The shinigami took Rukia.

Rukia had become one of theirs, had been taken under his protection as surely as Chad or Tatsuki or Orihime or even Uryuu. Rukia was theirs, belonged with them, and Ichigo and Shiro alike want to slice through the shinigami, want to pull them apart for daring to take her.

And then Urahara-san mentions her punishment, then he says execution, and Ichigo nearly does snap at that, only a thin measure of control the only thing keeping them from trying to open a garganta, from heading straight to Seiritei and trying to kill them all.

His people watch as they pace, fingers scratching at his skin all the while, for while they no longer feel about to burst, it's been replaced by cold fury, by anger he's never felt.

"You cannot enter soul society like this," Uraharah-san interrupts, eyes careful as he openly drops a hand to his zanpakutou in warning. "You are unique, and Soul Society will want to study you-before they eventually kill you."

"She's ours," Ichigo snarls, turning to stare at him, willing him to understand. "We can't let them kill her!"

But they know what Urahara's sudden smile means, knows what that glint in his eyes foretells.

"You have a way," he breathes, anger ebbing away as he steps closer to the shopkeeper.

"I do," his sensei says, smile widening. "Your use of shinigami powers when Rukia gave hers to you, despite your previous inability, suggests one thing."

"You think I could use them," he realizes quickly, hands dropping from his raised and reddened skin. "You think I could become a shinigami."

"And what's the catch?" Uryuu interrupts, eyes cold, and Ichigo frowns at the reminder. It was one of Urahara's first lessons after all: everything has a price.

"Normally, I would say the 'catch' was your hollow overwhelming you. But that shouldn't be a problem, should it?" Urahara-san's smile is knowing and they do their best to squash the irrational need to make him hurt.

"Alright," they easily decide. "Let's do it."

Ichigo isn't sure what he expected of his inner world.

Still, of all the ways his mindscape could manifest, he didn't expect this. There are no buildings, no trees, no signs of any sign of life. Nothing except the desert sand stretching as far as he can see.

He looks up then, gaze catching sight of the dark sky, suddenly and acutely aware of how empty he feels. Sucking in a harsh breath, Ichigo turns on his heel, wildly looking around as he realizes what's happening.

He can't feel Shiro.

"Calm yourself," a voice interrupts, cutting through the building panic, and he does look up at that, raising a brow at the figure gently floating down to meet him.

"Who are you?" He asks, cautious as he steps forward.

"Zan-" is as far as the spirit gets, rough voice rising slightly in surprise as a figure crashes into Ichigo from behind, wild laughter echoing as it slams him onto the sand.

Acting entirely on instinct, he yanks his head back to knock against their face, coughing out sand as he twists and turns to elbow his knee into their gut when their grip loosens. A kick to their legs and they go down, wheezing as he rolls and ducks their punch, finally looming over them.

But he stops then, looking into yellow eyes ringed by black, at the red blood dripping down its nose and onto its white face.

"Shiro," he breathes out, like a prayer, like a promise, and the figure beneath him laughs again, this time light and happy as it reaches forward, pressing its forehead against his own.

"You can't get rid of me that easily," Shiro says with a smile, yellow eyes bright, and something settles in him at that, the realization obvious as his hollow-as his zanpakutou-grins up at him.

"Now," Shiro drawls, gently shoving Ichigo to the side, "who the hell are you?" He asks, directing the question to the spirit watching them with wide eyes.

"You planned on saying you were my zanpakutou, weren't you?" Ichigo asks, the question answered when the figure flinches just slightly. "You were going to lie to me." He says, not a question, as he stands, eyes narrowing at the man in front of them.

"Yes," the man finally admits, rough voice just a touch apologetic, "I had no idea that it-" the spirit casts a look at Shiro then, "had already contacted you."

"We have a name, shithead," Shiro says without any real malice, baring its bloodstained teeth in a grin.

"I have Shiro," Ichigo interrupts then, "I have my hollow and my zanpakutou…you're a Quincy manifestation, aren't you?"

The spirit jerks in surprise at that, eyes widening just slightly, before bowing its head in acknowledgement.

"I am," the man acknowledges.

It's clear the spirit doesn't expect Ichigo to step forward as he stands, doesn't expect him to reach out a hand in an obvious gesture.

"You're me," he tells the man, says like it explains everything. "Of course we're going to keep you. I just need a name."

The spirit smiles then, just a crook of its lips, as its hand wraps around Ichigo's own.

"My name is Zangetsu."