Work Text:
When is a monster not a monster?
Oh, when you are the reason it has become so mangled.
Here is your humble offering,
obliterated and broken in the mouth
of this abandoned church.
He has come back to stop the world
from turning itself inside out, and you love him, you do,
so you won’t let him.
~ Start Here - Caitlyn Siehl
~~~
After Yhwach, after everything has been settled as best it can be, Kisuke finds himself at loose ends.
The worlds are rebuilding again and his once full Shōten is empty more often than not.
Visitors are somehow rarer now than they ever were before.
His eyes are …
Well.
It will take time to regain even a fraction of what he has lost on a more permanent basis.
Some things, once sacrificed, are not so simple to negate after all.
Some sins carry payments that cannot simply be rejected.*
Fortunately for Kisuke, time is one thing he has in great abundance.
Unfortunately for Kisuke, the adjustment period is … tense.
His hands fumble over simple tasks.
He misjudges distances.
He drops things and does not always catch them before they hit the ground.
His tea is never quite right anymore.
Life in the Shōten, Kisuke is forced to admit to himself over yet another shattered teacup, has made him soft.
Kisuke is former Onmitsukidō after all.
The state of his eyes should not affect him so deeply.
And yet …
~~~
Kisuke ruins an experiment.
A calculation is off by the smallest degree.
One single factor, just a hair off from where it should be.
It’s a mistake so small that it barely matters except for how it does.
It’s the kind of thing that Kisuke’s once sharp eyes would have picked up on as soon as it happened.
But now …
Now he doesn’t catch it in time.
Now he can’t.
And that is just …
Too much.
~~~
Kisuke comes back to himself minutes or hours later.
Mouth bloody.
Throat sore.
Hand trembling where it’s wrapped around Benihime’s familiar hilt.
His lab is a smoking, sparking wreck around him.
Kisuke is standing on the edge of a precipice.
For the first time in his life, he’s not sure if balancing on that razor’s edge is something he can do for much longer.
Or if he even wants to.
~~~
Kisuke goes upstairs.
He does not make tea.
~~~
For a while, for the first time in his too-long life, Kisuke just … drifts.
Rudderless.
Directionless.
Uncaring of being either.
~~~
Ichigo shows up at the Shōten.
He doesn’t bother to knock, doesn’t bother to announce himself or even ask for permission.
Kisuke simply wakes and knows that Ichigo is there.
Makes his way from his bedroom and into his kitchen only to find Ichigo already there making breakfast.
Over the first full meal he’s had in longer than he can remember, Kisuke learns the following things:
Ichigo has picked out a room in the Shōten.
He’s brought his things with him.
He has no intention of leaving.
Ichigo, as is his nature, steps into Kisuke’s home and his life like it’s his right.
An unstoppable force to Kisuke’s crumbling, hollowed-out object.
For a moment, for a time between breaths and around heartbeats, Kisuke considers turning him away.
But then, if there is anyone who has the right to step into Kisuke’s space, to press their way into his home and take all of the empty spaces around him and make them their own, it would have to be Kurosaki Ichigo.
So Kisuke does the only logical thing.
He sits down at the table.
He welcomes Ichigo inside.
In more ways than he realizes at the time.
~~~
They settle into a rhythm together with surprising ease.
A give and take that feels as natural and easy as breathing.
Ichigo tidies the Shōten, dusts the neglected corners, washes the dishes, and airs out the cushions. Breathes life back into a place that, much like Kisuke himself, has slowly begun to stagnate in these peaceful times.
Kisuke reinforces the wards, pours himself into every matrix and sigil until they make his war-time precautions look laughable and Ichigo has to practically scrape him up off the floor and carry him to bed.
Ichigo cooks their meals, drags Kisuke out of whatever project or corner he’s hidden himself in and forces him to sit at the table.
Kisuke slides him a card attached to a bank account with enough money in it that Ichigo sputters and curses when he sees the balance.
Ichigo coaxes Kisuke into spars in the training room and doesn’t treat him like glass.
Kisuke tightens his grip on Benihime, straightens his shoulders, takes off his hat.
It’s good.
~~~
“Why?” Kisuke asks one night a few weeks after Ichigo had first arrived, after yet another meal Ichigo has made for them both. “I’m afraid I’m not much use to you right now.”
Ichigo, sprawled out on the other side of the table from Kisuke and sipping at the tea he’d made for them both, stays silent.
“You’ll understand one day,” Ichigo finally answers sometime later, uncharacteristically vague.
He pours Kisuke more tea.
Kisuke sips it.
Hums low and pleased in his throat.
It’s perfect.
~~~
Kisuke doesn’t ask again for a very long time.
~~~
Kisuke stops breaking teacups.
Ichigo is there to catch them when they fall.
~~~
“You know,” Ichigo says one night when they’re out on the engawa enjoying the privacy of Kisuke’s heavily warded garden, “you should teach me some kidō.”
Kisuke pauses, the fan in his hand stuttering to a stop.
“I’ve got the time to really try and learn now,” Ichigo continues. “Never really had that before. Thought it might be something we could do together.”
The silence hangs between them.
The air smells of night jasmine.
The crescent moon hangs above them, ever watchful.
Kisuke can hear every soft breath Ichigo takes, can feel the warmth of him from where his sprawled body is pressed lightly against the side of Kisuke’s thigh.
“There are others,” Kisuke hears himself saying, “who could teach you. Others without my … limitations.”
Kisuke doesn’t have to explain himself any further than that.
They both know what he means.
“Maybe,” Ichigo agrees languidly. “But they wouldn’t be you.”
“Some would say that’s part of the appeal,” Kisuke tries to joke.
“You’re my first and last choice, Geta-bōshi,” Ichigo tells him, serious and firm. “Always.”
For some reason Kisuke’s throat feels tight.
~~~
They start kidō lessons the next evening.
It devolves into a loud affair almost immediately.
In that first lesson Ichigo attempts a low-level bakudō, a simple binding spell meant to restrain and not harm.
The practice model folds in on itself, limbs ripping themselves off as the puppet lands, smoking and charred, a few dozen feet away.
For a moment they just stand there together in silence.
And then …
Kisuke laughs.
Deep and loud and, most of all, honest.
Somehow it feels like finally being able to take a breath.
~~~
Kisuke ruins an experiment.
A small mistake in a routine test.
Something he never would have done before, not even at his most careless.
And, for the first time since Ichigo arrived, Kisuke seethes.
He raises Benihime.
Zangetsu is there to meet her on the way down.
“You tear this shit up again for no reason and I’m not helping you clean it,” Ichigo tells him evenly.
“Ichigo,” his name is a hiss that Kisuke can’t keep locked away.
“You’re actually pissed, huh?” Ichigo hums thoughtfully.
Zangetsu’s long blade slides almost softly against Benihime’s edge.
“Alright then,” Ichigo tells him. “I can take it.”
In the depths of Kisuke’s soul Benihime screams.
~~~
“Why?” Kisuke pants the question out.
He’s bloody and bruised, his clothes are little more than tattered remains.
Ichigo’s foot is planted solidly against his sternum.
Benihime is quiet.
Ichigo huffs out a laugh.
Reaches down to haul Kisuke up off of the ground.
“Keep asking yourself that,” Ichigo tells him as he heads toward the healing spring. “You’ll figure it out one day.”
“You could just tell me,” Kisuke hisses as he’s lowered into the water.
“You’re smart enough to get it on your own,” Ichigo says, something achingly fond in his tone. “I’ll be here when you do.”
~~~
‘Ichigo’, Kisuke thinks absently to himself in the dark of his room that night after the bruises have faded and the cuts have healed, ‘is a lot like breathing.’
~~~
It isn’t only teacups that Ichigo catches these days.
~~~
They spar.
It’s fast-paced and bloody.
In Kisuke’s heart and in his hand and in his soul Benihime screams and sings and laughs.
And Kisuke …
For the first time in a long time, Kisuke wants.
~~~
It hits Kisuke at odd moments.
The fact that his life right now is good.
It’s so good.
Everything about life with Ichigo, about the life they’ve somehow found themselves slowly building together, is …
It’s …
It is …
~~~
They cook dinner together now.
Kisuke weaves his way around Ichigo in the kitchen, hands darting out to snag pieces of meat and vegetables just for the pleasure of dancing away when Ichigo smacks at him.
~~~
Kisuke makes tea.
It’s just the way it should be.
Just the way he’s taken it for centuries.
For some reason he still likes Ichigo’s more.
~~~
Some nights they sit out on the engawa together until dawn.
Sometimes Ichigo reads out loud, books on poetry or any science journal that Kisuke shows even a passing interest in.
Sometimes Kisuke tells stories of the things he’s seen over his long life, the bloody and the beautiful. Occasionally the things that qualify as both.
Most of the time they’re quiet, just the two of them sitting there, side by side, as dawn’s first light creeps over them.
Just because they can.
~~~
Kisuke has never truly felt at home before.
Not really.
Every place he’s ever stayed has always been just that.
A place.
Even the Shōten is, in the end, just another building.
Something he could move or change, could abandon or replace, as necessary.
But when he thinks of Ichigo?
When he thinks of shared meals and lazy evenings on the engawa, of bloody spars and laughter filled kidō lessons?
Well.
~~~
Sometimes when Kisuke thinks about Ichigo he feels as if he’s standing on the edge of a precipice.
He’s not sure what’s waiting for him at the bottom or if balancing on that razor’s edge is something he can do for much longer.
Or if he even wants to.
~~~
“I’m going to visit the girls,” Ichigo announces one night. “Been a while since I went over to their place.”
“Yuzu-chan pestering you again?” Kisuke asks as he fans himself idly, pleased in a way he can’t explain over how Ichigo never refers to Isshin’s house as home these days.
Only the Shōten, only all of the empty places in Kisuke’s life that he’d taken as his own and filled to the brim, seem to get that honor now.
“Yeah,” there’s such blatant affection in Ichigo’s voice that even Kisuke has to smile. “She’s got some new recipes and Karin has a few movies she wants us to try together. You going to be good here without me for a night?”
“Absolutely not,” Kisuke declares with a certain amount of dramatic cheer, free hand coming up to press dramatically against his forehead. “How could you abandon a poor man such as myself so cruelly, Ichigo? I’ll waste away without you. Nothing but a decrepit husk, clinging to life, starved of all that is good and joyful.”
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Ichigo huffs but Kisuke can hear the amusement in his tone as he pushes himself up onto his feet. “I’ll be back before you know it but you still know you’re going to miss me regardless.”
“Passionately,” Kisuke declares. “Every moment shall be a waking nightmare, every breath the trial of an age. My very existence encased in amber until your faithful return to my side.”
“Just for that I’m not making you dinner before I leave,” Ichigo tells him as he turns to head back inside.
“Now now,” Kisuke scrambles up from his place on the engawa to follow on his heels, “let’s not be too hasty, Ichigo.”
~~~
Kisuke has never believed in prophecies.
He should have.
~~~
It’s late, more early morning than late night to be honest, and Kisuke is making tea.
His current calculations are all on track.
He’d eaten the curry Ichigo had made for him.
Kisuke’s even feeling particularly smug because he’d managed to finally sneak a few of the things he’s ordered behind Ichigo’s back into his room for him to discover when he returns.
All is well.
Then the teacup is falling from Kisuke’s suddenly nerveless hand to shatter on the kitchen floor.
Benihime screams.
And Kisuke …
Kisuke hits his knees, uncaring of the bits of porcelain that cut into him, eyes turned unseeingly towards the west.
~~~
After the wars, after Aizen and Yhwach, after would-be gods and mistakes that rippled across centuries, after blood and death and Thrones ripe for the taking have all been seen and settled and survived, Kisuke had thought it might finally be a time of true peace.
At least for a while.
All of the hurt, all of the blood and pain and sacrifices that had been made for that peace were supposed to have been worth it.
And yet, somehow, it is in these calm and bloodless days when something so much worse manages to come for Kisuke.
Ichigo, vibrant, steadfast Ichigo who carried the blessing and curse of his name and nature like a weapon and shield both, dies.
Ichigo, the man who took Kisuke’s crumbling self into both of his hands and pressed the pieces back together with a gruff sort of gentleness, dies.
One night, alone for once in his childhood bedroom and far from Kisuke and the Shōten’s wards, Ichigo slips into sleep.
He never wakes.
~~~
To everyone else that feels like the end of the story.
Because Ichigo dies.
But to Kisuke …
~~~
Yoruichi finds him at the wake.
Finds him where he’s settled himself into the far shadows of the room, eyes turned unblinking in Ichigo’s direction.
For a long, silent, while she just stands there beside him.
“They say his body just gave up,” Yoruichi finally breaks the silence. “So much power isn’t meant to be contained in a mortal form.”
Kisuke doesn’t say anything.
Doesn’t even bother to look in her direction.
“It’s odd that his soul hasn’t shown up yet,” she presses on, “but I’m sure he will soon. Knowing his luck Ichigo probably got dropped at the very edges of the Rukongai or something and is taking his sweet time making it back to the Seireitei. I’m sure he’ll be back to causing chaos soon enough.”
Kisuke keeps his silence.
Eventually Yoruichi drifts away again.
Kisuke feels eyes on him at different points during the night.
Shinji perhaps.
Or Byakuya.
Someone who might be able to see and understand the emptiness that’s gnawing away at the edges of Kisuke’s existence right now.
It hardly matters though.
No one else approaches him.
Eventually, the others leave, back to their lives, back to their homes, off to mourn in private.
But Kisuke …
Kisuke stays.
Long after even the Kurosaki’s themselves have retired for the night.
Kisuke stays.
~~~
It goes like this:
Ichigo dies.
The friends who had once fought and bled by Ichigo’s side, the same ones who had once so readily abandoned Ichigo in his time of need, all gather and grieve.
The twins, the precious little sisters that Ichigo had loved above all others, the girls for whom Ichigo had done everything from forsaking his own humanity to storming the very gates of Hell, mourn themselves half-sick.
Isshin, a man who’d buried his son in his heart the very moment Masaki had put him in his arms, red-faced and crying and carrying a burden that should have never been his to hold, simply adds another picture to his wife’s shrine.
Seireitei calls Ichigo a hero even as they slowly but surely begin to twist the truth of what he’d done and why, exactly, he’d been pushed to act in the first place.
And Kisuke …
Kisuke just … drifts.
~~~
Just as Yoruichi said, most of Seireitei watches and waits for Ichigo’s soul to appear, for him to cross over fully so that they can once more stack burden after burden onto his shoulders.
So that Ichigo can finally take his rightful, dutiful, place amongst their numbers.
And yet …
It never happens.
Ichigo’s soul never reappears.
There is no hint, no whisper, of him in any of the worlds.
He is simply and completely gone.
~~~
Kisuke is rudderless.
~~~
Time passes.
Ichigo stays missing.
Stays gone.
Stays dead.
~~~
With every day that passes with no sign of Ichigo another part of Kisuke’s existence slows.
Halts.
Calcifies.
~~~
Time passes and, one by one, the three worlds all commit the one sin Kisuke will never forgive them for.
They move on.
~~~
But Kisuke …
Well.
Moving on is not, generally, something Kisuke does.
~~~
So this is how it goes:
Ichigo dies.
Kisuke’s entire world grinds to a halt.
~~~
Kisuke is directionless.
~~~
The Shōten is … still.
Shielded by wards layered so thickly and heavily that one can practically taste them in the very air, it sits untouched by time itself.
Preserving everything within it like an eternal moment frozen in a bubble.
Ichigo’s teacup still rests on the counter.
His shoes are by the door.
The book he’d been reading sits waiting by the red and black cushion he’d always favored.
Kisuke’s blood still stains the kitchen floor alongside bits of shattered porcelain.
~~~
Kisuke exists on the edges of a life encased in amber.
A loose cog.
An unbalanced equation.
A dog without a master.
A blade without a sheathe.
A dancer without a partner.
An uncaught, shattered teacup.
An accidental prophecy fulfilled.
~~~
Kisuke doesn’t make tea anymore.
~~~
Kisuke is …
~~~
He ruins an experiment but doesn’t feel the need to pick up Benihime.
Not if Zangetsu will not be there to meet her.
~~~
Kisuke is …
~~~
People knock on the Shōten door sometimes, they press against his wards and demand entry.
Kisuke never answers.
~~~
Kisuke is …
~~~
Kisuke sits on the engawa, Ichigo’s head in his lap.
He strokes his hand carefully, gently, through the shaggy fall of Ichigo’s hair.
The other rests, as it always does, on the unmoving expanse of Ichigo’s chest.
“Ichigo,” Kisuke murmurs softly to the moonless sky, “you said you’d come back.”
Kisuke traces his hand over the wards and sigils he’d practically bled himself dry to paint over Ichigo’s too-cool skin.
To keep him as he is.
As he should always be.
“I’ll be here,” Kisuke tells him as he tucks a wild loc of hair behind Ichigo’s ear. “Waiting for you. Like I promised.”
Kisuke’s fingertip skims over the soft skin behind Ichigo’s ear.
Pauses.
His hands are beyond gentle as he turns Ichigo’s head to the side.
His finger presses more firmly against the skin there.
Feels a sharp bite where there should be none.
In Kisuke’s mind and in his soul and laid out as she is across Ichigo’s lap, Benihime shrieks.
~~~
Kisuke is rageful.
~~~
This is how it goes:
Ichigo does not die.
He is taken.
~~~
Kisuke carries Ichigo to his room.
Lays him down carefully on the thick, luxurious futon that Kisuke had bought for him weeks ago now and never got the chance to gift to him properly.
Kneeling there, Kisuke takes a moment to just breathe.
His mind feels clear for the first time in weeks.
Feels razor-sharp.
“Wait for me,” Kisuke tells Ichigo, pressing the words against the curve of Ichigo’s unmarked palm like a kiss.
Like a promise.
Or a prayer.
~~~
Kisuke is no longer drifting.
~~~
With Benihime in hand and unwilling to assume her cane form, Kisuke goes to Isshin first.
It is, in his mind, only right.
For all of their differences, for all of the tension that had always been between them, Isshin was, is, Ichigo’s father.
The twins aren’t home, they should be at school if Kisuke still remembers their schedule correctly, but that’s all the better. This conversation, no matter how Kisuke intends to fill it with half-truths, is not one they need to hear.
Isshin serves him tea, a mixture that Kisuke has always enjoyed but that Ichigo had never allowed into the Shōten’s kitchen.
Kisuke doesn’t drink it.
“You’re sure?” Isshin asks, hands cradling his cup.
Kisuke doesn’t allow himself to bristle.
“Yes,” Kisuke tells him evenly, the grip he has on Benihime’s hilt purposefully light.
Isshin, shoulders slumped and face lined, is silent for a too long moment.
“I have to think about the girls,” Isshin finally murmurs. He doesn’t look up. He doesn’t ask any more questions. Doesn’t demand the answers that Kisuke himself is already ravenous for. “I have to do what’s best for them. It’s what Ichigo would have wanted.”
Kisuke agrees. Can’t deny that Ichigo would want the twin’s safety and happiness placed above all else.
Above even his own murder.
It doesn’t make Isshin any less of a coward in Kisuke’s eyes.
~~~
Kisuke leaves.
Walks out of the Kurosaki household and knows that he will not, cannot, step foot back inside unless and until Isshin is dead.
In his hand and in his soul, Benihime screams and screams and screams.
~~~
There is a knock on the Shōten door.
Kisuke, hairbrush in hand, pauses.
Waits.
His visitor doesn’t leave.
Kisuke puts down the brush, lays Ichigo gently on his futon, and then leaves the room, sealing the door automatically behind him as he goes.
He pulls the Shōten’s door open.
Stares down at his unexpected visitor.
“I-I heard what you said to Isshin,” Kon tells him, uncharacteristically solemn and serious. “I know that you’re going to do something and I know that he doesn’t want to help you.”
Kisuke just stares down at him.
“I’m just a Mod-Soul,” Kon keeps going. “A defective one too, technically. But Ichigo … he was my friend. My family. Let me help you.”
Kisuke considers.
Steps back.
Lets Kon inside.
~~~
Kon stays late that night.
They talk about … many things.
~~~
“A pity, a pity,” Kurotsuchi whines in that grating pitch of his, attention focused on his computer. “Such an exotic specimen. My petition to be allowed to study him was unfortunately denied. I hear they even cremated his human remains. Such a waste.”
“Actually,” Kisuke says as he reaches into the inner pocket of his robe and pulls out a small square-cut aquamarine, “they burned a gigai.”
Kisuke tips his hand and allows the gem to tumble down onto the floor between them with a quiet tinkle of sound.
Kurotsuchi pauses.
Turns.
Benihime meets his throat halfway through the motion.
Kurotsuchi’s body goes in one direction.
His head goes in another.
On the floor the aquamarine glows, the modified bakudō Kisuke had developed with this particular task in mind unfurling from the gemstone like a lotus flower blossoming.
“Not this time,” Kisuke tells the writhing mass that is Kurotsuchi Mayuri attempting to, once again, escape death. “You should have learned to keep your hands off of things that don’t belong to you, Mayuri.”
~~~
Ten minutes or so later, Kisuke leaves, careful not to be seen, careful to erase any evidence that he was ever in the Seireitei at all.
The lab is a smoking, pitted ruin.
Kurotsuchi’s data, all of his experiments, all of his ideas, all of the work Kisuke himself had laid the groundwork for, is gone.
Along with every single backup Kisuke had been able to find.
Along with Kurotsuchi himself.
Kisuke has what he came for.
~~~
There was an idea once, for a stealth weapon.
Something small, undetectable even by the most talented and honed of senses.
Something that could trap a soul in a human body or a gigai and then strangle it out of existence, all with a single tiny strike to the correct spiritual point.
Something far more subtle and covert than the terrible might of the Sōkyoku.
It took an ungodly amount of resources and a particular kind of ruthlessly inclined scientific mind to create.
It could only be used once before it would have to be reforged.
Kisuke had submitted the idea to Central 46 well over a century ago and then was promptly ordered to discontinue the project by Yamamoto himself.
He hadn’t thought of it in decades.
His mistake.
~~~
The situation stands as this:
Ichigo is dead.
His soul has been stolen.
Pressed out of existence by a weapon Kisuke himself had theorized over a century ago.
And Kisuke …
Kisuke cannot, will not, let that stand.
~~~
The truth is this:
Ichgio’s soul is gone.
There is no power in the three worlds that can bring it back.
Bring him back to Kisuke.
~~~
The solution is simple:
If there is no power in the three worlds that can bring Ichigo back?
Then Kisuke will simply have to craft one on his own.
~~~
Kisuke is no longer directionless.
~~~
Kisuke bleeds himself practically physically and spiritually dry once again to paint new sigils across Ichigo’s body.
These settle even easier than the first set.
They sink into Ichigo’s body and then darken a half shade.
The crimson glow of the blood-ink stands out starkly against Ichigo’s still too-pale skin.
It looks as if Kisuke has written a part of himself across Ichigo, has tied him up in silken bloody threads just to keep him here.
Unchanged and waiting.
Kisuke lays there beside Ichigo for the longest time, exhausted, his ink brush still in hand.
Aching.
Missing him.
~~~
One hand curled gently around Ichigo’s own, Kisuke sleeps.
~~~
In his dreams Kisuke’s settled on the engawa.
The air smells of night jasmine.
Ichigo is a solid, warm presence at his side.
Kisuke breathes.
Tries to remember why it feels like his heart is breaking.
“You’ll understand one day,” Dream Ichigo tells him, soft and easy with a smile Kisuke can hear even if he can’t see it.
~~~
Kisuke wakes.
Doesn’t bother to wipe the tears from his face.
Instead he stays there, hunched over at Ichigo’s side, for the longest time.
Finally, he presses a kiss against too-cool, too-still fingertips and rises.
He plans.
~~~
That night, Kon comes back.
He tells Kisuke many things.
~~~
“Hello there,” Kisuke calls out the greeting, his hat pulled down low enough to shield his eyes even more than usual, and a placid sort of smile settled carefully on his face.
“H-Hello?!” The Shinigami, young and nervous and generally unremarkable, stutters to a stop on the roof beside Kisuke.
It itches at some dark, razor silk threaded place in Kisuke’s head to see someone so obviously less than attempting to patrol the city that has always been Ichigo’s.
“You must be our newest protector,” Kisuke takes a step closer, Benihime’s hilt resting beneath his hand where she sits nestled now at his waist.
“Y-Yes,” the Shinigami blushes just a bit, “or at least I’m going to try to be!”
“And I’m sure you would have done a fine job,” Kisuke reassures them even as he reaches his free hand up to pull something from his inner sleeve.
The Shinigami falters.
“Would have?” They ask, voice slightly shaken as they stare at him.
Whatever they see in Kisuke’s face makes their eyes widen with an animalistic sort of fear.
“Mm,” Kisuke hums in agreement. “Unfortunately, I need you for something else.”
Kisuke breaks the small bit of Hollow bait between his fingers.
In the distance something roars.
The Shinigami spins around, horror flashing across their face.
In Kisuke’s hand Benihime screams.
~~~
Once, long ago, Kisuke had looked upon the horror he had created and swore to never turn his hands in that direction again.
Even when his mind clicked and whirled and thought about improvements and streamlining the process, that was supposed to be the one mistake Kisuke never made again.
But…
Well.
Needs must.
~~~
Time passes.
~~~
Kisuke plots.
Plans.
Prepares.
Stacks crate after crate in one of the Shōten’s storage rooms.
~~~
Sometimes, when the night is quiet and Kisuke has moved Ichigo to the engawa once again, he can pretend that all is right.
Can pretend that it’s just another night.
That Ichigo is sleeping.
That he’ll wake soon.
That he’ll make tea.
And everything will be good.
But only sometimes.
Only sometimes.
~~~
Kon comes to visit.
~~~
“Hello there,” Kisuke calls out the greeting, his hat pulled down low enough to shield his eyes even more than usual, and a placid sort of smile settled carefully on his face.
Standing on the top of a nearby telephone pole, the Shinigami twists to face Kisuke.
Kisuke reaches a hand up his sleeve.
~~~
For the first time in well over a year, Yoruichi turns up on the Shōten’s stoop.
Kisuke knows why she’s come, so this time he lets her inside.
Ushers her into the sitting room they used to have war meetings in, the one that’s far away and removed from the spaces in which Ichigo and he had moved together on the regular.
He doesn’t bother to make tea.
“Kurotsuchi’s missing,” Yoruichi cuts right to the chase. “Has been for a few months now.”
“Really?” Kisuke tilts his head to the side, fans himself idly with one hand.
“His research lab was destroyed,” Yoruichi says. “And he was just gone. They’ve managed to keep it quiet, managed to put out the word that he’s taken a research sabbatical while they looked for him but …”
“No luck?” Kisuke asks.
“None,” Yoruichi confirms.
A moment passes, filled with a heavy sort of silence that never used to exist between them.
“Why are you here, Yoruichi?” Kisuke finally asks the unnecessary question.
“What?” there’s a wry sort of humor in her voice. “You mean you haven’t guessed already?”
Kisuke just hums.
Makes her say it.
“Research and Development needs a new head,” Yoruichi finally sighs. “They’re prepared to offer you your Captaincy back.”
“How generous,” Kisuke drawls, obviously and openly unimpressed.
“Cut the shit, Kisuke,” Yoruichi finally snaps. “What do you have here that’s so much more appealing? Aizen’s locked up, Shinji and the others are settled and comfortable, Yhwach is dead, and so is Ichi-”
Kisuke’s fan snaps closed.
Yoruichi falls abruptly silent.
Beneath the table Kisuke’s free hand idly caresses Benihime’s hilt.
“I worry about you, Kisuke,” Yoruichi finally sighs. “Since Ich- since it happened, you’ve locked yourself away in here. You barely come out. You don’t see anyone.”
“Well,” Kisuke can’t help but cut in, “my eyes aren’t exactly what they used to be.”
“Like that would ever actually stop you,” Yoruichi snorts. “Just … come home, Kisuke.”
“My home is here,” Kisuke tells her, as easy as breathing.
~~~
Yoruichi leaves.
~~~
“I miss your tea,” Kisuke brushes a kiss over Ichigo’s too-still fingertips. “You’ll have to make it for me twice a day at least when you get back.”
~~~
Kisuke takes to the training field more often now.
Lets Benihime scream and tear and mourn for the both of them.
On one such night a new invocation comes to Kisuke.
Slides into his soul fully formed.
~~~
There’s a knock at the Shōten door.
Kisuke answers.
Steps back.
Lets Kon inside.
~~~
“Hello there.”
~~~
‘Oh,’ Kisuke goes completely still one night when he’s wrist deep in his latest acquisition, ‘I love him.’
It’s a whisper of a thought.
Soft and sweet.
It settles into that gaping, gnawing, place in Kisuke’s center that has been growing steadily since that first moment when he’d taken Ichigo’s too-still form into his arms and pulled him gently from his casket.
Gets eaten and absorbed by the black hole that has steadily been growing where his heart used to be.
“I love him,” Kisuke says the words out loud, lets them linger on his tongue and in the air around him.
Beneath him, pinned down like a butterfly on Kisuke’s table, yet another Shinigami whose name he never bothered to learn squirms and moans pitifully, tears seeping from the corners of their eyes.
Kisuke smiles.
Brings his scalpel down.
Loves Ichigo with every cut that he makes.
~~~
Time passes.
~~~
Kisuke bleeds himself half dry to repaint runes and sigils across Ichigo’s cool skin.
They settle a little easier than they did last time.
~~~
Kisuke plots.
Plans.
Prepares.
Stacks crate after crate into yet another one of the Shōten’s storage rooms.
~~~
Kon comes for a visit.
~~~
“Hello there.”
~~~
Kisuke steps out onto the sparkling sands of Hueco Mundo, Benihime in hand.
He snaps the specially formulated Hollow bait.
He waits.
It doesn’t take long.
Soon the world around him is a writhing mass of energy.
Gillians and Adjuchas alike have answered Kisuke’s call.
Just as he’d predicted.
Just as he’d desired.
“Weep, Benihime,” the words drip from Kisuke’s mouth like petals from the stem, like blood from the wound.
Like tears for the absent and the fallen.
As always, Kisuke’s princess answers his call.
Eager to rage unchecked over what has been taken, stolen, from them.
Around him the world bleeds crimson.
And then …
There is only screaming.
~~~
Shinji comes for a visit.
Intrigued, Kisuke actually lets him inside.
Leads him to the old war room.
Doesn’t bother to offer tea.
Shinji doesn’t seem to notice or care.
Instead, he just throws himself down to sprawl over a cushion, head propped up on one fist as he stares in Kisuke’s direction.
“There are whispers,” Shinji finally breaks the silence.
“Aren’t there always?” Kisuke asks, fingertips playing across Benihime’s sheath.
“Kurotsuchi,” Shinji sneers the name out, “is missing. Good riddance to that fucking clown I say, but it has a lot of people uneasy. Add the unusual Hollow activity that’s been reported here in Karakura Town and the number of Shinigami who’ve turned up missing in the past year? It has a lot of people worried that some new conflict might be brewing …”
Shinji trails off meaningfully.
Beneath Kisuke’s loving palm, Benihime hums.
Stretches.
“Sounds serious,” Kisuke tells him lightly, evenly. “Not sure what all of this has to do with a humble shopkeeper like myself.”
“Technically,” Shinji says, head still propped on his fist and mouth curved into a small smirk, “I came here to press the offer of your old seat again. But we both know you’re never going to take it up.”
“We do, do we?”
“Hm,” Shinji hums lightly in agreement. There’s something sharper in the air around him then. “You’ve got more important work, don’t you?”
Kisuke keeps his silence.
Shinji smiles.
Pressing himself up off of the cushion.
Stretches his arms up above his head and then turns to head back towards the Shōten’s door of his own accord.
Kisuke, Benihime in hand, follows on silent feet.
Sakanade whispers through the air.
Benihime is there to meet her before Shinji finishes his turn.
“Good,” Shinji grins, eyes a molten sort of gold and voice underlaid with a familiar sort of warble. “You haven’t slipped as much as everyone else seems to think you have.”
Pressed against Sakanade’s edge, Benihime vibrates.
“But then again,” Shinji continues, nonchalant and unworried, “maybe it’s everyone else whose eyes are fucked if they can look at you and see anything but rage. These days you practically reek of it. Which tells me all I really need to know.”
Shinji nudges Benihime’s blade upwards just a hair, steps back, and resheaths Sakanade.
“Or maybe that’s just me,” Shinji shrugs, a fluid, almost predatory sort of motion. “Maybe I’m reading too much into things.”
They both know he’s not.
Shinji turns for the door again.
Pauses with his hand on the edge.
Kisuke keeps Benihime at the ready.
He likes Shinji well enough, would prefer not to fight him if possible, but there are precious few Kisuke would not find a way to cut down if they choose to stand in the way of his goals.
Needs. Must.
“I abandoned him once,” Shinji says, his back to Kisuke and something almost sorrowful in the set of his shoulders. “I didn’t see it that way, not then. But … well. Doesn’t change what it was. Doesn’t change what I did. And didn’t do.”
A pause.
“If you think there’s a way,” Shinji continues, “any way at all that doesn’t involve me killing my own? Then my sword is yours. His. All you have to do is call.”
Shinji pulls the door open.
Steps out.
“Be seeing you, Kisuke.”
Pulls the door closed behind him.
~~~
Kon comes to visit.
~~~
Kisuke sits on the engawa, Ichigo’s head in his lap.
One hand resting on the unmoving expanse of Ichigo’s chest.
~~~
Kon comes to visit.
~~~
Kisuke works in his lab.
His painstakingly accumulated pieces laid out before him.
Slowly, precisely, he layers strand after power filled strand.
Weaving, wrapping, cutting, blending.
Kisuke works tirelessly, his entire mind and soul turned toward his goal.
There is no room for mistakes.
No matter how small.
And yet, even as he does his terrible work, Kisuke whispers of Ichigo.
Of his love, his loyalty, his strength.
And all the while beneath Kisuke’s toiling hands, something listens.
~~~
“I asked you why, do you remember that?” Kisuke whispers to Ichigo. “Why you came to me, why you stayed.”
Kisuke sets the ink brush down and then carefully places the arm he’s been working on back down onto the black and crimson silk he’d draped over the futon.
Nestled against the hollow of Ichigo’s throat an aquamarine glows softly where it’s set in a thick golden band.
This version of the sigils and runes Kisuke has painted onto Ichigo settle even quicker than the previous ones, the blood-ink darkening a half shade and then taking on a subtle golden glow around the edges.
These, chained together and powered as and by what they are, will last until Kisuke is able to return.
No matter how long that might be.
A precaution to protect what is most precious to him.
“I think I know your answer now,” Kisuke presses a gentle, reverent kiss against the corner of Ichigo’s mouth.
A shadow of what he longs for.
Of the gift he refuses to steal.
“So watch me earn it.”
~~~
‘Here?’ the question is more of a chiming awareness in the back of Kisuke’s mind instead of actual words.
“Yes,” he murmurs back, barely a breath of sound.
If he’s caught now, if he’s seen, he’ll have to retreat, will have to waste time readjusting his plans.
The thought is enough to have Benihime hissing in displeasure.
But, luckily for Kisuke, he’s not alone in his mission.
The wall in front of him doesn’t so much crumble as a perfect circle in the middle of it ceases to exist.
Kisuke steps inside.
The wall closes behind him.
He starts his long journey down into the darkness.
~~~
“Urahara Kisuke,” the greeting is almost jovial, almost teasing. “Of all the souls in all the kingdoms, I didn’t expect them to send you the next time they needed me.”
“That,” Kisuke says as he steps from the shadows, “is because no one sent me. My reasons for being here are my own.”
“Oh, is that so?” Aizen Sōsuke asks, uncovered brow arched high, something mocking in his expression. “How interesting.”
Even strapped down as he is again, sealed into place by even heavier wards than ever before, Aizen looks unbothered.
A would-be god king still somehow sat upon his throne.
Kisuke’s relatively sure that will change soon enough.
“Then what great new horror has sent you scurrying into my cell, Urahara Kisuke?” Aizen asks, just a bit smug, almost indulgent. “Something so vile and dreadful that once again not even your pet abomination can handle it alone I assume?”
Kisuke keeps his expression smooth, calm and even.
At his waist Benihime seethes and rattles.
Aizen pauses.
Considers.
“Oh you are rageful. So tell me, Urahara Kisuke,” Aizen’s words are slow, deliberate, lined with something sharp, “where is Kurosaki Ichigo?”
‘Ichigo?’ the question whispers across Kisuke’s mind. ‘The Ichigo?’
Kisuke just stares at him.
“I see,” Aizen settles just a bit but there’s a sneer teasing at the edges of his expression that wasn’t there before. “Is that why you’ve come then? Revenge for this … indisposition of dear Ichigo’s? Well then, I suppose I could be convinced to help. For a price.”
‘Ichigo,’ the whisper is louder, more demanding. ‘Is this The Ichigo?’
“No,” Kisuke says.
“No?” Aizen huffs, a small sound of amusement. “Not even willing to bargain then? You don’t think I’ll help you for free do you? You chose to come here, Urahara Kisuke. You chose to come to me. You should have known there’d be a cost.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Kisuke tells him even as he takes a step forward. “I didn’t come here for your help, Aizen.”
“Is that so?” Aizen asks. “Then what di-”
“As a matter of fact,” Kisuke cuts him off, one hand coming up to reach into the fold of his sleeve as he moves ever closer, “I didn’t come here for you at all.”
A breath.
Aizen’s eyes widen as realization blossoms inside of him.
Kisuke pulls the Hōgyoku from his sleeve, lets the ocean blue shine of his newest sin, this beautiful abomination built on blood and death but nurtured with his love, spill out into the room around them.
“If you want what I have promised you,” Kisuke tells the Hōgyoku in his hand, “then we have to be stronger.”
‘The Ichigo?’ the chime is clearer than before, rippling out into the room itself so that even Aizen hears it this time.
“Urahara,” Aizen sounds uneasy for the first time.
“Yes,” Kisuke agrees, attention still firmly on the Hōgyoku. “You, we, will have him. But this is the next step.”
‘Stronger,’ the Hōgyoku eagerly agrees.
Ocean blue light flickers.
Swells.
Lashes out like tendrils of watery starlight.
Across the room Aizen begins to scream.
~~~
As silently and as easily as he had arrived, Kisuke departs.
Behind him, locked away in the dark, Aizen screams and screams and screams.
Kisuke does not falter.
Tucked away inside of his sleeve, the Hōgyoku hums lazily, contentedly, as it adjusts itself to its new power levels.
Digesting all that it has consumed.
In his mind and in his soul and at his side Benihime laughs and laughs and laughs.
~~~
‘The Ichigo?’ The Hōgyoku chimes from where it’s floating just above the flat of his palm.
The deep, tranquil blue shine of it brushes across the planes of Ichigo’s face like a caress.
Its voice is clearer now. Stronger than ever before.
“Yes,” Kisuke agrees, free hand smoothing over the line of Ichigo’s jaw. “This is Ichigo.”
‘Empty,’ The Hōgyoku mourns. ‘Empty, empty, The Ichigo is empty.’
“Only for now,” Kisuke soothes it. “He was stolen from me, from us. With your help we will take him back. With your help we will make him whole again.”
The Hōgyoku sings in joy.
~~~
Kon comes to visit.
“I have a different job for you today, Kon.” Kisuke breaks their routine by announcing as soon as Kon steps through the Shōten door.
Kon freezes but, to his credit, recovers quickly.
And then, once Kisuke has explained, he doesn’t falter.
~~~
“How does it feel?” Kisuke asks.
Kon pauses.
Considers.
“Right,” he finally announces.
“Good,” Kisuke nods. “It was specially crafted and then reinforced.”
There’s a moment's pause.
“I look like him,” Kon finally points out, brown eyes locked on the bathroom mirror. He brings up a fine-boned hand to tug at messy black hair. “And not, all at the same time. It’s strange.”
“I used a mix of features and DNA as inspiration but this body is an original,” Kisuke explains. “You’re his brother now, Kon. In all ways.”
Kon flexes his new human hands, stares at himself in the mirror a bit longer, and then smiles.
~~~
With Kon’s help Kisuke goes through each of the Shōten’s store rooms.
They empty them all.
Box after box, crate after crate.
The fruits of Kisuke’s endless labors.
Everything is moved to the training grounds.
~~~
Kisuke sends off a message.
Three days.
Warn the loyal.
Lock your doors.
It will be up to Shinji to heed his warning.
To live up to the vow that he’d given Kisuke in Ichigo’s stead.
But, either way, Kisuke’s sure that he has no idea what is actually about to happen.
~~~
Here is the issue:
Far too many people misunderstand and underestimate the true nature of the average Mod-Soul.
~~~
Here is the truth:
Mod-Souls are not organic.
For all that single fact has been a rallying cry used to justify their use as disposable cannon fodder over the years, so many forget what, exactly, that means.
Mod-Souls are produced.
They are, for the most part, little more than blank slates onto which a desired personality may be imprinted.
Unless acted upon, unless programmed as such, the average Mod-Soul’s innate loyalties and morality are both … nonexistent.
Dolls for the playing.
Blank-faced mannequins waiting to be dressed for war.
~~~
Here is the threat:
There is nothing average about what Kisuke has created.
~~~
“This is crazy,” Kon tells him. “You know that right? Absolutely fucking insane. If this doesn’t work? We’re dead. Actually, we’re deader than dead. They won’t even bother with Muken or anywhere else for us. They’ll erase us too. All of us. Everyone we know, everyone we care for. They won’t take the time to decide who’s innocent. They won’t care.”
“Oh absolutely,” Kisuke agrees as he stares out across the training ground and the teeming masses that fill it now. “Cold feet?”
“Nah, just wanted to make sure we were on the same page. Besides,” Kon puffs out his chest just a bit, gives Kisuke a smirk so familiar that it makes him ache, “it’d be one hell of a way to go out.”
~~~
Kon is right of course.
It is madness.
But …
Well.
Needs must.
~~~
On the eve before Kisuke is set to put his plan in motion, he picks Ichigo up from his futon and carries him through the Shōten and out onto the engawa.
He sits.
Tucks Ichigo securely into his lap.
Takes a moment to adjust the flowing sleeves of the elaborate kimono Kisuke had dressed him in.
Traces his fingers over the crimson crescent moons and the golden fans that decorate the fabric.
The air smells like night jasmine.
Above them a Hunter’s Moon shines brightly.
“I wonder if you’ll hate me,” Kisuke says as he trails the back of his hand down the sharp slope of Ichigo’s too-cool cheek. “If you’ll see what I’ve done, what I still intend to do, and count it as a thousand sins too many to forgive this time.”
Kisuke leans forward until he’s practically folded himself around Ichigo.
Presses his forehead against Ichigo’s temple.
Whispers in his ear.
“I don’t care. Hate me. Loathe me. Cut me down. Just …”
A kiss, pressed reverently against the arc of one cheek.
“Come back.”
Plea and prayer both.
~~~
“Remember the plan,” Kisuke smoothes a hand over the line of Kon’s shoulders.
“Get in, hit hard, and cause as much chaos as possible,” Kon recites.
“And?” Kisuke prompts.
“Get out alive,” Kon finishes.
“See?” Kisuke says with a final pat. “Simple.”
Across from him, face pale but expression resolute, Kon laughs.
“Insanity,” Kon sputters out between laughs. “Absolute madness.”
But he picks up his sword and he goes.
Turns on his heel and heads down to take his place at the front without looking back.
A Kurosaki through and through.
~~~
It’s still dark when they arrive.
When the Hōgyoku splits reality open like a fruit and spills chaos out into the streets of the Seireitei itself.
The alarms go up around the same time as the first of the fires starts.
But it’s already too late.
Even from here, Kisuke can tell there are far too few Shinigami answering the call to arms.
Entire Divisions are absent, the doors to their barracks shuttered and closed despite the lights clearly burning in the windows.
And those that do show up?
Well.
Mercy is the luxury of good men.
Kisuke has never claimed to be anything close to good.
The things he has created are much the same.
‘This,’ Kisuke catches himself thinking as dawn’s sweet light creeps over the destruction he’s once more wrought, as his horde, his legions, crawl across the battlefield like ants, Kon at their head, his brother’s name his battlecry, ‘really is what madness feels like.’
He adjusts Ichigo in his arms.
Presses a kiss to his forehead.
Turns to head toward his true goal.
Doesn’t bother to look back.
~~~
There used to be a saying:
Love makes monsters of men.
Kisuke has never agreed with it.
~~~
The tragedy is:
Kisuke made himself into a monster all on his own.
~~~
The truth is:
It was not love that twisted Kisuke into what he always was and has finally become.
It was loss.
~~~
The secret is:
Love and loss are often two names for the same kind of madness.
~~~
With the Hōgyoku in hand, arriving at Sōkyoku Hill takes but a thought.
Not that Kisuke intends to stay there for long.
No, this place is just a stepping stone.
“Kisuke.”
Yoruichi’s call doesn’t stop Kisuke.
He won’t be deterred, not even by her.
“Kisuke,” Yoruichi calls again, “please.”
Kisuke keeps moving closer to the edge of the cliff.
Yoruichi is there in front of him in the next second.
But she’s not alone.
No, beside her, hand on the hilts of his zanpakutō is Shinji.
Yoruichi’s attention is focused on Ichigo’s still form though, sharp eyes taking in every detail. From the rich, luxurious kimono to the thick gold choker with its pulsing aquamarine centerpiece and the way that Kisuke cradles him so close.
“You switched the bodies,” Yoruichi realizes, something unsettled blossoming to life in her eyes. “And then you kept him?”
Kisuke tucks Ichigo closer to him, tilts his own head until the side of his jaw is pressed against Ichigo’s forehead, and just looks at her.
“I was never going to let him go so easily,” Kisuke tells her, a simple and unshakeable truth. “Not like everyone else did. You should have known that.”
“I knew you’d closed yourself off even more than usual but I just thought you were mourning him,” Yoruichi fires back. “Not planning this. You’ve practically declared war, Kisuke. I cared for Ichigo too, we all did, but there’s no going back from this.”
“I didn’t start this war,” Kisuke tells Yoruichi as he steps around her and closer to the cliff’s edge. “The ones who decided to take Ichigo from me did.”
A pause.
A breath.
“What.” Shinji’s voice is flat, tellingly dual-toned.
Kisuke cuts a look in his direction.
“You didn’t really think that Ichigo’s body simply “gave up” did you?” Kisuke asks him. “That I would have allowed that kind of degradation to go unnoticed? Unaddressed?”
At his waist, Benihime rattles and shakes in rage.
“They murdered him,” Kisuke hisses. “Because they knew they couldn’t control him. And when he’s back, when I’ve made him whole again, I will lay these worlds at his feet in return.”
The Hōgyoku chooses then to emerge, floating upwards from the folds of Ichigo’s kimono to hover in the air in front of them.
‘Here?’ It chimes the question out.
“Yes,” Kisuke answers.
Blue tendrils of power lash out.
In front of Kisuke, just over the cliff’s edge, reality splits itself open.
There, isolated in the sky, the Royal Palace stands tall and grand.
Kisuke steps forward, Yoruichi and Shinji both on his heels.
“I did promise him my sword,” Shinji says, hand already moving to pull Sakanade from her sheath. “Have to admit I didn’t expect us to be storming the Royal Palace like this though.”
“I might not completely agree with your choices,” Yoruichi sighs, “but you’re still one of mine, Kisuke. Plus it’s been far too dull around here without Ichi-boy to tease.”
Kisuke nods at each of them in turn.
Steps forward.
“Still,” Yoruichi says, “another Hōgyoku, Kisuke?”
“Needs must,” Kisuke tells her easily enough.
“But will he see it that way?” Yoruichi asks.
“Doesn’t matter,” Kisuke smiles.
Then he steps through the portal.
~~~
Reality knits itself back together behind them.
All around and across the entire Zero Squad’s domain, alarms begin to blare.
Already Kisuke can see the defenses mounting and heading in their direction.
“Well,” Shinji says, twirling Sakanade in his hand, “here we go.”
At his waist and in his soul Benihime screams and screams and screams.
Above Kisuke’s head the Hōgyoku laughs and laughs and laughs.
Kisuke takes a deep breath, tightens his hold on Ichigo, and steps forward.
Around him, Benihime’s arms crash down like protective walls.
Blue tendrils of power swell and lash out.
Reality twists.
~~~
Kisuke steps into the Throne Room.
There, sat upon the Throne, is the macabre, twisted thing that was once Yhwach’s corpse.
The Hōgyoku, so eager and determined, flits forward to hover over the Throne.
Power swells.
Yhwach’s corpse collapses in on itself and then scatters, like sand in an invisible wind.
‘Time now? ’ The Hōgyoku chimes gleefully, even clearer than before. More evolved. More aware. ‘The Ichigo returns?’
“Soon,” Kisuke agrees as he steps forward towards the Throne, Ichigo still cradled in his own arms. “So come.”
The Hōgyoku darts forward again until it’s hovering just above Ichigo’s too still chest.
And then it drops.
Sinks down.
Sinks in.
“Kisuke?” Yoruichi, a cut decorating her brow, calls out to him again, an obvious question in her voice.
Kisuke ignores her.
Climbs the steps.
Turns.
Sits.
~~~
Kisuke is breaking.
Is shattering.
Splintering.
Dissolving from the inside out.
Being hollowed out to make room for what is attempting to come pouring in.
It’s too much.
Too much power.
Too much of Everything.
It was not meant for him.
Not meant for something such as he to hold.
He is too Simple to truly Ascend.
Too … Singular.
Kisuke does not want it.
But he needs it.
Even if it erases him in the process.
Even if he ceases to Be.
So.
Needs. Must.
~~~
Settled on the Throne of the Soul King, Ichigo clasped tightly in his arms and bloody eyes turned unseeingly towards the sky, Kisuke screams and screams and screams.
~~~
‘Ichigo,’ Kisuke thinks in those moments between heartbeats as the Universe pours itself inside of him like molten starlight. ‘Ichigo.’
A plea.
A prayer.
A demand.
“Come back to me.”
~~~
There is a sound like shattering glass.
And then …
Ichigo takes a shuddering breath.
~~~
“Kisuke,” the voice comes to him as if on the wind.
Kisuke’s not sure how he hears it over the sound of his own screams.
Over the sound of all of existence attempting to fit itself inside of him.
“Kisuke.”
He knows that voice.
Has longed for it through the long dark months since it was taken from him.
“You brought me back,” the voice says, something almost awed in its tone. “You brought me back, Kisuke. So you can’t leave me behind now, okay?”
Kisuke doesn’t want to leave.
Doesn’t want to do anything but wrap himself inside that voice and stay there for the rest of eternity.
But Existence is so loud and so heavy and Kisuke is so small.
A hand cups his jaw, a touch he can somehow feel through the agony of All Things.
“Do you remember when you asked me why I came to the Shōten?” the voice asks. “I told you that you’d figure it out one day, remember?”
Kisuke does.
He does.
“Well you’re taking too long, Geta-bōshi,” the voice teases. “So if you come back right now I’ll tell you the truth.”
Kisuke knows the answer.
He knows he does.
But he wants to hear it.
Needs to hear it.
Is desperate to hear it.
~~~
Kisuke opens his eyes.
~~~
“You love me,” Kisuke croaks, blood thick and gummy in his mouth.
He can feel himself dissolving with every breath he takes.
But it doesn’t matter.
Because, straddling his lap, his hands cradling Kisuke’s face uncaring of the blood that’s pouring over his fingers and running down his wrists, Ichigo is smiling at him.
“Yeah,” Ichigo agrees, as easy and honest as breathing. “I love you.”
Kisuke sobs.
Coughs out more blood.
At his waist and in his head and in his soul Benihime is finally silent.
Calm.
Content.
“I love you too,” Kisuke manages to choke out.
“About time you figured that out,” Ichigo grins down at him.
Kisuke shudders.
“It … hurts,” Kisuke whines out in agony. “It’s … too much. Too … heavy.”
“I know,” Ichigo soothes him. “But I’m here now, okay? So you give it to me, Kisuke. I’ll carry it for you.”
Kisuke whines again, hurt and frightened.
“It’s going to be okay,” Ichigo says, thumbs stroking softly over Kisuke’s cheeks. “I can handle it. That’s my job, remember? That’s what my name means, that’s what I am.”
“First,” Kisuke chokes out, “Protector.”
“Exactly,” Ichigo agrees as he leans forward to press their foreheads together. “And that was before you gave me another upgrade, Kisuke. You made me even stronger. So this? This will be easy.”
And Kisuke …
Kisuke loves him.
Kisuke trusts him.
Kisuke reaches up a hand.
Cups the back of Ichigo’s neck in one bloody palm.
Pulls him closer.
Ichigo’s mouth opens instantly to the slide of Kisuke’s bloody tongue.
For a moment, a brief eternal second, they kiss.
Sweet and bloody like so much of everything else that’s ever passed between them has been.
And then …
Kisuke lets go.
He pours himself and the Universe into Ichigo.
~~~
And Ichigo?
Ichigo takes it all.
Now and forever more, First Protector to all he holds dear.
~~~
Kisuke wakes to the scent of tea.
When he opens his eyes the world is clear.
He can see the crescent moon shining down on him.
Can pick out the individual stars again.
Kisuke turns his head.
Settled at his side, tea cup in hand, Ichigo smiles at him.
He’s still dressed in the kimono Kisuke had made for him, still has the golden choker with its gem.
But his hair is even longer than it was before, his skin is still too-pale, and his fingers are tipped in black claws capped in gold.
And on Ichigo’s head sits a boney crown, the pieces woven into and sticking up through his hair in jagged bits that glow golden at the edges.
His eyes are different too.
They’re all jet-black sclera and golden, lotus-shaped irises now.
But none of that matters to Kisuke.
Because Ichigo’s eyes are still warm.
They still look at Kisuke the same way as they did before.
“I’ve missed your tea,” Kisuke finds himself saying.
“Really?” Ichigo asks, brows arched high. “That’s what you’re opening with? The tea?”
“It’s good tea,” Kisuke defends himself. “Mine never turns out as good as yours anymore.”
“That’s because at least half of the time I’m giving you decaf,” Ichigo tells him.
Kisuke stops.
Stares.
“I rewrote the fabric of reality for you,” Kisuke tells him as he presses himself up onto his elbows. “And all this time you’ve been giving me decaffeinated tea?”
“Well when you put it like that …” Ichigo trails off.
There’s a pause.
A moment of comfortable silence.
“I’ve missed you,” Kisuke’s not ashamed of how ragged the words sound. “I lost you, they took you from me, and I couldn’t …”
“You found me,” Ichigo soothes, one hand reaching out to cup the line of Kisuke’s jaw. Thumbs away the tears he finds there. “You brought me back, Kisuke. And I’m not going anywhere ever again.”
Kisuke turns his face into the touch, presses a kiss against the warmth of Ichigo’s palm.
Basks in the pulse of power he can feel hidden just beneath Ichigo’s skin.
He’s done it.
He’s really, actually done it.
Ichigo is back.
Is alive and warm and here.
And that?
That is all that matters.
“I did things,” Kisuke admits, unable to keep his silence, unable to hide anything from Ichigo ever again. “Horrible things. You might hate me for them. I’d do them all again anyways.”
Kisuke has what he wants now.
Has accomplished his goals.
Ichigo is back, is restored and whole and will never be cut down again.
Kisuke is ready and willing to pay whatever price Ichigo demands of him.
“I love you, Kisuke,” Ichigo says then, as honest and easy as breathing. “That’s all that matters. Everything else is just … details. We’ll figure it out.”
Ichigo leans down.
Presses a kiss against Kisuke’s mouth.
Pulls back and hands him his tea.
And finally, finally, Kisuke is home.