Note: This story is set up as a loose sequel to my fic. "The Heart is Treacherous in Many Ways," though I don't think it's necessary to read that fic. to enjoy this one. In this, Ichigo and Uryuu are in an already established relationship. This particular opening scene (which I published as a stand alone called "Price and Promise" months ago) takes place in Hueco Mundo, right before Ichigo leaves for his final showdown with Aizen during the Winter War.

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach.

Title: Stolen from the Raconteurs' album/song of the same name.

"The Consolers of the Lonely"

Prologue:

Price and Promise

"Ichigo stop!"

The rampage continued. The hollow-like creature that used to be Ichigo charged forward, sword in hand, ready to strike, and he knew he wouldn't be able to dodge it. He knew it. His powers were far too depleted; his energy all but spent. This foolhardy endeavor was now at an end. He had taken on far more than his own ability allowed, and now he was going to pay for it.

Still, he hadn't been able to stop himself from trying...

"Ichigo don't!" But it was too late. The blade was suddenly there, cutting through him like butter, deep red running black as crude under Aizen's falsely starry sky. Somewhere, Orihime was screaming. The world was spinning around him. The monstrous roaring abruptly stopped. And before he fell into a blanketing darkness, he heard Ichigo say, in a lost, confused voice:

"Ishida?"

"Ichigo no!" Ishida was jarred awake, the phantom feeling of the sword cutting through his stomach snapping him out of his memory/dream. His hand slid beneath his tunic, touching the still-delicate wound. He winced at the all-too-real pain. Thank God for Orihime. Without her powers, he would truly be dead.

Ishida sat up, disentangling himself from the blanket he was wrapped up in. He was alone inside the tent. He vaguely recalled the trek from the palace, the short journey across the desert. He had flitted in and out of consciousness, delirious from his wounds, while his friends had all but carried him across the shifting sands. He remembered Captian Unahona's face hovering above his own, briefly, before he had drifted off, settling into the warm, luxurious folds of a deep and recuperative sleep. "Sleep, and be well," she had intoned, and the words had fallen on him like a benediction. Ishida had never slept so long or so well. At least, until the nightmare...

"Ishida..."

Ishida turned and saw that there was someone standing at the entrance to the tent. The Quincy tensed. Both voice and figure were unfamiliar. No, wait-that wasn't right. Ishida could feel a spirit energy, coiled and intensely powerful, emanating from the strange, shadowy form. I know this reiatsu, he thought. I've felt it before. Still, both the voice and figure were unknown to him. Without speaking again, the darkened figure allowed the tent flap to fall gently back into place. The creature-a lithe, sexless thing in a long, flowing robe-walked alongside the tent, the bulbous moon casting a long, slender shadow on the flimsy canvas wall. Instinctively, Ishida got to his feet. He lifted the tent flap and boldly followed the creature outside.

On the crest of a sand dune the creature stopped moving. Ishida stood at the base, looking up. "Who are you?" he demanded, the weak rasp in his voice counteracting his attempt to sound authoritative.

Silence. Long black hair blew wispily on the desert breeze. The creature still had its back to him. Known, but unknown. Reiatsu crackled through the air, strong and maddeningly familiar. Ishida narrowed his eyes. "Do I know you? Have we met?"

"After a fashion." The voice was young and male. Yet somehow Ishida got the impression that the creature before him was very old indeed. Black robes flapped in the wind as the creature turned to face him. Ishida was confronted with a delicate pale face and amber eyes, a combination that was both striking and stunningly pretty. Ishida swallowed involuntarily, disturbed by the timbre of his own thoughts.

"You...you're connected to Ichigo somehow." Ishida, always a proponent of sound logic and clear linear thinking, suddenly knew why the creature's spirit energy was familiar. It was the same as Ichigo's. If he closed his eyes right at this moment, he would swear that it was Ichigo standing before him.

"I am," the creature answered in cryptic tones.

Ishida didn't care for cryptic. "Who are you?" he demanded again.

"You can call me Tensa Zangetsu."

Silence. Ishida's mind raced. He knew that one of the fundamental differences between Quincy and Shinigami was the idea that Shinigami treated their weapons, their zanpakuto, as living beings, each with its own innate consciousness. Quincy did no such thing. It was a completely foreign concept to them. The idea that wielder and weapon could forge a bond, could communicate with each other-it was absurd. Yet, the spiritual pressure coming from this creature was identical to Ichigo's. And that only made sense if...

"You're...you're Ichigo's zanpakuto?"

"Yes." There was a slight smile, a knowing twinkle in the creature's pale eyes.

"How? Why are you here?" The cratered moon outlined the zanpakuto's form, the shredded edges of the dark robe billowing around him. He looked so young, yet there was this innate sense of power about him. It wafted off him, crackling and fierce. Its intensity practically made the Quincy sway on his feet.

"Because he will need you, Ishida. When this is over. Ichigo will need you more than ever."

"What do you mean?" Ishida felt the blood in his veins turn to ice. There was a sadness in the zanpakuto's tone, an inflection that was impossible to miss. The Quincy repeated himself. "What do you mean by that?" The sentence grew louder.

The creature ignored him. Instead, it turned and walked down the opposite side of the dune. Sand rippled across the hill in painterly waves. Dark hair writhed around the zanpakuto's head like seaweed, obscuring his face. Ishida followed him into the desert, his silence demanding an explanation.

The zanpakuto spoke again. "On the morrow, Ichigo will ask me for it."

"Ask you? Ask you for what?"

The zanpakuto stopped and turned to face the Quincy. "For the power. To defeat him."

Ishida didn't need to ask who 'him' was. Aizen. The zanpakuto's face turned sorrowful. "And I will not be able to dissuade him from it." Again, there was that unmistakable inflection of sadness.

Alarm bells sounded in the Quincy's head. "Dissuade him? Why would you do that? If he can truly defeat Aizen-"

"Because it will cost him everything," the weapon answered dejectedly. Ishida froze. "You know what I mean, Ishida. You, above all, must know-"

"He will lose his powers." The Quincy spoke the words aloud before the zanpakuto could. The two dark-haired, pale-faced boys stood looking at each other in perfect comprehension, perfect understanding. Ishida didn't speak. He didn't know what else to say.

The Quincy tensed as the zanpakuto approached him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Round amber eyes met slitted sapphire. "Be there for him, Uryuu. When this is over. When I am...when I am gone. Be there for him." Sorrow-filled eyes met steely ones as the weapon turned and began to walk away.

"Zangetsu..." Ishida said his name, but the zanpakuto kept on walking. He watched the dark-robed figure ascend another dune, the lithe form stark against the round frame of the ivory moon. "Remember what I said, Uryuu. Take care of Ichigo. Do that for me." The creature didn't turn again to face him. As he disappeared over the crest, the Quincy said in a tiny, agonized whisper:

"I promise, Zangetsu..."