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May. 25th, 2010 07:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
queenofchalicesTitle: The Devil's Plaything, Chapter 13 - Death and the Devil
Series: Bleach
Rating: R
Warnings: AU, het (IchiHime, lots of other pairings eventually), blood, guts, testosterone, ANGST
Spoilers: This is AU. We don't need spoilers, where we're going.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to a lot of Japanese people, namely people like Tite Kubo and Shonen Jump. You'll notice how none of those are me. The LiveJournal format that you'll probably be reading this in (if you're one of my friends) is rough draft and is subject to revision. Consider this a 'sneak peek'. If something sits the wrong way with you, let me know. This will probably (never) be updated weekly, until I eventually drop it like every other project ever. Not responsible for epileptic seizures or allergic reactions. May contain eye-and-brain-bleeding levels of radioactive ANGST and/or peanut products. Please sit a reasonable distance from your computer screen.
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If Kurosaki Ichigo had been asked to define hell itself, he couldn't have imagined what the past three days would have been like.
There was the waiting. He had healed almost immediately after waking, leaving him with plenty of energy but nothing to do with it. If he thought about it, it was odd; he'd never healed this fast before, and some of the cuts Kenpachi had given him were pretty deep. Nothing even left a scar. He chalked it up to whatever seal had been broken and left it at that.
Then there was the isolation. Urahara had warned him that he'd be a danger to Orihime if he left that room, but what he hadn't immediately told him was that there was some kind of barrier around the room. Sound, smell, and even temperature were all strictly regulated by this barrier. Ichigo suspected it had to do with Orihime's blood; for whatever reason, he knew he was particularly sensitive to the smell of it. Without his limiter, there was no telling what he'd do if he caught a good whiff of it.
Aside from the barrier, there was nothing to do in the tiny convalescence room Urahara had provided him. Sure, he'd been given some sudoku to do, and Chad had brought his schoolwork by, but that could only occupy so much time. There was a small television as well, but there were only so many game shows Ichigo could watch before he wanted to break the damn thing. The radio wasn't much better.
He had entertained a steady, but slow, stream of visitors, as well. Rukia and Chad had been frequent visitors, as well as Renji and Rangiku to a lesser degree. Rukia and Rangiku often brought word of Orihime's condition; Ichigo actually suspected she was the reason Rangiku visited him at all, but he kept that particular train of thought to himself.
From what he'd heard, though, she was slowly mending her wounds. Slow was, of course, a relative term for her. Ichigo was well aware that any normal human would've been killed when that sword pierced their chest. But Orihime was far from normal, and he knew that very well. In fact, even though she had been in desperate shape when she arrived, she had stabilized before Ichigo had even woken up. She still wasn't up and around yet, but he figured it wouldn't be long.
Still, it didn't excuse her being injured in the first place.
Every time Ichigo looked in the mirror now, he hated the person that stared back at him. If he hadn't been so distracted by her arrival, he could have protected her. If he hadn't been so wrapped up in his bloodlust, he would've noticed her arrival in the first place. It was almost like he could even hear a faint voice that sounded like a distorted version of his own telling him what a loser he was. Just one more thing for him to avoid, right?
So when Urahara stuck his head into the room for the third time that day, Ichigo was well ready to throw something at him. His constantly cheery countenance had worn out its welcome roughly twenty minutes after Ichigo had found himself there in the first place.
"Kurosaki-san~!" He chimed, unsealing the barrier just enough to step inside, "I have some good news for you!" Yet one more thing to add to Ichigo's ever-growing list of annoyances; whenever anyone opened that barrier, he could faintly smell Orihime. It wasn't quite enough to drive him into a frenzy, but it was definitely enough to agitate his senses.
"What?" He asked bluntly. He wasn't in the mood for niceties.
What he had failed to notice at first, however, was that Urahara was holding a small box when he stepped into the room. As soon as he did see it, though, his eyebrows rose.
"So ill-tempered," Urahara tsked, "But this is something you really want, Kurosaki-san!" The pieces in Ichigo's mind immediately clicked into place.
"My regulator," he observed, watching as the shady merchant looked out at him from beneath the brim of his hat. He was answered with a sly smile. Urahara then pushed the parcel into Ichigo's hands.
"Go on, open it," Urahara's voice seemed to almost titter with excitement. Ichigo gave him a quizzical look.
"You act like you're giving me some kind of present," he said warily. At this observation, Urahara only grinned.
"Oh no," he chirped, "Presents are free, and those are quite expensive!" Ichigo's stomach sank; he suspected he was going to be working part time for this crook until he died.
Even so, he needed this regulator to even be normal anymore, and he'd be damned if he'd turn it away now. So with that gnawing feeling still present, he opened the package. And after clearing away the unnecessary padding, he finally found it.
It was relatively small, small enough to fit into the palm of his hand, and shaped like a crescent moon. It seemed to be made of solid silver, or possibly even white gold, and attached to a slender chain just big enough to hide the charm inside his shirt. Ichigo held it up to get a good look at it, letting the chain dangle from his fingers as he examined it.
"This is it?" He asked, a touch of incredulity in his voice, "It looks so... Frail." And girly, he added in his mind.
"This?" Urahara asked, pointing to the chain, "Don't let its appearance fool you. It was literally forged in the fires of Hell. That's what took me so long to get it!" There was something distinctly off-putting about the cheery tone of voice he was using to talk about the fires of Hell and all, but Ichigo tried to ignore that as he slid the necklace over his head.
As soon as the chain settled against his skin, it was like a wave of cold water washing over him. His senses dulled back down to a comfortable level, leaving him to recognize that the lighting in his room had been rather poor the whole time. He was also hit with the cold in the room; his body had apparently been close to overheating, too. And finally, there was the blissful deadening of his sense of smell back to regular human levels. The infuriating, sickly-sweet smell of blood that crept in whenever the door was opened had finally stopped tormenting him. He couldn't repress the sigh of relief that escaped his lips as soon as the metal hit his skin.
"It appears to be working," Urahara observed, his voice reverting to its more serious tone. He appeared to be studying Ichigo intently, probably looking for any outer changes or signs the regulator wasn't working. Ichigo simply nodded, hardly able to speak with his newfound sense of relief. God, it felt good to be normal again.
"Well, then!" Urahara exclaimed, his seriousness finished for the moment, "If you're comfortable, I suppose you'll want to see her?" Ichigo's head snapped up, his heart skipping a beat in his chest. Finally!
"Yeah," he croaked, his voice hoarse from disuse, "Is she..?" Urahara's look softened.
"She's awake and well enough to receive visitors," he answered simply, anticipating Ichigo's question, "Matsumoto-san should've told you that." Ichigo did recall her saying that - obviously she'd have been well enough to receive visitors if Rangiku saw her.
"I just wanted to be sure," he said, his tone strangely sheepish. He didn't want to disturb her if she was asleep.
"Saa," Urahara answered, standing from his cross-legged position and dusting himself off, "I'll take you to her. Oh, and... Kurosaki-san? One more thing..." Ichigo looked at him curiously as he also rose.
"Yeah?" He asked, noting the somewhat concerned look on Urahara's face.
"Inoue-san is very special," he said softly, "You're going to have to take good care of her from now on." Ichigo's features were a mixture of shame and determination as he nodded in response.
"I will," he quietly vowed. Urahara cast him a look that could only be described as piteous.
"You need to understand," Urahara said, his voice still low, "She's very... I suppose valuable is the right word. If the wrong person knew this, she'd be in incredible danger." Ichigo looked calm on the outside, but inside his stomach was roiling. And something else surfaced in his mind, too - a not entirely familiar feeling of possessiveness. It was almost a hiss or a growl, almost faintly audible. A warning, perhaps from his subconscious, that he needed to be more careful of her.
"I'll watch out for her," he easily volunteered. Urahara didn't look exactly convinced, but he nodded anyway.
"You'll need more training," he said, ducking his head inside his hat as he disestablished the barrier locking Ichigo inside his room, "If that day comes, that you need to defend her, you need to be ready." Ichigo wasn't exactly sure what day he was talking about, but this decision was a no-brainer: it was his fault Orihime was laid up now, he didn't want to see her hurt again, and the idea of anyone else trying to hurt her literally made his stomach clinch in anger.
"I will," Ichigo answered firmly. Urahara simply nodded his assent, leading him out of the small room and into the clean, warm hallway. The higher temperature soothed Ichigo out of his earlier consternation over the chill in his convalescence room, causing the goosebumps on his arms to settle down. The lights out here were brighter, less dampened, and he could see clearly down the wooden and paper halls.
Strangely enough, something within him seemed to be reaching out, looking for Orihime's presence. He hadn't realized it until just now, but even through that barrier, he could always tell she was just a few rooms down. Now, though, it felt as though something was missing; a dropped note in a song, an object missing from a still life, a spice left out of a dish. As Urahara stopped in front of one of the doors down from his, he finally picked her presence back up. He could only faintly feel it through his regulator, but she was there. His tense muscles relaxed, soothed by her familiar presence.
As the shaggy shopkeeper slid the door open, Ichigo craned his neck to see around him. Orihime's room was apparently well-lit and smelled of antiseptic, bandages, and Get Well Soon bouquets. As Urahara stepped forward, Ichigo finally caught a glimpse of the creature that had been plaguing his thoughts for the past three days.
"Inoue-san~!" Urahara sang happily, causing Ichigo to wince, "You have a visitor!" When Ichigo properly laid eyes on the girl, though, he felt pain lance his chest.
She was just barely conscious, possibly even having been caught just coming into or out of a nap. Her face seemed peaceful enough, eyes heavily lidded and lips parted, but Ichigo suspected that was due to some serious pain medication. Her dazed expression seemed to back up that assessment, as well. Her hair spread out around her head in an auburn halo, messy from sleep and days of laying on her back. And just beneath her pajamas, Ichigo could see bandages peeking shyly out at him. Even with his regular human senses, he could smell the blood underneath. Although she was clearly healing, the wound was still seeping and those bandages would have needed to be changed frequently. He suspected that was why her smell had been so strong and frustrating to him lately.
"Kurosaki-kun?" she said quietly, following him with her eyes as he stepped around Urahara and came to kneel beside her. Her lips tugged up at the edges to favor him with a tired smile. He knew she was straining for that smile; it made it all that much sweeter, didn't it?
"Yeah, I'm here," he muttered, taking one of her hands and gently brushing his thumb across her knuckles, "How do you feel?"
"Tired," she answered lightly, although Ichigo could sense the truth in her words, "Urahara-san said I might be able to sit up again tomorrow, though!" Ichigo tried to give her a smile in return, but he was sure it looked strained and taut.
"He did?" he forced out with fake enthusiasm, "That's great, Inoue. You'll... You'll be back at school before you know it." To Ichigo's surprise, Orihime lifted her other hand and touched his cheek. Her fingers were warm and feather-light as they traced his jaw, her eyes almost boring into his.
"Kurosaki-kun," she whispered, "It's not your fault, okay? I was reckless." Ichigo's eyes slid closed as he listened to her. He couldn't bear to see her like this, blaming herself.
"Shh," he hushed her, bringing her hand to his chin. She continued, though, ignoring his voice.
"Urahara-san said he'd train me," she continued on as Ichigo winced, "I'm going to learn how to use my shield so this won't happen again." The idea of Orihime working off her training fees for Urahara rankled him more than a little; he certainly didn't enjoy having to do it, he didn't want to see her have to do the same.
"Inoue, hush," he finally said, softly but firmly, "It wasn't your fault - it was mine. I got carried away and let you get hurt. It won't... It won't happen again." Orihime's eyes actually opened a bit more at this, concern shining in them as she looked up at Ichigo.
"But..." she began, silenced as he continued.
"From now on, I swear I'm going to protect you," Ichigo said firmly, causing her eyes to widen more. He could swear he saw the pain of recognition flicker across her face for just a second before tears began to gather in the corners of her eyes.
"No," she whispered, "I don't want... I don't want you to get hurt..." Even though Ichigo could hear the horror in her voice, he didn't understand where it was coming from. Nor did he really care right now; his mind was already made up. If she needed him to be brave, then by god, he was going to be brave enough for the two of them.
"I don't remember asking your permission," Ichigo said with a small smile, touching her fingers to his lips, "Don't worry about me, Inoue. I'm going to get stronger. I promise you I will."
Urahara had slipped out almost as soon as Ichigo had entered. When the boy finally emerged from the room several minutes later, he was waiting for him, leaning against the wall with his arms folded into his sleeves. His normal jovial nature hadn't entirely returned just yet, which was just as well for Ichigo since he wasn't feeling all that happy just then anyway.
"You're going to train her?" he finally asked, his voice gruff. He knew his disapproval shone through in his words, but he didn't exactly care much.
"You disapprove?" Urahara asked bluntly. Ichigo looked up at him warily.
"I don't think I could stop you even if I wanted to," Ichigo observed, causing the merchant to break out into a grin.
"Nope," he replied cheerily, "Not really!" That got him a huff in return.
"Are you gonna make her do odd jobs, too?" Ichigo groused, folding his arms against his chest. To say he didn't trust Urahara around her that much was a bit of an understatement.
"Why, Kurosaki-san!" Urahara sang back at him, "Are you volunteering to work off her training, too? You must be feeling very generous today!" Ichigo sputtered, his face turning beet red.
"I didn't say that!" he nearly yelled. That dirty shopkeeper, he probably planned it that way!
"Just kidding!" he chirped, stunning Ichigo into silence, "She already has a benefactor willing to pay for it." Ichigo blinked away his confusion.
"You mean Kenpachi?" he asked incredulously. Did that roughneck seriously have that much money?
"Oh no," Urahara replied, hiding his eyes with his hat, "He's only footing the bill for her treatment. This is someone else." Ichigo's brows knitted as he thought; wasn't Orihime's brother dead? Could the relatives who'd been supporting her all this time have volunteered for it?
"Either way, that's no concern of yours!" Urahara continued, "Just know that I have the ability to make good on my promises!" The scruffy shopkeeper began wandering away down the hall, waving and calling after Ichigo as he left.
"You're free to go, Kurosaki-san!" he called, "You can even have the rest of the day off!"
Ichigo swore under his breath; this old man was going to be the death of him.
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As soon as Ichigo reached home, he threw his duffel bag onto the floor and flopped heavily onto his bed. The springs creaked with his weight, but he hardly noticed. He was still preoccupied with all the horrible things he was imagining Urahara would do to Orihime.
Jumping jacks? He was sure there would be some of those. Gym uniform? The old pervert probably had a fetish. School swimsuit? His imagination got progressively worse.
"Oi!"
Ichigo's red face snapped up from the covers of his bed at the sound of his little lion familiar's obnoxious voice. Great, just what he needed - another pervert.
"What?" He muttered, dropping his head back to the bed.
"It's about damn time you got back," Kon fussed, jumping onto his back, "Do you know the kind of hell your dad put me through this weekend?! He had me stacking first aid kits for two straight days! I'd finish stacking them in one room, and then he'd want them all moved to a room down the hall!"
Ichigo tried his best to tune the familiar out. He was in no mood to listen to his whining.
"What kind of monster does that to a healthy teenage boy?! I ask you! I should've gotten to go out and chase tail, not work my tail off!"
Ichigo rolled onto his back, pillowing his head beneath his folded arms.
"For gods sake, Kon," he grumbled, "No chasing tail with my face." He was suddenly grateful his dad was such a loon sometimes.
Without warning, Ichigo swung his legs to the floor, knocking Kon over in the bed. Then he rose, trudging towards the door of his room.
"Hey, where are you going?" Kon demanded, "I haven't finished telling you about my crappy weekend!"
"'M goin' to take a leak," Ichigo grumbled, ruffling his hair as he stepped out into the hall.
The house was still early-afternoon quiet. Karin and Yuzu were still at their sports and clubs, and Isshin probably had one of his usual check ups down in the clinic. Ichigo was fully intent on enjoying the quiet before dinner hit the house like a hurricane.
After finishing his bathroom call, Ichigo stood before the bathroom sink and mirror. As he zipped his fly, he could have sworn he heard something - or someone. It was only a soft, raspy sound, almost an unintelligible murmur, but it was definitely someone else's voice. When he lifted his head to look towards the door, though, a peculiar thing happened.
He saw it out of the corner of his eye first, but as he slowly turned his head towards the mirror, the image began to come into focus. It wasn't his own reflection staring back at him anymore.
Rather, it wasn't exactly his reflection. It was certainly created in his image, of that there was no doubt. It had his face, his spiky, shaggy hair. But instead of the blank expression Ichigo could swear he was wearing, his alter image was grinning, staring him down like he was sure a predator would.
This wasn't the oddest thing about him, either. The oddest thing was the way he appeared to almost be a negative image of Ichigo. His hair and his skin were completely white, his nails and sclera black, his irises a sickening golden yellow, and his tongue blue. And instead of the street clothes Ichigo was wearing, he was dressed in a white version of the tattered coat Ichigo's regulator hid from view.
Ichigo stared in shock at the strange apparition for a few more seconds, quietly convinced he must be hallucinating.
"Howdy, partner," the oddly distorted voice came clearly to him for the first time since he'd begun hearing it days ago. It hadn't even looked like the thing had moved its lips.
"What the fu--" Ichigo began before being silenced by the sound of the front door being opened and shut downstairs.
"ICHIGO!" Came his father's booming voice, "I need those first aid kits moved again! Where are you?"
Ichigo flinched before glancing back at the mirror. Whatever the white copy of him had come for, he had vanished just as suddenly, without a trace.
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The next day at school was little better.
Immediately upon entering the classroom, Ichigo was struck once again by Orihime's absence. Her desk and the area around it were deserted. Instead of the usual chatter of girlish gossip, a low murmur greeted Ichigo as he walked to his desk. Without her, the classroom seemed more like a dungeon.
Worse than that, he could feel those eyes on him again. He could tell Ishida was glaring daggers at him. That weird girl that hung out with him was quietly observing him while trying to pretend she wasn't. Renji and Rukia were casting him looks full of pity. And worst of all, Tatsuki was now studying him as well.
Ichigo sighed, pillowing his arms against his desk and resting his head on them. He deserved Ishida's hatred, every bit of it. And if Tatsuki came over right then and decked him, he deserved every bit of that, too.
"Hey," an almost too-cheery voice broke Ichigo out of his reverie, "This seat taken?" The first thought Ichigo had was that the speaker, some kid with blond hair that he'd never seen before, was referring to Orihime's desk. He was just about to tell him where he would put his foot if he sat in her chair when he noticed that he was actually referring to the empty seat immediately to Ichigo's right.
"Oh," he answered dully, "Nah. Go ahead." The kid sprawled across the chair, folding his lanky legs like some kind of weird insect, a toothy grin spreading across his face. Ichigo did his best to ignore his stare, although he was finding it harder and harder.
"You look like someone kicked your puppy," he finally volunteered, a bit too happily for Ichigo's tastes. His cinnamon-colored eyes flickered over to the blond kid and his obnoxious grin.
"That's none of your damn business," Ichigo grumbled, his voice and his countenance a warning to leave well enough alone.
"Tou-chy!" The new guy drawled, leaning his chair back on two legs, "Better be careful, Kurosaki - some people could take that as a challenge." Ichigo snorted and turned to face the gray dreary window on his left.
'Wait,' Ichigo thought after a few seconds had passed, 'How did he know my name?'
Before he could say anything about this, though, the bell rang and Ochi-sensei entered to take roll. Ichigo continued staring at the unreasonably cheerful new student until the teacher was finished, at which point she managed to get his attention.
"Alright, kids, listen up!" she said, causing Ichigo's eyebrows to rise and his expression to lighten, "We've got a new student with us today, so don't embarrass yourselves while he makes his introduction! Come on up here, new kid!" As the students murmured to themselves, least of all about Ochi-sensei's odd introduction, the blond that had seated himself beside Ichigo stood with a grin.
Ichigo watched with poorly disguised interest as the new guy wrote his name on the blackboard before turning back to face the rest of the class with a bow.
"My name's Hirako Shinji," he said, his odd kansai-ben dialect peeking through, "I'm fifteen years old and my hobbies are listening to music, body piercing, hats, and reversing things!" There was a bit of confused laughter that wafted through the room at his description as the class simply assumed he had an odd sense of humor.
Ichigo merely stared at him, a look of concentration etched across his face. Maybe it was the new regulator, but Ichigo could feel something off about the new kid. In fact, now that he thought about it, he didn't feel quite like anyone else in the room - not like a baseline human and not like Renji, Rukia, or Chad, either. There was something odd about this guy alright, but he was sure it wasn't his sense of humor. But what was it?
"I hope I'll be able to make plenty of friends here among the ladies! Well, and maybe the guys, too, I guess."
He could see he wasn't alone in his suspicion. Renji and Rukia exchanged looks before Rukia looked back to check Ichigo's expression as well. Ishida looked singularly perturbed and the black-haired girl next to him seemed quietly intrigued. All of them followed the lanky youth with their eyes as he finished his little presentation and walked back to his seat.
Ichigo made a mental note to confront the new kid over lunch. He waited patiently through the eternity that called itself Pre-Calc and Japanese Literature, the morning stretching forever before him. As he willed his mind to wander away from the classroom for most of the morning, the sneering white face from the bathroom mirror came back to his mind unbidden.
What was that thing? It looked like him and, in some distorted way, even sounded like him. He hadn't heard that weird echo since the apparition had appeared to him yesterday, but it wasn't far from the edge of his consciousness. He could feel it there, just beyond the borders of his waking mind. It hadn't left; it was merely waiting for something, biding its time. But for what?
"You won't get rid of me that easy, Ichigo," came the wavering whisper from the back of his mind. Ichigo's eyes snapped open from their previous lull, his drowsy head quickly coming to attention at the quiet sound of that voice. As his heartbeat thrummed in his ears, Chad placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Lunch time," he said simply, "Didn't you hear the bell?" Ichigo shifted his wide eyes up towards Chad, who was standing over his desk as the rest of the class put away their books and headed towards the door. He shook off the shock of that voice coming back to him again, trying his best to hide his nervousness from his best friend.
"Sorry, I was distracted," he mumbled, "You go on ahead. I'll meet you in a few." He knew quite well that Chad was aware of how he felt regarding Orihime's injuries, so it didn't surprise him when his tall friend nodded, gave his shoulder a squeeze, and headed for the door.
But as he looked over to the seat beside him, he noticed that Shinji was already gone.
Swearing to himself, Ichigo rose and walked quickly to the door of the classroom, shouldering some of his classmates out of the way as he went. He stuck his head out, looking both ways down the hall before swearing under his breath again; the blond kid was fast, of that there was no doubt. Deciding that he was going to talk to him come hell or high water, Ichigo picked a direction and began walking.
After he turned a corner and passed a row of lockers, though, a hand shot from the door of an empty classroom and jerked him inside. As the door slid shut behind him and he was pressed against the closed door, he looked up to see who had grabbed him. His eyes narrowed when he found himself staring straight into a pair of similarly-narrowed cobalt blue ones.
"Nice to see you, too, Ishida," Ichigo ground out, "I see you missed me while I was out." The thinner boy jerked Ichigo's collar, sending his back slamming into the door again.
"You were only gone for a day," Ishida replied as he released Ichigo, his point having been made, "I could care less what you were doing, demon. You know what I want to talk to you about." Ichigo felt something swell within his chest like a low growl.
"That is none of your goddamned business," Ichigo spat, rage boiling within him at Ishida's prying. The black-haired boy's eyes narrowed behind glinting glasses.
"Like hell it's not," came the chilly reply, "She's a human girl, deviant. If you did something to her, I'll see to it that you pay."
Ichigo's fists shook with barely-contained fury. Yes, he knew he was at fault for what happened. He knew he wouldn't even blame Ishida if he did something about it. But the way he seemed to be appointing himself Orihime's guardian rubbed him raw. What did he know about her? If he actually cared, he wouldn't have kidnapped her after school that day two months ago! And even though he felt responsible for her injuries, the way Ishida acted like he'd intentionally hurt her infuriated him.
"What the hell do you know?!" he finally exploded, just barely restraining himself from punching the black-haired boy in the jaw, "You think I'd hurt her on purpose?! Screw you, Ishida! You don't know dick!"
Ishida looked unmoved for the majority of Ichigo's outburst, his steely disposition unwavering. It wasn't until he'd thrown his fourth epithet at him that Ishida even looked surprised by any of it. Considering his consistent reaction to the rest of his litany of curses, Ichigo stopped talking as soon as he noticed the other boy's expression.
"What?!" he snapped, "Did something I said finally get through your thick skull?" Ishida's eye twitched, his gaze never moving from Ichigo's face.
"Your eyes," he observed quietly, sternly, raising a delicately boned hand to point at Ichigo's face, "There's something wrong with them." Ichigo could feel his anger drain at this statement; what the hell was he talking about?
"What are you talking about?" he asked, rubbing at his eyes, "They feel just fine." While it was true that he could see just fine out of them at the moment - they were lacking their natural photosensitivity - there was something off about them. They had begun to feel a bit warm around the edges, as though some kind of heat were seeping around the corners of them. He only noticed it in retrospect, and because Ishida had brought it up; otherwise, he wouldn't have even realized anything was off about them.
"Something was moving in the corners of them," Ishida observed, "It's not anything I've ever seen or heard of before. There was black in the whites of your eyes."
Ichigo's eyes widened, remembering the apparition from the day before. His eyes were like that. He looked at the curious expression on Ishida's face for a few more seconds before moving to leave.
"I gotta go," he said gruffly, practically flying out the door before slamming it shut behind him. With any luck, he'd be able to get to the bathroom and fix whatever was wrong with his eyes before lunch was over.
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As soon as Ichigo had arrived in the bathroom, he had inspected his face, only to find no trace of the sinister black sclera that had haunted his every waking moment for the past day. That warped voice was also mysteriously absent. So after splashing a bit of water on his face, he joined Chad for lunch and tried to appear as calm as possible.
That calm facade was no indication of what was actually going on inside Ichigo, though. For all intents and purposes, his mind was a battlefield for the rest of the day. His thoughts were in disarray at this development, tumbling rapidly over one another, even in the lazy early afternoon doze of the classroom. What did this mean? Was his white clone forcing himself into his body? Would he even be able to do that? What triggered it? Yelling? Anger? What?
So it was with cloudy mind and heavy heart that Ichigo ditched going to Wraith House that afternoon and trudged instead to Urahara's shop. He paid a brief visit to Orihime, who was doing marginally better; she could sit up and eat soup on her own now, although he found it just plain weird that Urahara's bespectacled helper seemed to enjoy her bizarre requests for different ingredients. If nothing else, it was certainly odd that there were two people in the world who would even eat, let alone enjoy, spicy cream of asparagus and tomato soup.
He didn't mention the weird hallucinations or the fight with Ishida to her. She didn't need to worry about things like that right now, and he suspected that if he told her, she'd just blame herself somehow. He did, however, politely decline when she offered him a bowl of the special soup Tessai had made just for her.
When he asked Urahara to begin his training, however, he was dismissed with an address written on a small sheet of paper. Because Urahara was less suited to train him now, according to Urahara himself, he was sending him to someone better specialized for what he needed. This struck Ichigo as odd - he still couldn't even best Urahara himself in a real bout, nor did he know what Urahara meant by 'what he needed' - but he let it slide with a defeated sigh. He was warned not to bring Chad or anyone else with him to that address, scolded for acting so very put upon where Orihime might overhear, and then sent on his way.
Which had led him to the building he now stood before.
It was old and dilapidated, belonging to one of the human slums in one of the less-patrolled parts of town. Colorful, faded graffiti painted the various crumbling brick and mortar tenements he had passed to get there. Deep shadows hung over every alleyway, hiding destitute humans in various states of dress and undress and decay. And the smell - Ichigo didn't even need his demonic senses to pick up the scent of rotten food, garbage, motor oil, and the acrid scent of smoke.
'Of course,' Ichigo thought, 'Why can't he ever send me to anybody that lives in a nice place?'
He had been knocking for the past five minutes, and since no one had answered yet, he decided to go inside of his own volition. He pushed the door to the building open past its creaking hinges and stepped inside. The foyer was a mess of debris and broken glass and at first he thought the building might be completely abandoned altogether. Screw taking his shoes off in this place; he'd be lucky not to get tetanus just looking at this mess.
Just as he was about to climb the stairway to the second floor at the back of the large foyer, he heard a familiar, obnoxious chuckle.
"'Bout time you showed up, Kurosaki! I was beginnin' to think maybe you didn't like me too much!"
Series: Bleach
Rating: R
Warnings: AU, het (IchiHime, lots of other pairings eventually), blood, guts, testosterone, ANGST
Spoilers: This is AU. We don't need spoilers, where we're going.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to a lot of Japanese people, namely people like Tite Kubo and Shonen Jump. You'll notice how none of those are me. The LiveJournal format that you'll probably be reading this in (if you're one of my friends) is rough draft and is subject to revision. Consider this a 'sneak peek'. If something sits the wrong way with you, let me know. This will probably (never) be updated weekly, until I eventually drop it like every other project ever. Not responsible for epileptic seizures or allergic reactions. May contain eye-and-brain-bleeding levels of radioactive ANGST and/or peanut products. Please sit a reasonable distance from your computer screen.
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If Kurosaki Ichigo had been asked to define hell itself, he couldn't have imagined what the past three days would have been like.
There was the waiting. He had healed almost immediately after waking, leaving him with plenty of energy but nothing to do with it. If he thought about it, it was odd; he'd never healed this fast before, and some of the cuts Kenpachi had given him were pretty deep. Nothing even left a scar. He chalked it up to whatever seal had been broken and left it at that.
Then there was the isolation. Urahara had warned him that he'd be a danger to Orihime if he left that room, but what he hadn't immediately told him was that there was some kind of barrier around the room. Sound, smell, and even temperature were all strictly regulated by this barrier. Ichigo suspected it had to do with Orihime's blood; for whatever reason, he knew he was particularly sensitive to the smell of it. Without his limiter, there was no telling what he'd do if he caught a good whiff of it.
Aside from the barrier, there was nothing to do in the tiny convalescence room Urahara had provided him. Sure, he'd been given some sudoku to do, and Chad had brought his schoolwork by, but that could only occupy so much time. There was a small television as well, but there were only so many game shows Ichigo could watch before he wanted to break the damn thing. The radio wasn't much better.
He had entertained a steady, but slow, stream of visitors, as well. Rukia and Chad had been frequent visitors, as well as Renji and Rangiku to a lesser degree. Rukia and Rangiku often brought word of Orihime's condition; Ichigo actually suspected she was the reason Rangiku visited him at all, but he kept that particular train of thought to himself.
From what he'd heard, though, she was slowly mending her wounds. Slow was, of course, a relative term for her. Ichigo was well aware that any normal human would've been killed when that sword pierced their chest. But Orihime was far from normal, and he knew that very well. In fact, even though she had been in desperate shape when she arrived, she had stabilized before Ichigo had even woken up. She still wasn't up and around yet, but he figured it wouldn't be long.
Still, it didn't excuse her being injured in the first place.
Every time Ichigo looked in the mirror now, he hated the person that stared back at him. If he hadn't been so distracted by her arrival, he could have protected her. If he hadn't been so wrapped up in his bloodlust, he would've noticed her arrival in the first place. It was almost like he could even hear a faint voice that sounded like a distorted version of his own telling him what a loser he was. Just one more thing for him to avoid, right?
So when Urahara stuck his head into the room for the third time that day, Ichigo was well ready to throw something at him. His constantly cheery countenance had worn out its welcome roughly twenty minutes after Ichigo had found himself there in the first place.
"Kurosaki-san~!" He chimed, unsealing the barrier just enough to step inside, "I have some good news for you!" Yet one more thing to add to Ichigo's ever-growing list of annoyances; whenever anyone opened that barrier, he could faintly smell Orihime. It wasn't quite enough to drive him into a frenzy, but it was definitely enough to agitate his senses.
"What?" He asked bluntly. He wasn't in the mood for niceties.
What he had failed to notice at first, however, was that Urahara was holding a small box when he stepped into the room. As soon as he did see it, though, his eyebrows rose.
"So ill-tempered," Urahara tsked, "But this is something you really want, Kurosaki-san!" The pieces in Ichigo's mind immediately clicked into place.
"My regulator," he observed, watching as the shady merchant looked out at him from beneath the brim of his hat. He was answered with a sly smile. Urahara then pushed the parcel into Ichigo's hands.
"Go on, open it," Urahara's voice seemed to almost titter with excitement. Ichigo gave him a quizzical look.
"You act like you're giving me some kind of present," he said warily. At this observation, Urahara only grinned.
"Oh no," he chirped, "Presents are free, and those are quite expensive!" Ichigo's stomach sank; he suspected he was going to be working part time for this crook until he died.
Even so, he needed this regulator to even be normal anymore, and he'd be damned if he'd turn it away now. So with that gnawing feeling still present, he opened the package. And after clearing away the unnecessary padding, he finally found it.
It was relatively small, small enough to fit into the palm of his hand, and shaped like a crescent moon. It seemed to be made of solid silver, or possibly even white gold, and attached to a slender chain just big enough to hide the charm inside his shirt. Ichigo held it up to get a good look at it, letting the chain dangle from his fingers as he examined it.
"This is it?" He asked, a touch of incredulity in his voice, "It looks so... Frail." And girly, he added in his mind.
"This?" Urahara asked, pointing to the chain, "Don't let its appearance fool you. It was literally forged in the fires of Hell. That's what took me so long to get it!" There was something distinctly off-putting about the cheery tone of voice he was using to talk about the fires of Hell and all, but Ichigo tried to ignore that as he slid the necklace over his head.
As soon as the chain settled against his skin, it was like a wave of cold water washing over him. His senses dulled back down to a comfortable level, leaving him to recognize that the lighting in his room had been rather poor the whole time. He was also hit with the cold in the room; his body had apparently been close to overheating, too. And finally, there was the blissful deadening of his sense of smell back to regular human levels. The infuriating, sickly-sweet smell of blood that crept in whenever the door was opened had finally stopped tormenting him. He couldn't repress the sigh of relief that escaped his lips as soon as the metal hit his skin.
"It appears to be working," Urahara observed, his voice reverting to its more serious tone. He appeared to be studying Ichigo intently, probably looking for any outer changes or signs the regulator wasn't working. Ichigo simply nodded, hardly able to speak with his newfound sense of relief. God, it felt good to be normal again.
"Well, then!" Urahara exclaimed, his seriousness finished for the moment, "If you're comfortable, I suppose you'll want to see her?" Ichigo's head snapped up, his heart skipping a beat in his chest. Finally!
"Yeah," he croaked, his voice hoarse from disuse, "Is she..?" Urahara's look softened.
"She's awake and well enough to receive visitors," he answered simply, anticipating Ichigo's question, "Matsumoto-san should've told you that." Ichigo did recall her saying that - obviously she'd have been well enough to receive visitors if Rangiku saw her.
"I just wanted to be sure," he said, his tone strangely sheepish. He didn't want to disturb her if she was asleep.
"Saa," Urahara answered, standing from his cross-legged position and dusting himself off, "I'll take you to her. Oh, and... Kurosaki-san? One more thing..." Ichigo looked at him curiously as he also rose.
"Yeah?" He asked, noting the somewhat concerned look on Urahara's face.
"Inoue-san is very special," he said softly, "You're going to have to take good care of her from now on." Ichigo's features were a mixture of shame and determination as he nodded in response.
"I will," he quietly vowed. Urahara cast him a look that could only be described as piteous.
"You need to understand," Urahara said, his voice still low, "She's very... I suppose valuable is the right word. If the wrong person knew this, she'd be in incredible danger." Ichigo looked calm on the outside, but inside his stomach was roiling. And something else surfaced in his mind, too - a not entirely familiar feeling of possessiveness. It was almost a hiss or a growl, almost faintly audible. A warning, perhaps from his subconscious, that he needed to be more careful of her.
"I'll watch out for her," he easily volunteered. Urahara didn't look exactly convinced, but he nodded anyway.
"You'll need more training," he said, ducking his head inside his hat as he disestablished the barrier locking Ichigo inside his room, "If that day comes, that you need to defend her, you need to be ready." Ichigo wasn't exactly sure what day he was talking about, but this decision was a no-brainer: it was his fault Orihime was laid up now, he didn't want to see her hurt again, and the idea of anyone else trying to hurt her literally made his stomach clinch in anger.
"I will," Ichigo answered firmly. Urahara simply nodded his assent, leading him out of the small room and into the clean, warm hallway. The higher temperature soothed Ichigo out of his earlier consternation over the chill in his convalescence room, causing the goosebumps on his arms to settle down. The lights out here were brighter, less dampened, and he could see clearly down the wooden and paper halls.
Strangely enough, something within him seemed to be reaching out, looking for Orihime's presence. He hadn't realized it until just now, but even through that barrier, he could always tell she was just a few rooms down. Now, though, it felt as though something was missing; a dropped note in a song, an object missing from a still life, a spice left out of a dish. As Urahara stopped in front of one of the doors down from his, he finally picked her presence back up. He could only faintly feel it through his regulator, but she was there. His tense muscles relaxed, soothed by her familiar presence.
As the shaggy shopkeeper slid the door open, Ichigo craned his neck to see around him. Orihime's room was apparently well-lit and smelled of antiseptic, bandages, and Get Well Soon bouquets. As Urahara stepped forward, Ichigo finally caught a glimpse of the creature that had been plaguing his thoughts for the past three days.
"Inoue-san~!" Urahara sang happily, causing Ichigo to wince, "You have a visitor!" When Ichigo properly laid eyes on the girl, though, he felt pain lance his chest.
She was just barely conscious, possibly even having been caught just coming into or out of a nap. Her face seemed peaceful enough, eyes heavily lidded and lips parted, but Ichigo suspected that was due to some serious pain medication. Her dazed expression seemed to back up that assessment, as well. Her hair spread out around her head in an auburn halo, messy from sleep and days of laying on her back. And just beneath her pajamas, Ichigo could see bandages peeking shyly out at him. Even with his regular human senses, he could smell the blood underneath. Although she was clearly healing, the wound was still seeping and those bandages would have needed to be changed frequently. He suspected that was why her smell had been so strong and frustrating to him lately.
"Kurosaki-kun?" she said quietly, following him with her eyes as he stepped around Urahara and came to kneel beside her. Her lips tugged up at the edges to favor him with a tired smile. He knew she was straining for that smile; it made it all that much sweeter, didn't it?
"Yeah, I'm here," he muttered, taking one of her hands and gently brushing his thumb across her knuckles, "How do you feel?"
"Tired," she answered lightly, although Ichigo could sense the truth in her words, "Urahara-san said I might be able to sit up again tomorrow, though!" Ichigo tried to give her a smile in return, but he was sure it looked strained and taut.
"He did?" he forced out with fake enthusiasm, "That's great, Inoue. You'll... You'll be back at school before you know it." To Ichigo's surprise, Orihime lifted her other hand and touched his cheek. Her fingers were warm and feather-light as they traced his jaw, her eyes almost boring into his.
"Kurosaki-kun," she whispered, "It's not your fault, okay? I was reckless." Ichigo's eyes slid closed as he listened to her. He couldn't bear to see her like this, blaming herself.
"Shh," he hushed her, bringing her hand to his chin. She continued, though, ignoring his voice.
"Urahara-san said he'd train me," she continued on as Ichigo winced, "I'm going to learn how to use my shield so this won't happen again." The idea of Orihime working off her training fees for Urahara rankled him more than a little; he certainly didn't enjoy having to do it, he didn't want to see her have to do the same.
"Inoue, hush," he finally said, softly but firmly, "It wasn't your fault - it was mine. I got carried away and let you get hurt. It won't... It won't happen again." Orihime's eyes actually opened a bit more at this, concern shining in them as she looked up at Ichigo.
"But..." she began, silenced as he continued.
"From now on, I swear I'm going to protect you," Ichigo said firmly, causing her eyes to widen more. He could swear he saw the pain of recognition flicker across her face for just a second before tears began to gather in the corners of her eyes.
"No," she whispered, "I don't want... I don't want you to get hurt..." Even though Ichigo could hear the horror in her voice, he didn't understand where it was coming from. Nor did he really care right now; his mind was already made up. If she needed him to be brave, then by god, he was going to be brave enough for the two of them.
"I don't remember asking your permission," Ichigo said with a small smile, touching her fingers to his lips, "Don't worry about me, Inoue. I'm going to get stronger. I promise you I will."
Urahara had slipped out almost as soon as Ichigo had entered. When the boy finally emerged from the room several minutes later, he was waiting for him, leaning against the wall with his arms folded into his sleeves. His normal jovial nature hadn't entirely returned just yet, which was just as well for Ichigo since he wasn't feeling all that happy just then anyway.
"You're going to train her?" he finally asked, his voice gruff. He knew his disapproval shone through in his words, but he didn't exactly care much.
"You disapprove?" Urahara asked bluntly. Ichigo looked up at him warily.
"I don't think I could stop you even if I wanted to," Ichigo observed, causing the merchant to break out into a grin.
"Nope," he replied cheerily, "Not really!" That got him a huff in return.
"Are you gonna make her do odd jobs, too?" Ichigo groused, folding his arms against his chest. To say he didn't trust Urahara around her that much was a bit of an understatement.
"Why, Kurosaki-san!" Urahara sang back at him, "Are you volunteering to work off her training, too? You must be feeling very generous today!" Ichigo sputtered, his face turning beet red.
"I didn't say that!" he nearly yelled. That dirty shopkeeper, he probably planned it that way!
"Just kidding!" he chirped, stunning Ichigo into silence, "She already has a benefactor willing to pay for it." Ichigo blinked away his confusion.
"You mean Kenpachi?" he asked incredulously. Did that roughneck seriously have that much money?
"Oh no," Urahara replied, hiding his eyes with his hat, "He's only footing the bill for her treatment. This is someone else." Ichigo's brows knitted as he thought; wasn't Orihime's brother dead? Could the relatives who'd been supporting her all this time have volunteered for it?
"Either way, that's no concern of yours!" Urahara continued, "Just know that I have the ability to make good on my promises!" The scruffy shopkeeper began wandering away down the hall, waving and calling after Ichigo as he left.
"You're free to go, Kurosaki-san!" he called, "You can even have the rest of the day off!"
Ichigo swore under his breath; this old man was going to be the death of him.
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As soon as Ichigo reached home, he threw his duffel bag onto the floor and flopped heavily onto his bed. The springs creaked with his weight, but he hardly noticed. He was still preoccupied with all the horrible things he was imagining Urahara would do to Orihime.
Jumping jacks? He was sure there would be some of those. Gym uniform? The old pervert probably had a fetish. School swimsuit? His imagination got progressively worse.
"Oi!"
Ichigo's red face snapped up from the covers of his bed at the sound of his little lion familiar's obnoxious voice. Great, just what he needed - another pervert.
"What?" He muttered, dropping his head back to the bed.
"It's about damn time you got back," Kon fussed, jumping onto his back, "Do you know the kind of hell your dad put me through this weekend?! He had me stacking first aid kits for two straight days! I'd finish stacking them in one room, and then he'd want them all moved to a room down the hall!"
Ichigo tried his best to tune the familiar out. He was in no mood to listen to his whining.
"What kind of monster does that to a healthy teenage boy?! I ask you! I should've gotten to go out and chase tail, not work my tail off!"
Ichigo rolled onto his back, pillowing his head beneath his folded arms.
"For gods sake, Kon," he grumbled, "No chasing tail with my face." He was suddenly grateful his dad was such a loon sometimes.
Without warning, Ichigo swung his legs to the floor, knocking Kon over in the bed. Then he rose, trudging towards the door of his room.
"Hey, where are you going?" Kon demanded, "I haven't finished telling you about my crappy weekend!"
"'M goin' to take a leak," Ichigo grumbled, ruffling his hair as he stepped out into the hall.
The house was still early-afternoon quiet. Karin and Yuzu were still at their sports and clubs, and Isshin probably had one of his usual check ups down in the clinic. Ichigo was fully intent on enjoying the quiet before dinner hit the house like a hurricane.
After finishing his bathroom call, Ichigo stood before the bathroom sink and mirror. As he zipped his fly, he could have sworn he heard something - or someone. It was only a soft, raspy sound, almost an unintelligible murmur, but it was definitely someone else's voice. When he lifted his head to look towards the door, though, a peculiar thing happened.
He saw it out of the corner of his eye first, but as he slowly turned his head towards the mirror, the image began to come into focus. It wasn't his own reflection staring back at him anymore.
Rather, it wasn't exactly his reflection. It was certainly created in his image, of that there was no doubt. It had his face, his spiky, shaggy hair. But instead of the blank expression Ichigo could swear he was wearing, his alter image was grinning, staring him down like he was sure a predator would.
This wasn't the oddest thing about him, either. The oddest thing was the way he appeared to almost be a negative image of Ichigo. His hair and his skin were completely white, his nails and sclera black, his irises a sickening golden yellow, and his tongue blue. And instead of the street clothes Ichigo was wearing, he was dressed in a white version of the tattered coat Ichigo's regulator hid from view.
Ichigo stared in shock at the strange apparition for a few more seconds, quietly convinced he must be hallucinating.
"Howdy, partner," the oddly distorted voice came clearly to him for the first time since he'd begun hearing it days ago. It hadn't even looked like the thing had moved its lips.
"What the fu--" Ichigo began before being silenced by the sound of the front door being opened and shut downstairs.
"ICHIGO!" Came his father's booming voice, "I need those first aid kits moved again! Where are you?"
Ichigo flinched before glancing back at the mirror. Whatever the white copy of him had come for, he had vanished just as suddenly, without a trace.
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The next day at school was little better.
Immediately upon entering the classroom, Ichigo was struck once again by Orihime's absence. Her desk and the area around it were deserted. Instead of the usual chatter of girlish gossip, a low murmur greeted Ichigo as he walked to his desk. Without her, the classroom seemed more like a dungeon.
Worse than that, he could feel those eyes on him again. He could tell Ishida was glaring daggers at him. That weird girl that hung out with him was quietly observing him while trying to pretend she wasn't. Renji and Rukia were casting him looks full of pity. And worst of all, Tatsuki was now studying him as well.
Ichigo sighed, pillowing his arms against his desk and resting his head on them. He deserved Ishida's hatred, every bit of it. And if Tatsuki came over right then and decked him, he deserved every bit of that, too.
"Hey," an almost too-cheery voice broke Ichigo out of his reverie, "This seat taken?" The first thought Ichigo had was that the speaker, some kid with blond hair that he'd never seen before, was referring to Orihime's desk. He was just about to tell him where he would put his foot if he sat in her chair when he noticed that he was actually referring to the empty seat immediately to Ichigo's right.
"Oh," he answered dully, "Nah. Go ahead." The kid sprawled across the chair, folding his lanky legs like some kind of weird insect, a toothy grin spreading across his face. Ichigo did his best to ignore his stare, although he was finding it harder and harder.
"You look like someone kicked your puppy," he finally volunteered, a bit too happily for Ichigo's tastes. His cinnamon-colored eyes flickered over to the blond kid and his obnoxious grin.
"That's none of your damn business," Ichigo grumbled, his voice and his countenance a warning to leave well enough alone.
"Tou-chy!" The new guy drawled, leaning his chair back on two legs, "Better be careful, Kurosaki - some people could take that as a challenge." Ichigo snorted and turned to face the gray dreary window on his left.
'Wait,' Ichigo thought after a few seconds had passed, 'How did he know my name?'
Before he could say anything about this, though, the bell rang and Ochi-sensei entered to take roll. Ichigo continued staring at the unreasonably cheerful new student until the teacher was finished, at which point she managed to get his attention.
"Alright, kids, listen up!" she said, causing Ichigo's eyebrows to rise and his expression to lighten, "We've got a new student with us today, so don't embarrass yourselves while he makes his introduction! Come on up here, new kid!" As the students murmured to themselves, least of all about Ochi-sensei's odd introduction, the blond that had seated himself beside Ichigo stood with a grin.
Ichigo watched with poorly disguised interest as the new guy wrote his name on the blackboard before turning back to face the rest of the class with a bow.
"My name's Hirako Shinji," he said, his odd kansai-ben dialect peeking through, "I'm fifteen years old and my hobbies are listening to music, body piercing, hats, and reversing things!" There was a bit of confused laughter that wafted through the room at his description as the class simply assumed he had an odd sense of humor.
Ichigo merely stared at him, a look of concentration etched across his face. Maybe it was the new regulator, but Ichigo could feel something off about the new kid. In fact, now that he thought about it, he didn't feel quite like anyone else in the room - not like a baseline human and not like Renji, Rukia, or Chad, either. There was something odd about this guy alright, but he was sure it wasn't his sense of humor. But what was it?
"I hope I'll be able to make plenty of friends here among the ladies! Well, and maybe the guys, too, I guess."
He could see he wasn't alone in his suspicion. Renji and Rukia exchanged looks before Rukia looked back to check Ichigo's expression as well. Ishida looked singularly perturbed and the black-haired girl next to him seemed quietly intrigued. All of them followed the lanky youth with their eyes as he finished his little presentation and walked back to his seat.
Ichigo made a mental note to confront the new kid over lunch. He waited patiently through the eternity that called itself Pre-Calc and Japanese Literature, the morning stretching forever before him. As he willed his mind to wander away from the classroom for most of the morning, the sneering white face from the bathroom mirror came back to his mind unbidden.
What was that thing? It looked like him and, in some distorted way, even sounded like him. He hadn't heard that weird echo since the apparition had appeared to him yesterday, but it wasn't far from the edge of his consciousness. He could feel it there, just beyond the borders of his waking mind. It hadn't left; it was merely waiting for something, biding its time. But for what?
"You won't get rid of me that easy, Ichigo," came the wavering whisper from the back of his mind. Ichigo's eyes snapped open from their previous lull, his drowsy head quickly coming to attention at the quiet sound of that voice. As his heartbeat thrummed in his ears, Chad placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Lunch time," he said simply, "Didn't you hear the bell?" Ichigo shifted his wide eyes up towards Chad, who was standing over his desk as the rest of the class put away their books and headed towards the door. He shook off the shock of that voice coming back to him again, trying his best to hide his nervousness from his best friend.
"Sorry, I was distracted," he mumbled, "You go on ahead. I'll meet you in a few." He knew quite well that Chad was aware of how he felt regarding Orihime's injuries, so it didn't surprise him when his tall friend nodded, gave his shoulder a squeeze, and headed for the door.
But as he looked over to the seat beside him, he noticed that Shinji was already gone.
Swearing to himself, Ichigo rose and walked quickly to the door of the classroom, shouldering some of his classmates out of the way as he went. He stuck his head out, looking both ways down the hall before swearing under his breath again; the blond kid was fast, of that there was no doubt. Deciding that he was going to talk to him come hell or high water, Ichigo picked a direction and began walking.
After he turned a corner and passed a row of lockers, though, a hand shot from the door of an empty classroom and jerked him inside. As the door slid shut behind him and he was pressed against the closed door, he looked up to see who had grabbed him. His eyes narrowed when he found himself staring straight into a pair of similarly-narrowed cobalt blue ones.
"Nice to see you, too, Ishida," Ichigo ground out, "I see you missed me while I was out." The thinner boy jerked Ichigo's collar, sending his back slamming into the door again.
"You were only gone for a day," Ishida replied as he released Ichigo, his point having been made, "I could care less what you were doing, demon. You know what I want to talk to you about." Ichigo felt something swell within his chest like a low growl.
"That is none of your goddamned business," Ichigo spat, rage boiling within him at Ishida's prying. The black-haired boy's eyes narrowed behind glinting glasses.
"Like hell it's not," came the chilly reply, "She's a human girl, deviant. If you did something to her, I'll see to it that you pay."
Ichigo's fists shook with barely-contained fury. Yes, he knew he was at fault for what happened. He knew he wouldn't even blame Ishida if he did something about it. But the way he seemed to be appointing himself Orihime's guardian rubbed him raw. What did he know about her? If he actually cared, he wouldn't have kidnapped her after school that day two months ago! And even though he felt responsible for her injuries, the way Ishida acted like he'd intentionally hurt her infuriated him.
"What the hell do you know?!" he finally exploded, just barely restraining himself from punching the black-haired boy in the jaw, "You think I'd hurt her on purpose?! Screw you, Ishida! You don't know dick!"
Ishida looked unmoved for the majority of Ichigo's outburst, his steely disposition unwavering. It wasn't until he'd thrown his fourth epithet at him that Ishida even looked surprised by any of it. Considering his consistent reaction to the rest of his litany of curses, Ichigo stopped talking as soon as he noticed the other boy's expression.
"What?!" he snapped, "Did something I said finally get through your thick skull?" Ishida's eye twitched, his gaze never moving from Ichigo's face.
"Your eyes," he observed quietly, sternly, raising a delicately boned hand to point at Ichigo's face, "There's something wrong with them." Ichigo could feel his anger drain at this statement; what the hell was he talking about?
"What are you talking about?" he asked, rubbing at his eyes, "They feel just fine." While it was true that he could see just fine out of them at the moment - they were lacking their natural photosensitivity - there was something off about them. They had begun to feel a bit warm around the edges, as though some kind of heat were seeping around the corners of them. He only noticed it in retrospect, and because Ishida had brought it up; otherwise, he wouldn't have even realized anything was off about them.
"Something was moving in the corners of them," Ishida observed, "It's not anything I've ever seen or heard of before. There was black in the whites of your eyes."
Ichigo's eyes widened, remembering the apparition from the day before. His eyes were like that. He looked at the curious expression on Ishida's face for a few more seconds before moving to leave.
"I gotta go," he said gruffly, practically flying out the door before slamming it shut behind him. With any luck, he'd be able to get to the bathroom and fix whatever was wrong with his eyes before lunch was over.
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As soon as Ichigo had arrived in the bathroom, he had inspected his face, only to find no trace of the sinister black sclera that had haunted his every waking moment for the past day. That warped voice was also mysteriously absent. So after splashing a bit of water on his face, he joined Chad for lunch and tried to appear as calm as possible.
That calm facade was no indication of what was actually going on inside Ichigo, though. For all intents and purposes, his mind was a battlefield for the rest of the day. His thoughts were in disarray at this development, tumbling rapidly over one another, even in the lazy early afternoon doze of the classroom. What did this mean? Was his white clone forcing himself into his body? Would he even be able to do that? What triggered it? Yelling? Anger? What?
So it was with cloudy mind and heavy heart that Ichigo ditched going to Wraith House that afternoon and trudged instead to Urahara's shop. He paid a brief visit to Orihime, who was doing marginally better; she could sit up and eat soup on her own now, although he found it just plain weird that Urahara's bespectacled helper seemed to enjoy her bizarre requests for different ingredients. If nothing else, it was certainly odd that there were two people in the world who would even eat, let alone enjoy, spicy cream of asparagus and tomato soup.
He didn't mention the weird hallucinations or the fight with Ishida to her. She didn't need to worry about things like that right now, and he suspected that if he told her, she'd just blame herself somehow. He did, however, politely decline when she offered him a bowl of the special soup Tessai had made just for her.
When he asked Urahara to begin his training, however, he was dismissed with an address written on a small sheet of paper. Because Urahara was less suited to train him now, according to Urahara himself, he was sending him to someone better specialized for what he needed. This struck Ichigo as odd - he still couldn't even best Urahara himself in a real bout, nor did he know what Urahara meant by 'what he needed' - but he let it slide with a defeated sigh. He was warned not to bring Chad or anyone else with him to that address, scolded for acting so very put upon where Orihime might overhear, and then sent on his way.
Which had led him to the building he now stood before.
It was old and dilapidated, belonging to one of the human slums in one of the less-patrolled parts of town. Colorful, faded graffiti painted the various crumbling brick and mortar tenements he had passed to get there. Deep shadows hung over every alleyway, hiding destitute humans in various states of dress and undress and decay. And the smell - Ichigo didn't even need his demonic senses to pick up the scent of rotten food, garbage, motor oil, and the acrid scent of smoke.
'Of course,' Ichigo thought, 'Why can't he ever send me to anybody that lives in a nice place?'
He had been knocking for the past five minutes, and since no one had answered yet, he decided to go inside of his own volition. He pushed the door to the building open past its creaking hinges and stepped inside. The foyer was a mess of debris and broken glass and at first he thought the building might be completely abandoned altogether. Screw taking his shoes off in this place; he'd be lucky not to get tetanus just looking at this mess.
Just as he was about to climb the stairway to the second floor at the back of the large foyer, he heard a familiar, obnoxious chuckle.
"'Bout time you showed up, Kurosaki! I was beginnin' to think maybe you didn't like me too much!"
