Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach and give credit where it is due.
Italics: thoughts/memories
Italic/Bold: Shiro
Bold: Zangetsu
Chapter 6
The family . . .
Boredom. It was the bane of all shinigamis' existence. Exiled ones, especially. With nothing to entertain them and no duties to uphold, they were prone to madness, despair, anything to get them through the never-ending isolation. The Vizards were the lucky ones only in that they had each other in their exile. Their bond was so close, that many of the fighters in the war referred to them as the Family. Betrayal from the trusted had made the hybrids incredibly closed-minded. Kurosaki Ichigo considered himself lucky that they even considered him an ally, let alone one of their own.
He walked to the warehouse slowly in his bound shinigami form, the red tattoo on his shoulder now pulsing with trapped power. His headache had increased tenfold over night yet he had hid it well under his mask of teenage attitude during the day (his mother had even sent him to his room early, claiming he was too grouchy for her dinner table). Rukia had not been suspicious, fully soaking up the attention from his parents and friends, neither of which had suspected his pain.
In order to escape for the night, he had convinced Kon to act like him at least until morning, though he had to give up some pictures he had taken of Rukia, a fact he was not particularly proud of. He had slipped carefully away from his room, under the cover of darkness, after waiting fully for the household to fall asleep, then proceeded to shunpo the rest of the way until he came to the warehouse district. As he walked to the exiles' home-away-from-home, Ichigo could no longer keep the pain from his face.
Almost there . . . almost there . . . just a little longer. A mantra echoed in his head and he wondered vaguely if he would have enough control once he was in Hachi's shield to even convince the Vizards of his intentions before he truly let loose.
Quickly and quietly he paused to expand his strained reiatsu, feeling for any hollows or pursuers. His eyes widened, a curse escaping his lips as he came across the familiar feeling of an exiled kitty cat.
Crap! What the hell is Yoruichi doing here?
Ah . . . yeah, I forgot to tell you, Yoruichi has been tailing us all day.
Ichigo had to physically force himself not to go into his inner world to beat the hell out of his hollow. WHAT?
Yep, she's been tailing us all day. I can't believe how bad your reiatsu-sensing is, king. I think we need to up your training, hehehehe. Truth be told, Shiro had been blocking his reiatsu senses a bit. With Ichigo distracted, Shiro found this to be a perfect opportunity to mess with his king. Also Yoruichi was one of his favorites to fight. Her bloodlust was almost on par with Kenpachi's.
Sensing Shiro had some hand in this, Ichigo was starting to see red, and clenched his fists. Think Ichigo, anger will get you no where. Try counting to 10. . . . 1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . Zan, please beat him senseless for me . . . . . . old man?
The zanpakuto's voice was quiet and tired, more like an old weary man than a powerful soul-sword. I . . . apologize Ichigo . . . I've been trying to keep your power under control . . . it's proving quite the task.
Ichigo's mind was racing, making his headache even worse. He was certain that Urahara had been the one to put Yoruichi on his track. The two exiles were inseparable what with their quirks and similar circumstances, yet complete opposites in their personalities. While Yoruichi often played the rabid dog (or cat) itching for a fight, Urahara was constantly calculating every movement of his enemy, of his unpredictable variables. Ichigo really hoped he was the latter not the former. Yoruichi, as much as Ichigo admired her, was not a patient person, which meant she was simply following Urahara's orders and waiting for the perfect time to strike.
This was not good.
Also for Ichigo – the war veteran whose very existence depended upon his awareness of his surroundings – to be so distracted as to not sense her reiatsu at all.
This was not good.
Ichigo . . . I suggest we move on with the plan . . . even if Yoruichi and Urahara are aware of our unusual abilities . . . if we spin this just right . . . we can make it so that both the Vizard family and the other exiles are blissfully unaware of our true knowledge . . . our true power.
Ichigo sighed heavily. He didn't like deceiving his allies, but as of right now it was the only option. Too much time had passed for him to make any real difference in the relationship between the shinigami hybrids and the ol' Hat and-Clogs anyway. He could only move forward with the plan.
Placing Yoruichi and the crazy scientist out of his mind, he smirked slightly as he continued on his trek toward the warehouse . . . toward the Family.
Hiyori was bored . . . a common occurrence and never a good thing.
Because . . . once she became bored, she became slightly sadistic. She looked around at her fellow exiles as they lounged and settled in for the night. Shinji was reading a book; Love was reading manga; Hachi was grilling a few steaks using one of those strange human devices; Lisa was practicing her techniques with Kensei while Kuna cheered, and Rose was doing his hair. She sighed dramatically. Boring! So bored!
A smirk reached Hiyori's features as she thought of a way to liven it up a bit. Perfect.
Discreetly as she could, hiding her reiatsu as well, Hiyori snuck up to the distracted Shinji (it must have been a very good book) and swiped it right from his fingers, before backing away quickly. Shinji looked like someone caught in an ambush, staring at his empty hands, before turning to fully glare at the book thief.
Hiyori tensed, the victory smirk still on her lips as she dangled the book between her fingers. "Looking for something, Shin-chan?"
"Give back the book, Hiyori," he growled, his voice dangerously low. It must be one of his favorites. Oh well. She merely shook her head in response, tucking the book into one of her pockets. A visible twitch from his eye was the only warning she got before he pounced . . . and the chase was on.
Tag was one of the various ways the Vizards entertained themselves. It was tiring, fun, and very, very childish. After numerous years of solitude, what else were they to do? So as Shinji chased Hiyori around their desert-like home, most of the others could not help but join in what they considered to be fun, trying to catch the surprisingly elusive Hiyori (even Lisa, the fastest of them, was having difficulty pinpointing her location).
The only one of them that kept out of the game was Hachi who watched pleasantly from his station in front of the grill, the same way a grandfather watched his children play.
Suddenly, Hachi tensed, turning quickly to the side, toward the entrance of the barrier and the warehouse. Shinji as well as Lisa and Kensei, the more serious and observant members of their family, noticed the change in their friend's reiatsu and stopped the game, tensing as well, their hands quickly moving toward their zanpakutos.
Shinji's voice was the first to cut through the tension. "What is it, Hachi?"
Their fellow Vizard did not answer right away, his face still turned from them, but they could almost hear . . . a puzzled frown upon his features. "I sense . . . something outside the barrier."
"What is it, Hachi-san?" asked Kuna, those big eyes of hers always curious. The others had stopped playing already, noticing belatedly the chilled atmosphere.
Hachi frowned again, his eyes not-seeing them as he spread his reaitsu senses out, trying to determine exactly what the phenonemon was.
"Is it a shinigami?" asked Lisa. "Or a hollow, perhaps?" Her glasses glinted in the false sunlight as she thought of a possible enemy so close to home.
Hachi shook his head slowly. "Not exactly . . . it feels more like . . . " Hachi's frown turned to almost an open-mouthed gasp, like a fish trying desperately for air. His next words came out as a whisper but immediately put everyone of them on edge. "It's in the barrier."
Silence reigned as all of them pulled out their zanpakutos, their bodies tensing like springs. It was unheard of . . . someone coming through the barrier, without force, without so much as a shout or whisper even. What was this thing?
They heard nothing, could sense nothing, yet found that the air had suddenly become thick and heavy . . . as though anticipating as well.
"Oh? Were you guys playing tag? Can I join in?" A foreign voice, soft and confident, low and rumbling with . . . either mirth or insult, broke the silence from behind them.
Shinji turned around quickly, his heart beating rapidly in his chest as did the rest of the Vizards. They . . . in all of their years as shinigami outcasts, had never had anyone sneak up on them . . . not when they were so tense, so aware. It was death to any exile, anyone on the run from others, alone and without aid, to be unaware of their surroundings . . . a vital tool for survival. Quickly all of them took in the appearance of the intruder, judging his threat-level.
A white haori, symbolic of the Gotei thirteen elite with a torn black hakami sticking out underneath hung loosely on his strong shoulders, revealing a bare chest underneath, flapped in the eternal wind that surrounded him.
A large butcher knife of a sword covered in tattered white wrappings was strapped to his back with red ribbon.
He looked about twenty-five if human appearances were anything to go by and yet . . . there was something about him, something within that made Shinji's hair stand on end, as though appearances deceived so easily (Aizen-teme had made sure of that).
His bright - tiger, tiger burning bright - amber eyes took them in, as though swallowing them whole with their intensity.
Bright orange hair, spiky on the top, cascaded down his shoulders, fanning across his back.
His skin was slightly tan from long days in the sun or heat, his muscles even in the simple movements seemed to stretch and slide beneath, like a relaxed predator waiting. A soft smirk, something caught between arrogance and confidence, tugged at his lips.
His low almost hidden reiatsu felt . . . unusual to say the least.
"What is a . . . shinigami doing here?" The disgust and outrage in Lisa's voice made Shinji wince, even if he shared the sentiment. This was their home . . . none of them appreciated the sudden intrusion that made them feel violated . . . vulnerable in a place where they should be safe.
The man's smirk fell to a frown almost instantly. "Substitute shinigami. I am not a real one, at least not by Soul Society's standards." He gave a small laugh at that, as though it was a private joke.
Now it was Shinji's turn to frown at that statement. He had not heard of a substitute shinigami and did not even know what it implied. His curiosity getting the best of him, he had to ask, "Does that mean you are borrowing a shinigami's powers or . . . ?"
The amber eyes seemed to burn as they focused on him. "It means that I am still alive . . . technically, my soul chain is still attached to my body. Interesting, isn't it?" The man's smile seemed a little bitter at that . . . as though it was anything but interesting.
"That doesn't matter! What does is that you charged into here, unannounced! You think we are just going to let you walk away from here, shinigami?" Hiyori's viper tongue always at work.
The man frowned again sheepishly."Ah yes, I apologize, it is my first time coming here and Ol' Hat 'n Clogs sent me to you to train. Said I needed your help with a certain problem I am having. So I let myself in through the barrier . . . I didn't know it would put you so on edge."
The orange-haired man's sudden embarrassed grin looked like something caught between a lie and a truth. "It is a very nice home you have, by the way." That was truth, a warmth echoing from the words.
Ol' Hat 'n Clogs? Did he mean Urahara?
Shinji was suspicious. Who wouldn't be? The man seemed to be a contradiction, the restrained power rolling off of him spoke of hard training and life-and-death battles. No hollow reiatsu to speak of. What could he possibly be having trouble with? Not only that but why had Urahara failed to contact them about this? Was he lying? How did Urahara know where they were in the first place? They hadn't had contact with him in decades. It just didn't make sense.
But they weren't exactly in the position to question him. The aura radiating off of this stranger was assaulting their senses, their reiatsu felt engulfed as though a vacuum or cyclone had suddenly graced them with its presence. The man's sword hand twitched and their own zanpakutos were suddenly out, in defense, their bodies tensing. The shinigami (that is all Shinji could call him - his shoulders, his stance reeked of Soul Society training) frowned at their body language, as though he had not expected them to fight against him.
"Hmmm . . . I had not expected a fight so soon, I had merely assumed you had wanted to talk first . . . but . . . " he paused, then raised his reiatsu a little in retaliation to theirs. His amber eyes, glowing with a fire they could not recognize - only war veterans bare the true flame of battle - did not ease their tension. "If it is a fight you want, then I would be happy to provide. I have gone over a decade without a hard battle. Do not disappoint me."
Duck. Dodge. Block. Duck. Dodge. Block. Duck. Dodge. Block.
Ichigo gave a sigh . . . even as he dodged another right hook from Kensei, another sword slash from Lisa, those creepy vines from Rose (he had never understood those). He hated defensive fighting. Always had. When he was younger, more arrogant, maybe even ignorant, he would say that his power was meant for defending . . . for protecting. Hell, he was given the name of the Guardian for a reason.
In the beginning of the war, that first real fight with Aizen, when he had finally accepted his power in its entirety, Ichigo had come to a realization. He could say he fought to protect all he wanted but he was still fighting. His focus was still on winning, on surviving, . . . and he loved it.
Ichigo, do you want to fight or do you want to live? Zangetsu's original question, the one that had sealed his fate, followed him wherever he went, it seemed.
Even now as he watched the Vizards ready themselves for another assault, as he himself took out the sealed form of Zangetsu, not even bothering to release his shikai . . . at least not yet, he felt the pull of battle, the tug of a feral grin upon his lips, and knew that fighting, battling was what he was meant to do . . . these were just the wrong opponents.
During the war, he had made sure no one . . . and he meant no one . . . ever saw him battle, truly battle Aizen. Because if they did, they would see the eery similarities . . . the odd coincidences too alike to ignore. That first battle where words and blows were exchanged, where Aizen felt the shiver of fear looking into those amber eyes, made Ichigo realize the ties between them. True, their motives were different and their appearances, their ages and their experiences, but if anyone ever saw them fight, they would find themselves watching two beings of astronomical power trying to kill themselves over their beliefs. . . two sides of the mirror.
They were destined to wage war against one another, constantly tearing at each other like the Titans and Gods of ancient times.
It was a burden he hated with every fiber of his being, but one he also had accepted long ago . . . similar to his acceptance of his hollow. After Aizen had attacked Kurakura town, had threatened his home, Ichigo could no longer care about what others felt, or how his precious people saw him. He would become that monster, the only creature capable of taking on the Titan in all of his mighty glory. Leaving all of his inhibitions behind, all he cared about, all he saw, was Aizen's demise and he knew by the scathing yet shaken look Aizen had sent him when the battle had left him wounded and barely able to escape, that the feeling was mutual.
Like ying and yang, fire and water, two forces pushing and pulling against one another for dominance.
I want to win.
His reiatsu, his power, began to rise and rumble around him, like a dog puling at his leash. It called to be used. Ichigo smiled softly in response, even as he blocked Shinji's sword then jumped to avoid Hiyori's viper blade, all the while trying to keep his eyes on the other four. Let the counterattack begin.
I wholeheartedly agree, Ichigo.
Let's go wild, King!
They would be a little disappointed.
Hachi watched with narrowed eyes as the intruder dodged Shinji's and Hiyori's zanpakutos at once, with a speed that left the rest of them rather perplexed. They had all entered shikai the moment the battle had begun yet he had not called out any name for his sword, or any attack whatsoever. In fact, he had yet to show any offensive strategy. It made Hachi wonder if he was telling the truth after all.
Suddenly there was a lull in the battle, a pause as the Vizards backed off, eyeing the stranger warily as he stood, true and strong, that ridiculously large zanpakuto balanced upon his shoulders. He watched them all, equally on edge, a feral grin that did not match the subdued amusement in his eyes. A single eyebrow raised in question.
Surely that's not the end, right?
Hachi shared a hard look with Shinji, before he entered a familiar stance, readying his reiatsu for a particularly difficult spell. Shinji, Hiyori, Kuna, and Lisa charged forward, to distract the shinigami while Kensei, Love, and Rose stayed behind to guard Hachi as he focused on his spell. Under different circumstances, Hachi would have found the entire situation a little ridiculous, all seven ex-captain-level shinigami fighting a single intruder. However, the controlled power, the restraint, the feral look in his amber eyes even as he charged forward to engage with the four exiles was anything but ridiculous.
They needed every advantage they could get, even if it included underhanded tactics such as this.
Hachi gave a slight nod toward Shinji, indicating he was ready, his power gathered waiting for just the right moment when the intruder was distracted.
There.
Hachi's reiatsu flared and condensed into the air as he thrust his hands down, orange walls of power surrounding the intruder just as he was dodging Rose's vine-like whip.
The Vizards jumped away, spreading out into a circle to make sure he couldn't escape the spell's affects. Upon seeing them stop as well as the sudden barrier impeding his movement, the orange-haired shinigami's eyes widened and his head whipped over to look at Hachi as though amazed that he would resort to such a spell. He did not seem overly worried at being caught, just a little perplexed and almost disappointed.
Putting his zanpakuto away, Shinji grinned, thinking he had overcome the surprisingly resilient intruder. "Well, now we can question you without worrying about any violent interruptions," he drawled out. In truth, Shinji was actually more worried about Hiyori than the intruder but no point in letting him know that. The other Vizards panting from the skirmish, still tense, put their zanpakutos away stiffly, unwiling to believe it was safe just yet.
Oddly enough, the stranger merely smirked in return, stabbing his zanpakuto into the ground, as though to signify a truce, then crossed his arms and relaxed his stance a bit. "Ask away."
Shinji frowned at the unusual reaction but went on to more important things. "How did you get into the barrier?" The only people that Shinji knew of who were able to get into the barrier was the seven of them yet this man . . . this stranger had slipped in, as though he had done it before. Shinji wanted to know how.
The stranger's smirk turned mischievous. "It accepted me."
Ah . . . what a simple and frustratingly confusing answer. Hiyori opened her mouth to yell, but was cut off by the patient Lisa who merely raised an eyebrow in question. The rest found it necessary to turn toward the pondering Hachi, who was the resident expert on such matters.
He was frowning in a rather discomforting way.
"I apologize, Intruder-san, but I fail to see how exactly it . . . accepted you. To my knowledge, this barrier I created is meant to first, conceal our presence, and second, . . . "
"Protect you, right?" the intruder interrupted, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Well, since it knew that I meant you no harm, all I had to do was convince it of my promise. Then I lowered my reiatsu-level significantly and slipped through. Pretty simple."
It seemed anything but simple; however, the intruder's expression indicated an end of that discussion. Coughing slightly at the awkward silence, Lisa drew some attention to herself and found those burning amber eyes looking at her.
"Um, next question . . . what is your affiliation with Soul Society?"
The intruder openly grinned at this question. "Ah, I was wondering when you would get around to that. What do you think it is?"
Shinji frowned. This interrogation wasn't going as planned. If anything, this man was too much of an enigma to antagonize yet there was something about him that made Shinji more comfortable than with any shinigami before. Odd.
"Well, you are wearing the cloak of one of the Gotei 13 squads, and yet you say you are merely a substitute. So one must conclude that you are either a spy sent from Soul Society to find us or you were telling the truth about still being alive and they gave you that cloak out of respect," Kensei replied, his hands in his pockets, eyes never leaving the intruder's. Leave it to Kensei to be so deductive.
For a second, the stranger's face became a cold mask before it softened into a smirk.
"I forgot how insightful you were, Kensei-san," he said, the familiarity in his voice making Kensei's shoulders tense. "You are more or less correct. However, my relationship with Soul Society has been . . . non-existent as of late so you no longer have to worry about that." There was a wistfulness in his voice at that, and his eyes seemed to look past them, those amber fires darkening to a warm brown.
"Fine, then what the hell are you here for? What can we do for some shinigami wanna-be?" Hiyori growled, crossing her arms.
"You know, I didn't think it was a requirement for such lousy fighters to have such lousy manners as well," he smirked at Hiyori.
"What?" Hiyori growled, her hand immediately going to her face for her Vizard mask, before Shinji put a hand her shoulder.
"Now, now, intruder-san, what do you mean?" asked Rose.
"Baaa, none of you have even asked my name," he replied, pouting for a second. "Even the bastards in the Eleventh Squad know that. Do you not even consider me a real opponent?" His eyes were filled with mirth as though such a notion was ridiculous.
There was something about his cold tone, that sounded awfully familiar . . . that struck a note in their memories, leaving a bad taste in their mouths. This intruder sounded like him.
At that thought, something in the air changed. It grew tighter and tenser. Shinji found himself growing cold, a shiver running up his spine as all amusement was lost. He found the words on his tongue even before he could stop himself.
"Are you related in any way to a man known as Sosuke Aizen?"
There was no warning, not even a hint of what happened next.
The air pressure rose in an instant and Shinj as well as the other Vizards found themselves forced to their knees as an overwhelming power made itself known. Shinji even had trouble lifting his head as though a great weight had settled on his shoulders. He noticed that Hachi's shield didn't shatter. It simply disappeared as the shinigami walked casually through it, radiating anger and power rolled into one terrifying aura.
The shinigami's voice was a low growl, filled with emotions that they couldn't identify. "Don't . . . EVER compare ME to THAT traitor."
Shinji nodded slowly and the pressure dropped instantly. He gasped for air as he rose with shaking knees to stand at eye-level with this . . . man.
"Very well . . . if you are not with him or the shinigamis than who are you with?"
The anger in the shinigami's face melted away suddenly into a mask similar to sorrow or loneliness if you prefer. His voice barely came out as a whisper. "No one. I stand alone."
Shinji thought deeply about his reaction, his obvious dislike of Aizen, as well as his disassociation with Soul Society. There was a story there, behind those amber fires that bordered on insanity and despair, . . . one with an unhappy ending that Shinji suddenly didn't want to know.
Deciding something, the self-declared head Vizard grinned diplomatically. "Well . . . then Mr. . . . ," he looked expectantly at the shinigami, who returned the grin as well.
"Ichigo . . . just call me Ichigo."
One who protects, huh? For some reason Shinji found that highly amusing. So did the others, except for a different reason.
"Strawberry, eh? What kind of name is that?" shouted Hiyori, sneering slightly.
Shinji glanced over at Ichigo to see his reaction and found him smiling softly, his eyes glazed as though lost. "Yeah . . . what kind of a name is that?" he muttered. There was an awkward silence after that as the shinigami or Ichigo gave them each a look as though memorizing every detail, those amber eyes piercing their very soul. Shinji found it really disconcerting. He opened his mouth to ask another question but Ichigo just closed his eyes and sighed.
"Well, I have to get going, long day and all, but it was fun playing. I'll stop by next week to see how you all are coming along." And suddenly he was gone, a shunpo so fast and perfectly performed, it left barely a trace of reiatsu.
Okay . . . that was weird.
As Hachi confirmed he was no longer in the barrier, Hiyori frowned and turned toward Shinji. "What did he mean 'how we are all coming along'?"
Shinji bit his lip, his thoughts going on over-drive. The fight, the overwhelming yet oddly unthreatening presence, his non-affiliation with Soul Society, all of this gave Shinji a bad feeling. That, along with his obvious hatred of Aizen as well as his forlorn look when they had asked who he was affiliated with, sent shivers up Shinji's spine as though a violent storm were coming. And perhaps one is, he thought.
He would be a fool if he had missed the signs and he turned to let the other Vizards know exactly what he thought the Substitute shinigami had come for.
The Family could not mistake the seriousness in their leader's eyes as he stated, " He's preparing us for something . . . something involving Aizen."
Ichigo released the shunpo with a sigh in an abandoned alley, not too far from the warehouse. He looked about himself and tension released from his shoulders as his reiatsu circled about, almost joyous in its freedom.
You shouldn't do that, Ichigo. Ichigo turned to the right of him, to find both halves of his soul manifested in the real world. Zangetsu looked a lot better than previously, like a great weight had been lifted off of his shoulders, and even Shiro seemed to have enjoyed the adrenaline of the fight.
"Come on, Zan. It's not as though anyone can feel my energy right now. And I even kept out of shikai," Ichigo whined. Zangetsu gave him a stern look. True, he was in his most basic state but sometimes the old zanpakuto thought his master was completely ignorant of the potency of his own power.
Even though that is so, Ichigo, it is necessary for us to appear weaker. You know this as well as I.
Ichigo huffed but nodded begrudgingly and watched indifferently as his sword reapplied the tattoo upon his shoulder. Wincing, he felt his body grow tense again and the air surrounding his body seemed to tighten almost unbearably. How long could he last, hiding his power like this?
Zangetsu seemed to follow his train of thought. Sooner or later, others will notice a discrepancy between your skill and power, but until then we will just have to wait. Both Ichigo and Shiro nodded in acceptance before the the sword and hollow returned to Ichigo's racing mind. He was thinking back to Urahara and Yoruichi.
Shrugging his shoulders, at the likely confrontation, Ichigo began an enjoyable walk back through the still-standing Kurakura town, a reminder of why such precautions were necessary. It was still a few hours before the sun rose, and he hoped he could get some sleep before the day started. It seemed like it would be an exciting one.
Ichigo had been right in his previous understanding that Yoruichi was not a patient person. She had waited a full five minutes after Ichigo had entered the warehouse before reporting the unusual behavior of her charge back to Urahara. It was one of the few times she had seen that know-it-all-scientist persona of his crack.
"He did WHAT?" he shouted, standing up in surprise, startling the black cat. "Are you sure?"
Yoruichi's tail twitched in annoyance. "Of course, I'm sure. I know a low-level shunpo when I see one and I'm telling you right now, Urahara, that boy used it, rather proficiently I might add. However, he looked exhausted after and seemed to stumble the last few steps before he reached the warehouse."
Urahara sat back down, seemingly in shock, his eyes serious. "What else did Kurosaki-san do?"
Yoruichi then proceeded to tell him where the boy went and how she couldn't follow into the warehouse because of a barrier. The scientist's mind raced through explanations of the eldest Kurosaki sibling's behavior. Finding none, he sighed. Beside his previous theory of the boy being a prodigy, it was completely illogical that any shinigami be able to shunpo after less than 24 hours of their 'birth,' as he called it. Yet this enigma of a teenager managed to do that as well as some other suspicious activity, without overly worrying anyone else. Also what was in the warehouse district that Kurosaki-san had to go there tonight, with such urgency that he even used shunpo.
"Let us lie low for now, until we have a full grasp of the boy. I highly doubt it's anything serious. I mean, he just entered our world two days ago," drawled Urahara, trying to wave the anxious feeling in his gut off. He relied on facts and equations, not instincts.
Yoruichi merely raised an eyebrow before sighing. "Fine, do you still want me to trail him?" Urahara nodded and she left with a slight huff, unnoticed by the brooding scientist.
Ichigo's unusual behavior was a factor he had not considered when he had agreed to helping the little Kuchiki. In truth, perhaps he should have been watching the boy since that encounter with him years ago. Thinking on it, he shook his head. No, that wouldn't do. Isshin would have had his hide if he had found out that the old scientist-buddy of his was possibly experimenting on his son. Hell, he'd be lucky if he could walk later after last night's events.
Smirking, Urahara decided that those protective instincts of that eldest Kurosaki boy were definitely inherited.
The next day found Ichigo in a good mood, noticed by all. His headache was gone and despite the now familiar tightened feeling around his body, he was almost completely pain-free. He was even close to smiling as he escorted his younger brother to his school.
"What are you so happy about, nii-chan?" asked Arashi as he looked up with those big brown eyes. Ichigo felt his eyes soften as he smirked and swooped down, picking up the younger boy and placing him on his shoulders.
"I am reallllyyyyyyy close to protecting everyone, Arashi," Ichigo said. "I'll be stronger soon and no one will ever be able to take our family away from us." The word was said with finality and laced with determination.
"And I'll get to help right?" The boy's voice was proud and excited, obviously inheriting his brother's own protective tendencies.
Ichigo smiled softly at that and looked up at him. "You already are, buddy, you already are." Soon the walk was over and Ichigo bade good-bye to his little brother for the day before beginning his own journey towards school.
"Kurosaki-kun!" Ah he knew that voice. Grinning, he turned to find his red-haired bubbly-if slightly imaginative classmate brightly smiling at him and waving, next to a surprisingly grumpy looking Rukia. Or maybe not so surprisingly . . . Oh, that's what he forgot about this morning. He was supposed to wake her up. Whoops.
You're dead, King.
"Hey, Inoue, Rukia, what's up?" he stated cautiously as he approached the two girls, staying as far away from the angry midget as was smiling in that dangerously sparkly way that reminded him of
Uohana-taicho from the 4th division. And it didn't get much scarier than that.
Orihime smiled even more brightly while eyeing both Rukia and the nervous Ichigo, sensing a story. "Oh, so you already know Kuchiki-san, Kurosaki-san?"
Ichigo nodded while scratching the back of his head. "Yeah, Inoue, don't you remember that she's the new transfer student?" Something on Orihime's foot though caught his attention and he winced quickly before heading down the street. "Anyway, shouldn't we be getting to school?" he stated quickly, slinging his schoolbag over his shoulder and continuing down the street, but not before sharing a look with Rukia.
We'll talk later.
Her eyes widened and she nodded slightly before pulling Orihime along.
It was on the roof during the lunch period, that they were able to meet. Luckily there had been no hollows or anything during the morning classes though Ichigo still hadn't been able to focus. Seriously, it was easy the first lifetime; it'd be the same in the second.
"Ow! Dammit, Rukia, you may be a girl but you sure as hell punch like a man," Ichigo shouted as he rubbed the sore spot on his head, checking to see if there was any blood. There was another punch, this time on his arm. "Dammit, woman, stop hitting me. I said I was sorry!"
"Sorry, doesn't cut it! You left me and Kon behind in that closet!" she spat venomously. "Not only did I have to wake myself up, but I missed breakfast and almost got lost. You're lucky I ran into that Inoue-girl or you would have been toast."
Rubbing his shoulder, Ichigo scowled. "Yeah, well, still don't have to hit me."
"Quit being such a baby," Rukia said before the smirk left her face and she turned to look at him seriously. "Besides, you noticed it, right?"
Ichigo nodded turning his back to her and looking down in the school courtyard below, where the red-hair bubble of a girl bounded after her best friend, ignoring the hollow-inflicted injury on her leg.
Cluctching at the silver fence that separated him from her, Ichigo's reiatsu flared slightly as grim memories began to swirl . . . memories of blood and battle, her screams, her pleas, before settling on an older one of her tears over an older brother, something he would kill himself to prevent.
"Ichigo?" Rukia's voice was demanding yet cautious. His back to her she was completely unable to decipher his emotions, yet what slivers of reiatsu she could feel, indicated his mood had changed. Suddenly he turned, a small melancholy smirk upon his face.
"I know, I know," His eyes seemed to burn with something she couldn't recognize and for a second, Rukia felt like she wasn't standing before a teenage boy-turned-shinigami but rather someone . . . more, someone like one of the taichos.
"Tonight we go hunting for some hollows around her house, right?"
At her nod, Ichigo felt his power vibrate with his desire to once again save those poor souls of the hollows, and the day seemed to pass even more slowly.
Ah well, the night is coming.
And that's a wrap. Totally sorry to all of the readers of this particular story for the long, long, stupidly long wait. I'm sure you are not interested with whatever excuse I can give you, so I won't bore you with the details. Hopefully, I'll be able to whip them out faster now. However, with the recent developments concerning the manga, it has become clear that this story is not accurate or even close to how the manga is turning out. I apologize for this.
Also for the weird thing concerning the barrier and it 'accepting' Ichigo, that was totally made up, but I really couldn't come up with a better explanation. Please be gentle.
Until next time . . .