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It hurts.
“M-Mom.”
It hurts.
“Mo-m, please.”
It hurts.
“Get up,” Ichigo can’t help but whine.
He knows he’s supposed to be brave now. Knows he’s supposed to be strong.
He’s a big brother now, has little Karin and Yuzu to look after, and that means he can’t be so soft anymore.
Dad tells him so all the time now.
And then he takes Ichigo out into the backyard when Mom isn’t home and he, he, he…
Ichigo’s mind shies away from those memories.
“Please,” Ichigo’s face scrunches up tightly, eyes welling up with fat tears that mix with the b̶̠̲̈l̶͙̦̲̮͚̈́ọ̶̈́̍̑ő̶̮̈̿̓͝ḑ̶̨̡̲͙̆̾͠ warm rain he can feel seeping into him from above.
It hurts so bad.
“She’s dead as fuck, kid,” The voice, low and rasping, comes from Ichigo’s right.
It startles Ichigo so badly that he chokes on the fresh sob building in his chest.
When he manages to turn his head enough to look, Ichigo’s breath catches in his throat.
Because crouched there beside him, is a man.
But he looks … wrong.
He’s tall and there’s something about his face that makes Ichigo feel as if he knows him.
Or as if he should.
But …
He’s white.
From his skin to his hair to the outfit he’s wearing.
It’s all white.
Everything except for the gold-on-black glow of his eyes.
“P-Please,” Ichigo manages to rasp, eyes blinking against the rain. “Help. My mom. Y-You gotta help her.”
“No can do, rugrat,” the man says, head tilting just a bit to the side. “She’s dead. Has been for a while and you know it. So stop lying to yourself.”
Ichigo whines, high and broken in the back of his throat, and the weight on his chest that he refuses to think about M̸̝̹͂ö̶̡̺́m̷̻̣̾͌ ̸̻̬̈́̽p̴̪̿͛l̸̥̰̀e̸͈͇͝a̵̺̞̒s̸̡͠ẹ̶͂͂ ̸̡̠͝M̵̡̝͒̋ǫ̵͂͘͜m̶̘̾ ̵̥̆̋g̵͎̱̋͐ẻ̷͕̓t̵̨͗͝ ̴̝͑͘ṵ̴̢̈́͋p̴̹̐͘ͅ feels heavier than ever.
“Hey now,” a too-white hand comes down and flicks Ichigo on the nose, “that’s enough of that.”
The jolt that rocks through Ichigo at the touch leaves him reeling.
For a split second he feels as if there’s a name on the tip of his tongue S̷͖̓h̴͕͐í̴̻r̴̝͝ ̸̦́.̸̦̈́.̶̝̋.̴͙̿ ̷̯͝g̵̡̈ě̵͍t̴̥̓š̷̼u̵̦͝ ̷̮̓.̵̲̆.̸̈́ͅ.̵̣̔ ̴͖̃Ẁ̴͚h̴̰̕i̶͇̕t̶̯̓ ̵͚̌.̸̯̋.̶̕͜.̸̙̌ ̵̟̚Ơ̸̠s̶̲̿ṣ̸̔ ̵̫̚.̴̪̊.̶͙̊.̴̰́ but it fades away in the next breath.
Ichigo goes silent.
“That’s better,” the man says. “You ready to listen now?”
Ichigo nods.
“Good,” the man nods. “She’s dead. A monster killed her. You know that, you saw it.”
“N-No,” Ichigo denies, head shaking back and forth rapidly. “T-There was a g-girl.”
“Nope,” the man pops the ‘p’ obnoxiously. “No girl. Just a lure, a fuck ugly fisher, and vermin that needs to be put down.”
“I saw her,” Ichigo tells him desperately.
He did.
He did see the girl. He had to have. She’s what he’d run towards, that little girl by the rising river edge.
He did.
Because …
Because if he didn’t …
If there was no girl …
Then that means …
That means he…
That means it was hi-
“N-No,” Ichigo gasps out.
“Stop. Lying. ” The man barks out again.
This time the man brings his hand down to press the tip of a single finger against Ichigo’s forehead.
Pain jolts through his brain, starbursts and lightning strikes of agony.
And suddenly Ichigo r e m e m b e r s.
The girl by the river, the monster, the flash of blue light, Mom’s scream, the mad laughter, the warm weight of her laying limp on Ichigo’s chest as his world breaks down around him.
Ichigo sobs.
Brings his arms up to clutch at his Mom’s too still body.
“There you go,” the man’s voice softens just a bit. “I know it hurts but you need to know the truth this time. From the start. You’ll thank me one day. Or maybe you won’t. Who fucking knows anymore?”
There’s a pause.
A sigh.
A murmur of “Geta-boshi better appreciate what I’m doing for his ass.”
“Look kid,” the man says. “We don’t have a lot of time left but I’ve got an offer for you. So stop the snotting and pay attention.”
There’s something so commanding, so urgent, in his voice that Ichigo actually does.
“What if I told you I knew a way to make you strong?” The man asks. “What if you could kill the monster that took her from you? What if you could be strong enough to not lose anyone ever again? What if I told you that one day you’d meet someone who’d love you enough to rip the very stars apart? Someone you’d break time and space itself for? Would you want that?”
And Ichigo…
Ichigo is young.
He’s young and he’s soft and he doesn’t like to fight or get in trouble and his Mom is is is
But …
“Yes.”
There was only ever going to be one answer to that.
“There’s my future King,” the man says, obviously pleased. “Knew you’d choose right.”
The man reaches out that too-white hand again, fingers splayed, and lets it hover just over Ichigo’s face.
“First lesson then, little Prince,” the man grins, sun-gold eyes bright over a black hole mouth, “No one is coming to save you. So get up.”
The hand slams down onto Ichigo’s face.
And then all Ichigo knows …
Is pain.