn't quite a Hollow fall like stones on Zangetsu who isn't Zangetsu's head.

"What did he bury in his heart that grew to be me? What suffering did he deny with every hand Isshin ever laid on us? What did he shove down so deep that it fed me when I was nothing?"

The man says nothing. Only looks at what he has done, his actions against the one he wished only to protect. The Hollow isn't one for mercy, isn't going to hesitate to go for the throat and he does.

"His betrayal!" He shouts, fury in his voice, the echoing tones of the being that almost consumed his mother, that Isshin's sacrificed sealed, until it manifest here, "At the father who abandoned him when his mother died! Who blamed him and ignored him and left him! His fury and rage as that same man lied and kept secrets and hurt him and hurt him and hurt him and kept doing it! The anguish at the death of his mother! He placed the blame at his own feet and the guilt and the hate, that's all mine!"

There are two swords in the pale boy's hands, dripping with red and black as Hollow reiatsu swells. His voice drops to a hiss.

"The love he has for fighting until there's blood and bruises and his thoughts are consumed by the instinct that controls his body! That love he hid along with the jealousy that came every time he saw children with parents that were responsible the same way he was! The same way he had to be, because his sisters didn't understand, and if he didn't step up, no one else would!"

The Hollow, grips the empty shell that was the manifestation of Ichigo's presence, held solidly in this place solely by their desires, and wrenches it away.

Yhwach makes a noise, lunges to take him back, but the Hollow shrieks and it shattered into glitter and power.

"You stole my name!"

The howl shakes the tree, rattles the windows and a tear slides down the twisted planes of the Hollow's furious expression. He stands, in the small space of nature and shakes, trembling and grits his teeth.

"My name," he whispers, anguished and turns away-

Yhwach reaches out, regret, shame layering his reiatsu, words on his lips, but-

The pale boy vanishes into the darkness in which the Quincy kept him suppressed and silent. But this is no doing of the Quincy and he cannot call him back. In the silence, Yhwach closes his eyes and regrets.

What Ichigo needed, that moment Kuchiki Rukia shoved her zanpakuto through his soul, was a father who cared. Who didn't lie to him, who didn't blame him, who honestly taught him and who was so proud of him he would never doubt it.

Yhwach betrayed that trust barely seconds after Ichigo manifest his shihakusho.

It was out of his desire to protect his descendant, to keep Ichigo safe, yet because of his actions, or rather lack of action, Ichigo suffered.

Wasn't strong enough, didn't make it in time and lost them.

Zangetsu was justified in his anger. Even his name didn't fit anymore, Yhwach had changed it too much.

He sighed heavily.

Such a time would come...when Ichigo would discover the truth.

Would look, and see the twisted mirror of a situation already past.

He doubted the rain would cease for a very long time.

When he wakes, it's to pain, yes, but pain that is familiar and easily ignored. Too an extent. He forcefully blinks open heavy eyes and takes in what little of his surroundings as he can.

Wood ceiling. Paper doors, paintings, random calligraphy words hanging on the wall- Strength, Honor, Resolve

What, is he at the Kuchiki Mansion?

Unohana-san, sitting by his bedside, Jii-chan - but not? Younger? - standing over her, a bundle of paper in his hands. Ichigo blinks, slowly, deliberately and waits for the world to begin to make sense again.

Unohana-san he could understand, but she's not wearing her captain's haori and as much as he respects Yama-jii, as much as jii-chan understands him- and as much as he apparently cares about him, going by the reiatsu that he can still feel- he's not really the stand-by-your-besides kind of person.

Combined with the fact that he looks decades- err, centuries- younger, none of it is adding up.

A part of Ichigo, one that is tired, in pain, upset and entirely fed up with this bullshit, wants to roll over and go back to sleep. The other part, the one that survived, and even thrived in a war he absolutely had no business being involved in, is concerned, alarmed even, by the things that are not adding up, by the way he is having difficulty drawing up his later memory and that is what prompts Ichigo to sit up.

Ow, oW, OW PAIN.

Practice has taught him to push through that so he does and even though his ears are ringing and his vision is mixing with bright flashes of white and the crawling black around the edges, he stares into the center of the presence closest to him.

"-ldn't have moved so abruptly, your injuries-"

"Unohana-san," Ichigo rasps, the words scraping his throat enough that he ends up doubling over into a coughing fit.

painpAINPAIN

Definitely broke his ribs. Punctured his lungs going by the very clear feeling of iron bubbling up in his mouth before a rush of healing kido brushes it away. Ichigo looks up.

It's jii-ch- well, it's Jii-chan's younger lookalike that hands him a glass of water and Ichigo doesn't hesitate to carefully swallow it down, washing out the lingering taste of blood in the back of his throat. Still, he's careful when he pulls back and slowly hands the glass back.

Neither say anything, but the edge of disapproval radiating from Unohana-san is terrifying which proves that one, something weird happened but it's still her, he made it to Seireitei safely, or this is something like Aizen's illusions, a very elaborate dream….or…

Ichigo's run out of ideas and he can see the sharp breath maybe-Jii-chan draws in, that one that people usually do before they start speaking. So he speaks first.

"Last thing I remember is something happening to me in the Dangai."

Unohana-san blinks, just once, her gentle smile never leaving her face the menacing cast to her face eases a little. Maybe-Jii-san crossed his arms and looks. That's definitely irritation on his face. Maybe-Jii-chan isn't as stone cold intense as the Yama-jii he knows is.

"Boy-"

What fifteen year old cares about authority? The Captain Commander of an Army of Soul Reapers, the man with the strongest destructive zanpakuto, Ichigo didn't care about his power, only what he was doing with it- which was enforcing stupid decisions and years later, after saving all their lives, and Ichigo will admit to liking and respecting the Soutaicho. He'll admit he's so deeply grateful to Yama-jii after he gave his own reiatsu to restore his, but that doesn't mean he's gonna turn into some suck up.

He's not even sure this is real. Even if he can feel the resonating pulse of his piece of Yama-jii's reiatsu in the man standing not three feet away, things are not adding up. He's just confused at this point and being stubborn about it, yeah, but he's injured and stumbled into more trouble. Alone.

"Jii-chan's lost a few centuries of age and this isn't the Fourth Division or the Kuchiki Manor, I don't sense Rukia or Renji, or anyone I know save for you two. This isn't one of Kisuke's places or Yourichi's or Kukaku's and none of this is- oh."

Ichigo interrupts himself as his senses kick in and he blinks, his breath stuttering as he focuses past Unohana-san and Jii-chan.

"This...this isn't…?"

He can hear the confusion in his own tone, but what he's feeling isn't right.

Ukitaki-san and Kyoraku-san's reiatsu is completely different. They're nearby and he's familiar with both enough to pick them out of a crowd of reiatsu. They're raw, emotions churning wildly throughout their being, one, granted, calmer than the other, but nothing like the deep waters of Ukitake's normal presence and absolutely nothing like the playful shadows of Kyoraku's.

"I asked for the date," Jii-chan says, cutting into Ichigo's building realization, his voice not quite the calm, gravel tones that he's accustomed to.

Ichigo blinks, rebelling against the comprehension that's dawning on him, even as horror rises in his chest. Forcefully, he swallows down the panic, the involuntary plea of 'no, not again', because he wanted to end all this, wanted his life back, and Ichigo makes himself look.

The scorching flame of a burning soul, Ryuuji Jakka, piercing stare, black hair, an aura of power and something like a smile tugging at the corners of the man's mouth.

He speaks the last date he remembers, day, month, year.

Yamamato Genryuusai repeats the date, same day, same month, different year.

Ichigo sways where he sits, a sick pit of dread in his stomach, as he stares, unblinking and blank, at the head captain.

"...oh," he whispers, soft and so horrified he sounds bland and steady.

"Oh, no."