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Fanfiction || Treading Icy Waters 12
Title: Treading Icy Waters
Fandom: Bleach
Main Character: Hitsugaya Toushirou
Rating: PG-13
Genre: General/Action/Suspense
Warnings: Occasional language, violence, gore.
Timeline: This story follows the manga's timeline. It begins directly before the Hueco Mundo arc and diverges from there.
Summary: The board has been laid out. The pieces have been set and moved. The pawns are scattered across the floor, and Ichimaru’s fingers are wrapped around a stark white bishop. “That’s another check, little taichou.” The game has only begun.
~*~
“Idealism is what precedes experience; cynicism is what follows.”
-David T. Wolf
~*~
Chapter Twelve
Illegal is Always Faster
~*~
“Ne, Hitsugaya-kun, would you like to join us?”
“No, thank you,” the young shinigami declined just a little too quickly.
Inoue didn’t seem to mind though, and with a smiling “Okay, then,” she ran back to Tatsuki to resume their exercises. Tatsuki was teaching her more advanced karate, and she, in turn, was teaching Tatsuki about reiatsu and how to control it. She wasn’t doing a very good job, merely respouting what he was sure were Urahara’s and Shihouin’s words, but seeing as all of Kurosaki’s friends each had very different abilities, it was probably impossible for her or anyone else to do any better. What deterred him from joining them was not what they were doing however, but the little, black box sitting next to them and pumping out loud, obnoxious music into the entirety of the underground training area. Inoue’s CD player; Tatsuki’s CD.
Now, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. The first couple of days after Hitsugaya had arrived here, Urahara had erupted into loud, obnoxious bouts of “It’s a Small World” whenever they crossed paths. He tried to tell himself that Urahara must have simply liked that sort of music, but when the erratic salesman began to sing old, love songs whenever he saw Kurosaki and Abarai together, his true motives became rather obvious. Yes, it could have been much worse. But he didn’t like it the way it was either, so he kept his seat. Not that he had much choice…
He looked down at the curled up bundle in his lap with a sigh before he leaned back and surveyed the rest of the area. It being the weekend, everyone had found one excuse or another to come to Urahara’s. And so they were all underground, branching off to spend their time in the way each thought best.
Abarai and Rukia were arguing with each other about their respective kidou techniques. Sado had wandered off somewhere to train alone. The Quincy was sewing something for Inoue. Kurosaki’s illegal modsoul was harassing his fukutaichou as she tried to join Abarai’s and Rukia’s argument. Asano and Kojima were trying to convince Kurosaki to stop reading his book and start doing something interesting with them. And Shihouin had abandoned Nell to him once more, she and Urahara having disappeared earlier that morning.
The bundle in his lap shifted as she sat up and rubbed large gray eyes. “Toushirou…” Nell whined, turning those childish orbs on him. He frowned but didn’t bother correcting her. “Where’s Ichigo?”
“Over there,” he sighed, indicating the direction in which the trio of high school students lay, “being his usual, cheerful self.”
Nell squinted at them, cocking her head. “But he doesn’t look very happy at all,” she stated, unsatisfied with his answer. “I’m gonna go see.” He grunted as she jumped up and sprinted toward them, but he followed her none-the-less. He was just glad that he was now out of Matsumoto’s sights. If that woman had seen him chasing after a toddler like this, he’d never hear the end of it.
Asano leapt backward in surprise when the tiny arrancar tackled Kurosaki’s backside and clamped her arms around his neck, but Kurosaki himself didn’t even flinch. Kojima’s attention though, was turned not on Nell but Hitsugaya, watching as the former taichou approached.
“Hitsugaya-san, stuck with babysitting duty again?” he asked lightly.
“It’s not as if I can refuse. Shihouin would just start stripping until I changed my mind anyway,” he huffed his reply.
Kojima laughed. “I would’ve liked to see that.” When Hitsugaya began inching away, he only laughed harder. “Don’t worry yourself about it too much. Girls love the sensitive types.”
Hitsugaya was about to assure Kojima that he wasn’t worried about that at all, but he was interrupted by a wailing Nell. “Ichigooo! Why’re you soooo quiet?! You’re neeever this quiet! Is something wrong? Didja get dumped?!”
Asano went wild, jerking his finger to point accusingly at his friend. “That’s exactly what I said! See! Even a baby can tell how much of a bummer you’re being!” he cried, before leaning in close to Kurosaki’s ear. “So … was it Rukia … or Inoue?”
Kurosaki didn’t look up from his book as he punched his obnoxious friend in the stomach. “That’s not it.”
“Defensive, huh?” Asano half-growled, half-whined. “Well, then who needs you anyway?! Not me! I bet even Nell-chan would rather come with me, right?! C’mon! Let’s leave him to his stupid book, seeing as he loves it more than us!”
He held out his hand to the tiny arrancar, and she turned to him with a huge grin before spitting right in his face. He blinked, looking blankly down as she let go of Kurosaki, grabbed his outstretched hand, and began pulling him along. “Yeah, let’s go play!”
For the first time since Hitsugaya had met him, Asano was speechless.
Kojima nudged Hitsugaya as he motioned that he would follow. Before he left however, he snuck in one last word of advice. “You know, I meant it when I said you shouldn’t worry too much. Things have a weird way of turning out for the better around here.”
“If you believe that, than you’re blind,” the shinigami replied.
“Maybe I am,” he shrugged.
Hitsugaya watched him run after Asano and Nell, frowning. But he soon gave up on whatever he had been trying to extract from Kojima’s blunt statement, sighed, and turned to Kurosaki. The red headed delinquent hadn’t moved an inch, still staring at the same spot on the same page. His frown straightened to a determined slit as he approached the moping high school student and sat down next to him on the grass.
It was no use trying to talk reason with these people.
“What’s happening?”
“Huh?” Kurosaki turned his head just enough to see Hitsugaya plop down beside him.
“In the book.”
“Oh… Nothing, really.”
“What’s the title?”
“Huh?”
“Of the book.”
Kurosaki frowned at him in a way that clearly said Hitsugaya was the last person he had expected to annoy him in this way, but he paid it no mind. Instead, he grabbed the book right out the other boy’s hands. By the time Kurosaki realized what had happened, Hitsugaya had already closed it and was staring at the cover. The indignant red head hastily stole it back, and the small shinigami let him. “Black Roses: Thorns of the Heart,” he smirked. “I had no idea you enjoyed those sorts of stories, Kurosaki.”
“It must be Rukia’s,” Kurosaki huffed. “Sticking her stuff all over my room again…”
“And you didn’t even notice?” Hitsugaya grunted his disapproving reply. “Get over yourself, and start talking already.”
Kurosaki stared at him as if he had gone mad. “What the heck are you talking about?”
“My personal problems can’t be that much of a burden for you. Therefore, there must be something else you’re focusing your pathetic, teenage angst upon.”
“This coming from the guy who was practically suicidal a few days ago?” Kurosaki grumbled.
“I have approximately a thirty per cent chance of surviving the next few weeks. What’s your excuse?” Hitsugaya shot back coldly.
Kurosaki was quiet a moment, staring down at the cover of Rukia’s horror romance. Finally, he sighed and let himself collapse backward onto the ground. “I ran off for Hueco Mundo and nearly got all of my closest friends killed,” he began softly, clenching his fist. “I need to get stronger, but … after my stupid little stunt the vaizard won’t go any farther until I agree to join them.”
“I fail to see the problem,” the white crowned ex-taichou replied, raising a single brow at Kurosaki’s defeatist behavior.
“I can’t join them! I refuse to join them!” he snarled, eyes sharpening in their fury as he slammed his fists against the ground. “The only one who decides why I fight is me! I need to get stronger, but I’m not selling my soul for it! There has to be another option, another way for it all to work out! I just have to think of it….”
“Kurosaki.”
~*~
Toushirou’s voice was frigid enough to send a tingle down Ichigo’s spine, but he refused to move. He only glared at the sky, waiting for the shrimp to continue. He was rather surprised however, when he heard a light thump next to him and looked to see that Toushirou had lain down as well.
“It’s only a matter of time before Aizen begins his war. Are you strong enough to defeat him?”
“…No,” Ichigo replied, just barely audible.
“Every once in a while, a situation calls for you to search every possible option and every possible scenario in order to discover an advantage,” Toushirou continued, tone still bleak. “But usually, especially now, there is no time for such things. Every minute you waste staring at that novel is another minute of possible improvement you’ve missed. Don’t try to dodge your responsibilities. You have two choices: Get stronger and fight, or don’t and die. It’s your choice. And you have to make it.”
Ichigo bolted upright again, fire in his eyes. “What’s the point of fighting if I’m not doing it for the people I care about?!”
“You would be doing it for the people you care about. If we don’t defeat Aizen, they will all die.”
“But…!” Ichigo wasn’t going to give in. He couldn’t. If he were to join the vaizard, he wouldn’t be able to… Rukia, Renji… Toushirou, Zaraki, Byakuya, Rangiku… He couldn’t. “There has to be another way!”
“I couldn’t even lay a finger on him.” Ichigo almost didn’t hear the muffled words. But he did hear them, and he almost wished he hadn’t. He could only watch as the Tenth Division taichou slowly pulled himself back up into a sitting position so that they could meet eye to eye.
“Don’t be so arrogant as to think you have the privilege to search for a third option!”
Ichigo didn’t know how to react at first. The words struck a deep chord. He knew what Toushirou was talking about; and he very much doubted that he brought it up often. The little shrimp was really serious.
But then … so was he.
The thought that some shinigami who had no idea how he felt, no idea what he had gone through, would spout some self-righteous lecture to him finally broke open the dam. In his rage, he bolted forward and grabbed Toushirou by the collar of his shirt. “You’re calling me arrogant?! Stop it with the bullshit! I’ll do whatever the hell I want to!” he shouted into the small taichou’s expressionless face. “If you’re saying I can’t, then I say I can! I’ll friggin’ train myself harder than the vaizard ever could! And I’ll be ten times stronger than you! I’ll beat Aizen’s ass right in front of you! What do you say to that?!”
Toushirou quirked a brow before forcing himself out of Ichigo’s grip. Then he said the one thing that Ichigo had not expected.
“It’s about time, moron.”
“Wait. What?”
Toushirou sighed. “You really are dense.”
“You … You did that on purpose?” Ichigo finally managed, surprise and confusion overtaking every ounce of anger he had felt only seconds ago. “Why the hell would you do that?!”
He frowned, just enough for Ichigo to catch it before he turned around and began walking off. “I don’t appreciate being in debt.”
Debt? Ichigo watched as he retreated, pursing his lips into a pout. Did he mean that time … after they talked to the vaizard…? Ichigo almost laughed.
He really was an idiot.
“Yo, Toushirou!”
“It’s Hitsugaya-taichou!”
“I meant every word,” Ichigo smirked.
Toushirou was quiet for a moment. Finally, a wry grin found its way to his lips. “Just try it.”
~*~
“So touching!”
Hitsugaya nearly jumped out of his skin, whirling around to meet the formerly missing Urahara. A single vein throbbed mercilessly in his forehead. “Not really,” he grunted. “I was just showing him how utterly stupid he really is.”
“Well then, if you’re not busy, take this,” Urahara grinned as he handed the young shinigami a piece of paper.
Hitsugaya looked it over with an air of exasperation. “Urahara… This is a grocery list.”
“What else would it be?” he asked, playful sarcasm as abundant as ever. “It’s not like I’m busting my butt every day trying to find out how to cure a stubborn, chibi-taichou, ne?”
“Are you trying to goad me into killing you?”
“You can’t, even if you want to,” Urahara smirked. “Oh, and could you take these two along with you? I’m in a bit of a pickle at the moment, and I can’t be bothered babysitting.” The be-hatted salesman produced two children, which Hitsugaya recognized as being Ururu and Jinta, and shoved them toward him.
“No.”
“What?” For a moment, Urahara looked genuinely surprised.
“The deal was that I answer your questions and you help me, not vice-versa,” Hitsugaya huffed. “I’m not doing your shopping for you when you have a perfectly good pair of legs of your own.”
“Oh? That’s too bad,” he sighed dramatically before holding up a wad of cash. “And here I was planning on letting you keep any money that was left over. And if you were to catch a few sales, I’m sure there would have been enough left for a completely normal, beltless, chainless, and zipperless pair of blue jeans.” Hitsugaya snatched the money out of the older man’s hand before he could even smirk. “That’s what I thought.”
“Kiiiisukeeeeee!!” echoed a very loud, very angry voice. The voice of one Shihouin Yoruichi.
“Gotta run!” the former Twelfth Division taichou grinned sheepishly as he dashed off once more.
Hitsugaya sighed as he looked down at the expectant faces of Urahara’s young protégés. “All right. Let’s get this over with.”
~*~
Hitsugaya Toushirou couldn’t believe what he had just done. A week with Urahara must have completely numbed his fashion sense and then sent it through a shredder. Here he was, returning with two grocery bags in each hand and a pair of gray pants with black flames running up the sides. Black flames. He had passed up blue jeans for black flames.
“I think all of this free time is starting to mess with my common sense,” he grumbled under his breath.
“Yo, Toushirou.”
“Hitsugaya,” the weary shinigami prompted to Jinta when Urahara’s kids caught up to him once more. Ururu remained quiet, as she always seemed to be whenever Jinta wasn’t yanking on her hair.
“Whatever,” the boy muttered with a childish scowl. “I was just gonna ask what was up with you and Kisuke-jii.”
“Nothing’s ‘up,’” Hitsugaya mirrored the scowl. “He’s an over-grown toddler with far too much time on his hands than is healthy for anyone and everyone around him. If I had a choice in the matter, I’d be long gone by now.”
“But you’re the same as him, aren’t you?”
The bewildered ex-taichou stared down at the small girl, unable to react for some time. Not only had Ururu spoken, but she had gone so far as to equate him to that obnoxious, half-cocked insult to honest salesmen. Hitsugaya Toushirou had been compared to many things – including but not limited to Kuchiki-taichou, a blizzard, shrimp, and a slave driver – but never in his comparatively short life had he ever been compared to Urahara Kisuke.
“And how, pray tell, did you come to that conclusion?”
“Well, you’re both really strong shinigami, right?” Jinta butted in. “You’re both supposed to be really smart. And you both got kicked out of Soul Society.”
Hitsugaya sighed in defeat. “Perhaps. However there is one flaw in your reasoning. Urahara may have left Soul Society because of his exile, but I was exiled because I left Soul Society.”
“Then why’d you leave?”
The white crowned shinigami hardly heard the question. His attention had become focused on something else a way away. Was that … music? Was that Tatsuki’s music?
Brows furrowing, he ignored Jinta’s protests as he veered off course and followed the sound to an empty alleyway. The two ran after him, situating themselves on his flanks as soon as he had stopped. Directly in front of him, lying abandoned on the ground, was Inoue’s CD player. Slowly, cautiously, he crouched down to get a closer look. It really was Inoue’s….
“What’s so great about some stupid CD player?” Jinta grumbled.
Then, Hitsugaya felt it.
Teal eyes widening in realization, he grabbed the two children by the cuffs of their shirts and threw them forward just as a giant claw burst out of the player and pinned him against the brick wall behind.
The body that followed the claw was no less menacing or ugly. It looked rather like a giant, hairless sloth, its limbs like clubs all their own and it mask a collection of jagged edges and spikes. Its stubby, paw-like fingers pressed his body deeper into the wall, its claws penetrating the brick as if it were nothing more than putty. Had Hitsugaya not been able to see the hollow before him, he would have sworn his abdomen was being bulldozed. Blood trickled from his nose.
The groceries were strewn all along the length of the alleyway, at least two meters below his dangling legs. Among them, the gikongan dispenser that he had just managed to pull halfway out of his pocket before the disgusting behemoth had pinned him. If he had had the breath, he would have cursed. Stupid gigai.
A gurgling sound reached his ears, and it took him a few seconds to realize the hollow was chuckling. “You’re scrawny, but you smell pretty tasty for just some shinigami.” Its grating voice didn’t sound much different from its laugh.
Doing his best to keep his tone level despite its overwhelming want to shatter in his throat, he met the hollow eye to eye and choked out, “Not ‘just some shinigami.’ Hitsugaya Toushirou.”
The revolting creature sneered. “I know.” And suddenly, it had Hitsugaya’s undivided attention. “I am Torquatusa. It’s nice to finally talk to you in person, Toushirou.”
Hitsugaya was so stunned, he didn’t even respond to the mocking way the hollow had said his name. The only thing that he could manage was a breathy, “What…?”
“I wasn’t supposed to come out, but this was just one opportunity I couldn’t resist. A poor, helpless, fallen shinigami, all for the taking. Alone in an alleyway with two defenseless, little brats, trapped in a useless body. Not even your pretty, little sword can protect you now.”
The former taichou was silent, looking past the mane-like mask as if in a trance.
“But, even so, I was expecting some struggle. A little verbal abuse at least. I never thought I’d have you in my grasp so easily.” The hollow dug its claw deeper once more, and Hitsugaya was shoved out of his reverie, unable to hold back a pained wince. “You could at least try a kick or two, right? Even though it would be pointless in that pathetic body of yours. So … what do you say?”
The young shinigami snorted, smirking through his now thoroughly blood soaked lips. “It looks like I won’t have to.”
~*~
Jinta screamed bloody murder as he felt himself being tossed down the alleyway. When he flipped just in time to see a huge hollow in between them and Hitsugaya however, he immediately shut up. Skidding to a halt, he could only stare numbly.
A hollow. It was just a hollow. But it had overcome a shinigami taichou.
“Processing…”
The familiar voice shook him from his stupor, and he jerked his head toward Ururu. She was watching Hitsugaya and the hollow with wide, unblinking eyes, her body limp. His jaw dropped. She was going to do that again.
“Target attacker is weak, not classified as an immediate threat, but the current conditions cannot be allowed to progress. Entering Genocide Mode.”
Jinta grinned.
Perfect.
~*~
Tsumugiya Ururu flew forward so fast that Hitsugaya was sure the lack of oxygen was affecting his eye sight. But no. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, she flung her leg forward, splicing through the back of Torquatusa’s head and out the mask. Bodily fluids and what he was fairly certain were pieces of brain sprayed onto his face. Only after this did the hollow begin to disintegrate, he noted with contempt.
Hitsugaya managed to regain himself enough to catch the girl mid-fall, but he almost dropped her again upon landing. Wiping the blood from his lips, he attempted to assess the damage. He was okay, but it was obvious that his gigai was done for. Two or three broken ribs and probably a bit of internal bleeding. Then again, he wasn’t exactly a doctor, so he couldn’t be positive.
Jinta ran over to them and helped the girl back to her feet. They seemed to be fine as well, although the leg she had kicked the hollow with was rather slimy. As was most of Hitsugaya’s face and hair.
“You just got your butt saved by a little girl!” he jeered, giving Ururu a congratulatory smack on her back that nearly sent her down into the pavement. When the surrounding atmosphere became particularly heavy and frigid however, he backed off once again. “Okay, okay. Jeez. No sense of humor…” he trailed, trotting off to pick up the scattered produce they had all dropped.
Hitsugaya remained silent and unmoving as the two children shuffled about. Only when Ururu approached him with the fallen gikongan dispenser did he let out a soft, “Thanks.”
He stared at the beheaded dispenser for a moment before stuffing it back into his back pocket and lifting himself from his spot leaning against the wall. Lifting a finger to his temple, he rubbed it in a futile attempt to sooth the ache.
That thing had known when he’d be the most vulnerable, had replicated an item it knew he would recognize, and had known exactly how he would react. It had been watching him.
Yet Hitsugaya had never noticed.
And, he realized with equal disbelief, neither had anyone else.
Fandom: Bleach
Main Character: Hitsugaya Toushirou
Rating: PG-13
Genre: General/Action/Suspense
Warnings: Occasional language, violence, gore.
Timeline: This story follows the manga's timeline. It begins directly before the Hueco Mundo arc and diverges from there.
Summary: The board has been laid out. The pieces have been set and moved. The pawns are scattered across the floor, and Ichimaru’s fingers are wrapped around a stark white bishop. “That’s another check, little taichou.” The game has only begun.
“Idealism is what precedes experience; cynicism is what follows.”
-David T. Wolf
~*~
Chapter Twelve
Illegal is Always Faster
~*~
“Ne, Hitsugaya-kun, would you like to join us?”
“No, thank you,” the young shinigami declined just a little too quickly.
Inoue didn’t seem to mind though, and with a smiling “Okay, then,” she ran back to Tatsuki to resume their exercises. Tatsuki was teaching her more advanced karate, and she, in turn, was teaching Tatsuki about reiatsu and how to control it. She wasn’t doing a very good job, merely respouting what he was sure were Urahara’s and Shihouin’s words, but seeing as all of Kurosaki’s friends each had very different abilities, it was probably impossible for her or anyone else to do any better. What deterred him from joining them was not what they were doing however, but the little, black box sitting next to them and pumping out loud, obnoxious music into the entirety of the underground training area. Inoue’s CD player; Tatsuki’s CD.
Now, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. The first couple of days after Hitsugaya had arrived here, Urahara had erupted into loud, obnoxious bouts of “It’s a Small World” whenever they crossed paths. He tried to tell himself that Urahara must have simply liked that sort of music, but when the erratic salesman began to sing old, love songs whenever he saw Kurosaki and Abarai together, his true motives became rather obvious. Yes, it could have been much worse. But he didn’t like it the way it was either, so he kept his seat. Not that he had much choice…
He looked down at the curled up bundle in his lap with a sigh before he leaned back and surveyed the rest of the area. It being the weekend, everyone had found one excuse or another to come to Urahara’s. And so they were all underground, branching off to spend their time in the way each thought best.
Abarai and Rukia were arguing with each other about their respective kidou techniques. Sado had wandered off somewhere to train alone. The Quincy was sewing something for Inoue. Kurosaki’s illegal modsoul was harassing his fukutaichou as she tried to join Abarai’s and Rukia’s argument. Asano and Kojima were trying to convince Kurosaki to stop reading his book and start doing something interesting with them. And Shihouin had abandoned Nell to him once more, she and Urahara having disappeared earlier that morning.
The bundle in his lap shifted as she sat up and rubbed large gray eyes. “Toushirou…” Nell whined, turning those childish orbs on him. He frowned but didn’t bother correcting her. “Where’s Ichigo?”
“Over there,” he sighed, indicating the direction in which the trio of high school students lay, “being his usual, cheerful self.”
Nell squinted at them, cocking her head. “But he doesn’t look very happy at all,” she stated, unsatisfied with his answer. “I’m gonna go see.” He grunted as she jumped up and sprinted toward them, but he followed her none-the-less. He was just glad that he was now out of Matsumoto’s sights. If that woman had seen him chasing after a toddler like this, he’d never hear the end of it.
Asano leapt backward in surprise when the tiny arrancar tackled Kurosaki’s backside and clamped her arms around his neck, but Kurosaki himself didn’t even flinch. Kojima’s attention though, was turned not on Nell but Hitsugaya, watching as the former taichou approached.
“Hitsugaya-san, stuck with babysitting duty again?” he asked lightly.
“It’s not as if I can refuse. Shihouin would just start stripping until I changed my mind anyway,” he huffed his reply.
Kojima laughed. “I would’ve liked to see that.” When Hitsugaya began inching away, he only laughed harder. “Don’t worry yourself about it too much. Girls love the sensitive types.”
Hitsugaya was about to assure Kojima that he wasn’t worried about that at all, but he was interrupted by a wailing Nell. “Ichigooo! Why’re you soooo quiet?! You’re neeever this quiet! Is something wrong? Didja get dumped?!”
Asano went wild, jerking his finger to point accusingly at his friend. “That’s exactly what I said! See! Even a baby can tell how much of a bummer you’re being!” he cried, before leaning in close to Kurosaki’s ear. “So … was it Rukia … or Inoue?”
Kurosaki didn’t look up from his book as he punched his obnoxious friend in the stomach. “That’s not it.”
“Defensive, huh?” Asano half-growled, half-whined. “Well, then who needs you anyway?! Not me! I bet even Nell-chan would rather come with me, right?! C’mon! Let’s leave him to his stupid book, seeing as he loves it more than us!”
He held out his hand to the tiny arrancar, and she turned to him with a huge grin before spitting right in his face. He blinked, looking blankly down as she let go of Kurosaki, grabbed his outstretched hand, and began pulling him along. “Yeah, let’s go play!”
For the first time since Hitsugaya had met him, Asano was speechless.
Kojima nudged Hitsugaya as he motioned that he would follow. Before he left however, he snuck in one last word of advice. “You know, I meant it when I said you shouldn’t worry too much. Things have a weird way of turning out for the better around here.”
“If you believe that, than you’re blind,” the shinigami replied.
“Maybe I am,” he shrugged.
Hitsugaya watched him run after Asano and Nell, frowning. But he soon gave up on whatever he had been trying to extract from Kojima’s blunt statement, sighed, and turned to Kurosaki. The red headed delinquent hadn’t moved an inch, still staring at the same spot on the same page. His frown straightened to a determined slit as he approached the moping high school student and sat down next to him on the grass.
It was no use trying to talk reason with these people.
“What’s happening?”
“Huh?” Kurosaki turned his head just enough to see Hitsugaya plop down beside him.
“In the book.”
“Oh… Nothing, really.”
“What’s the title?”
“Huh?”
“Of the book.”
Kurosaki frowned at him in a way that clearly said Hitsugaya was the last person he had expected to annoy him in this way, but he paid it no mind. Instead, he grabbed the book right out the other boy’s hands. By the time Kurosaki realized what had happened, Hitsugaya had already closed it and was staring at the cover. The indignant red head hastily stole it back, and the small shinigami let him. “Black Roses: Thorns of the Heart,” he smirked. “I had no idea you enjoyed those sorts of stories, Kurosaki.”
“It must be Rukia’s,” Kurosaki huffed. “Sticking her stuff all over my room again…”
“And you didn’t even notice?” Hitsugaya grunted his disapproving reply. “Get over yourself, and start talking already.”
Kurosaki stared at him as if he had gone mad. “What the heck are you talking about?”
“My personal problems can’t be that much of a burden for you. Therefore, there must be something else you’re focusing your pathetic, teenage angst upon.”
“This coming from the guy who was practically suicidal a few days ago?” Kurosaki grumbled.
“I have approximately a thirty per cent chance of surviving the next few weeks. What’s your excuse?” Hitsugaya shot back coldly.
Kurosaki was quiet a moment, staring down at the cover of Rukia’s horror romance. Finally, he sighed and let himself collapse backward onto the ground. “I ran off for Hueco Mundo and nearly got all of my closest friends killed,” he began softly, clenching his fist. “I need to get stronger, but … after my stupid little stunt the vaizard won’t go any farther until I agree to join them.”
“I fail to see the problem,” the white crowned ex-taichou replied, raising a single brow at Kurosaki’s defeatist behavior.
“I can’t join them! I refuse to join them!” he snarled, eyes sharpening in their fury as he slammed his fists against the ground. “The only one who decides why I fight is me! I need to get stronger, but I’m not selling my soul for it! There has to be another option, another way for it all to work out! I just have to think of it….”
“Kurosaki.”
Toushirou’s voice was frigid enough to send a tingle down Ichigo’s spine, but he refused to move. He only glared at the sky, waiting for the shrimp to continue. He was rather surprised however, when he heard a light thump next to him and looked to see that Toushirou had lain down as well.
“It’s only a matter of time before Aizen begins his war. Are you strong enough to defeat him?”
“…No,” Ichigo replied, just barely audible.
“Every once in a while, a situation calls for you to search every possible option and every possible scenario in order to discover an advantage,” Toushirou continued, tone still bleak. “But usually, especially now, there is no time for such things. Every minute you waste staring at that novel is another minute of possible improvement you’ve missed. Don’t try to dodge your responsibilities. You have two choices: Get stronger and fight, or don’t and die. It’s your choice. And you have to make it.”
Ichigo bolted upright again, fire in his eyes. “What’s the point of fighting if I’m not doing it for the people I care about?!”
“You would be doing it for the people you care about. If we don’t defeat Aizen, they will all die.”
“But…!” Ichigo wasn’t going to give in. He couldn’t. If he were to join the vaizard, he wouldn’t be able to… Rukia, Renji… Toushirou, Zaraki, Byakuya, Rangiku… He couldn’t. “There has to be another way!”
“I couldn’t even lay a finger on him.” Ichigo almost didn’t hear the muffled words. But he did hear them, and he almost wished he hadn’t. He could only watch as the Tenth Division taichou slowly pulled himself back up into a sitting position so that they could meet eye to eye.
“Don’t be so arrogant as to think you have the privilege to search for a third option!”
Ichigo didn’t know how to react at first. The words struck a deep chord. He knew what Toushirou was talking about; and he very much doubted that he brought it up often. The little shrimp was really serious.
But then … so was he.
The thought that some shinigami who had no idea how he felt, no idea what he had gone through, would spout some self-righteous lecture to him finally broke open the dam. In his rage, he bolted forward and grabbed Toushirou by the collar of his shirt. “You’re calling me arrogant?! Stop it with the bullshit! I’ll do whatever the hell I want to!” he shouted into the small taichou’s expressionless face. “If you’re saying I can’t, then I say I can! I’ll friggin’ train myself harder than the vaizard ever could! And I’ll be ten times stronger than you! I’ll beat Aizen’s ass right in front of you! What do you say to that?!”
Toushirou quirked a brow before forcing himself out of Ichigo’s grip. Then he said the one thing that Ichigo had not expected.
“It’s about time, moron.”
“Wait. What?”
Toushirou sighed. “You really are dense.”
“You … You did that on purpose?” Ichigo finally managed, surprise and confusion overtaking every ounce of anger he had felt only seconds ago. “Why the hell would you do that?!”
He frowned, just enough for Ichigo to catch it before he turned around and began walking off. “I don’t appreciate being in debt.”
Debt? Ichigo watched as he retreated, pursing his lips into a pout. Did he mean that time … after they talked to the vaizard…? Ichigo almost laughed.
He really was an idiot.
“Yo, Toushirou!”
“It’s Hitsugaya-taichou!”
“I meant every word,” Ichigo smirked.
Toushirou was quiet for a moment. Finally, a wry grin found its way to his lips. “Just try it.”
“So touching!”
Hitsugaya nearly jumped out of his skin, whirling around to meet the formerly missing Urahara. A single vein throbbed mercilessly in his forehead. “Not really,” he grunted. “I was just showing him how utterly stupid he really is.”
“Well then, if you’re not busy, take this,” Urahara grinned as he handed the young shinigami a piece of paper.
Hitsugaya looked it over with an air of exasperation. “Urahara… This is a grocery list.”
“What else would it be?” he asked, playful sarcasm as abundant as ever. “It’s not like I’m busting my butt every day trying to find out how to cure a stubborn, chibi-taichou, ne?”
“Are you trying to goad me into killing you?”
“You can’t, even if you want to,” Urahara smirked. “Oh, and could you take these two along with you? I’m in a bit of a pickle at the moment, and I can’t be bothered babysitting.” The be-hatted salesman produced two children, which Hitsugaya recognized as being Ururu and Jinta, and shoved them toward him.
“No.”
“What?” For a moment, Urahara looked genuinely surprised.
“The deal was that I answer your questions and you help me, not vice-versa,” Hitsugaya huffed. “I’m not doing your shopping for you when you have a perfectly good pair of legs of your own.”
“Oh? That’s too bad,” he sighed dramatically before holding up a wad of cash. “And here I was planning on letting you keep any money that was left over. And if you were to catch a few sales, I’m sure there would have been enough left for a completely normal, beltless, chainless, and zipperless pair of blue jeans.” Hitsugaya snatched the money out of the older man’s hand before he could even smirk. “That’s what I thought.”
“Kiiiisukeeeeee!!” echoed a very loud, very angry voice. The voice of one Shihouin Yoruichi.
“Gotta run!” the former Twelfth Division taichou grinned sheepishly as he dashed off once more.
Hitsugaya sighed as he looked down at the expectant faces of Urahara’s young protégés. “All right. Let’s get this over with.”
Hitsugaya Toushirou couldn’t believe what he had just done. A week with Urahara must have completely numbed his fashion sense and then sent it through a shredder. Here he was, returning with two grocery bags in each hand and a pair of gray pants with black flames running up the sides. Black flames. He had passed up blue jeans for black flames.
“I think all of this free time is starting to mess with my common sense,” he grumbled under his breath.
“Yo, Toushirou.”
“Hitsugaya,” the weary shinigami prompted to Jinta when Urahara’s kids caught up to him once more. Ururu remained quiet, as she always seemed to be whenever Jinta wasn’t yanking on her hair.
“Whatever,” the boy muttered with a childish scowl. “I was just gonna ask what was up with you and Kisuke-jii.”
“Nothing’s ‘up,’” Hitsugaya mirrored the scowl. “He’s an over-grown toddler with far too much time on his hands than is healthy for anyone and everyone around him. If I had a choice in the matter, I’d be long gone by now.”
“But you’re the same as him, aren’t you?”
The bewildered ex-taichou stared down at the small girl, unable to react for some time. Not only had Ururu spoken, but she had gone so far as to equate him to that obnoxious, half-cocked insult to honest salesmen. Hitsugaya Toushirou had been compared to many things – including but not limited to Kuchiki-taichou, a blizzard, shrimp, and a slave driver – but never in his comparatively short life had he ever been compared to Urahara Kisuke.
“And how, pray tell, did you come to that conclusion?”
“Well, you’re both really strong shinigami, right?” Jinta butted in. “You’re both supposed to be really smart. And you both got kicked out of Soul Society.”
Hitsugaya sighed in defeat. “Perhaps. However there is one flaw in your reasoning. Urahara may have left Soul Society because of his exile, but I was exiled because I left Soul Society.”
“Then why’d you leave?”
The white crowned shinigami hardly heard the question. His attention had become focused on something else a way away. Was that … music? Was that Tatsuki’s music?
Brows furrowing, he ignored Jinta’s protests as he veered off course and followed the sound to an empty alleyway. The two ran after him, situating themselves on his flanks as soon as he had stopped. Directly in front of him, lying abandoned on the ground, was Inoue’s CD player. Slowly, cautiously, he crouched down to get a closer look. It really was Inoue’s….
“What’s so great about some stupid CD player?” Jinta grumbled.
Then, Hitsugaya felt it.
Teal eyes widening in realization, he grabbed the two children by the cuffs of their shirts and threw them forward just as a giant claw burst out of the player and pinned him against the brick wall behind.
The body that followed the claw was no less menacing or ugly. It looked rather like a giant, hairless sloth, its limbs like clubs all their own and it mask a collection of jagged edges and spikes. Its stubby, paw-like fingers pressed his body deeper into the wall, its claws penetrating the brick as if it were nothing more than putty. Had Hitsugaya not been able to see the hollow before him, he would have sworn his abdomen was being bulldozed. Blood trickled from his nose.
The groceries were strewn all along the length of the alleyway, at least two meters below his dangling legs. Among them, the gikongan dispenser that he had just managed to pull halfway out of his pocket before the disgusting behemoth had pinned him. If he had had the breath, he would have cursed. Stupid gigai.
A gurgling sound reached his ears, and it took him a few seconds to realize the hollow was chuckling. “You’re scrawny, but you smell pretty tasty for just some shinigami.” Its grating voice didn’t sound much different from its laugh.
Doing his best to keep his tone level despite its overwhelming want to shatter in his throat, he met the hollow eye to eye and choked out, “Not ‘just some shinigami.’ Hitsugaya Toushirou.”
The revolting creature sneered. “I know.” And suddenly, it had Hitsugaya’s undivided attention. “I am Torquatusa. It’s nice to finally talk to you in person, Toushirou.”
Hitsugaya was so stunned, he didn’t even respond to the mocking way the hollow had said his name. The only thing that he could manage was a breathy, “What…?”
“I wasn’t supposed to come out, but this was just one opportunity I couldn’t resist. A poor, helpless, fallen shinigami, all for the taking. Alone in an alleyway with two defenseless, little brats, trapped in a useless body. Not even your pretty, little sword can protect you now.”
The former taichou was silent, looking past the mane-like mask as if in a trance.
“But, even so, I was expecting some struggle. A little verbal abuse at least. I never thought I’d have you in my grasp so easily.” The hollow dug its claw deeper once more, and Hitsugaya was shoved out of his reverie, unable to hold back a pained wince. “You could at least try a kick or two, right? Even though it would be pointless in that pathetic body of yours. So … what do you say?”
The young shinigami snorted, smirking through his now thoroughly blood soaked lips. “It looks like I won’t have to.”
Jinta screamed bloody murder as he felt himself being tossed down the alleyway. When he flipped just in time to see a huge hollow in between them and Hitsugaya however, he immediately shut up. Skidding to a halt, he could only stare numbly.
A hollow. It was just a hollow. But it had overcome a shinigami taichou.
“Processing…”
The familiar voice shook him from his stupor, and he jerked his head toward Ururu. She was watching Hitsugaya and the hollow with wide, unblinking eyes, her body limp. His jaw dropped. She was going to do that again.
“Target attacker is weak, not classified as an immediate threat, but the current conditions cannot be allowed to progress. Entering Genocide Mode.”
Jinta grinned.
Perfect.
Tsumugiya Ururu flew forward so fast that Hitsugaya was sure the lack of oxygen was affecting his eye sight. But no. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, she flung her leg forward, splicing through the back of Torquatusa’s head and out the mask. Bodily fluids and what he was fairly certain were pieces of brain sprayed onto his face. Only after this did the hollow begin to disintegrate, he noted with contempt.
Hitsugaya managed to regain himself enough to catch the girl mid-fall, but he almost dropped her again upon landing. Wiping the blood from his lips, he attempted to assess the damage. He was okay, but it was obvious that his gigai was done for. Two or three broken ribs and probably a bit of internal bleeding. Then again, he wasn’t exactly a doctor, so he couldn’t be positive.
Jinta ran over to them and helped the girl back to her feet. They seemed to be fine as well, although the leg she had kicked the hollow with was rather slimy. As was most of Hitsugaya’s face and hair.
“You just got your butt saved by a little girl!” he jeered, giving Ururu a congratulatory smack on her back that nearly sent her down into the pavement. When the surrounding atmosphere became particularly heavy and frigid however, he backed off once again. “Okay, okay. Jeez. No sense of humor…” he trailed, trotting off to pick up the scattered produce they had all dropped.
Hitsugaya remained silent and unmoving as the two children shuffled about. Only when Ururu approached him with the fallen gikongan dispenser did he let out a soft, “Thanks.”
He stared at the beheaded dispenser for a moment before stuffing it back into his back pocket and lifting himself from his spot leaning against the wall. Lifting a finger to his temple, he rubbed it in a futile attempt to sooth the ache.
That thing had known when he’d be the most vulnerable, had replicated an item it knew he would recognize, and had known exactly how he would react. It had been watching him.
Yet Hitsugaya had never noticed.
And, he realized with equal disbelief, neither had anyone else.