Disclaimer: I don't own bleach, don't own the idea of these wings. That idea perserved to Clamp.

The old heavy iron door shrieked in it's opening and the first lightrays of a long time fell on the only resident sitting limp in the darkened cell, wearing and old black robe and restrained with chains and shackles on every part of his body. His long, black hair falling freely around his shoulders and vision blurry from the light after being so long in the darkness.

After a few moments he managed to see a man in black standing at the entrance, holding a silver, blood stained sword.

He thought nothing of it.

How long has he been locked up alone in the darkness of this rotten cell? He stopped counting time at some point, not remembering time and freedom, not remembering anything else much either, like himself -or this black-clad man bowing in-front of him, totally bald on the head, trying to talk to him.

-At some point, he stopped caring about rescue.

'Yumichika', the man keeps calling him. Is it his name? He can't remember his own name...

"Who.. are you?"

Funny though, it feels like he should know this man...

He looks so worried.. and hurt, for some reason...

"... Come on," the man says eventually, and he reaches to remove a strand of hair from his face so he can look into his eyes, and he can see the deep sadness evident on this man's features. "I'm getting you out of here. Get up." It wasn't a request or suggestion in the man's voice. "You're leaving."

"Leaving...?" he whispers in husky voice that hasn't been used for some time now, and stares into the man's eyes. He's not sure what his face showing; probably numbness, tiredness -or perhaps nothing, because not caring is so much easier.

"Yes, leaving. Now get up." The man orders in stern voice, but he can see the silent pleading in his eyes.

-he wants him to get up and leave, to return home with him so everything would be back like it's used to - he wants him to remember him.

His own eyelids drift to closing and he leans back. He can't look at him; it makes his chest hurt for some reason.

"...Oi." The man suddenly tags at his wrist, pulling him forward. "I told you to get up!" And by a single glance he can tell the man... is not as angry as much as desperate.. or despaired, actually. "Don't you want to leave this.. this.. ugly place and be-... free?..."

'So he has finally noticed, huh? It must hard to see these things in the dark...'

What Ikkaku thought as a mess of heavy, thick black iron shackles turned out to be something else, much more troublesome and captivating than just chains.

These were wings; big, grey-black iron wings attached to his back.

Long, thin, round steel bars, tiny screws and various joints, eventually connecting to an especially forged flat, delicate-looking but strong straps of metal; the supposed 'feathers'. Everything was made purely of metal and was dark at color, except maybe the colorful string-like wires stretching and wrapping around the solid grey-black skeleton of steel.

These iron wings were strong, well movable.. and completely useless.

Too heavy to fly,

Too skeletal to bear the wind underneath,

Too dark to light the way. He didn't even wanted to think about how they must look on him.

..But he has long since stopped caring about beauty, hasn't he?

. . .

'Leaving... being free... is impossible.'

Insert any sad music you can find.