Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Shinji stood alone, looking at his reflection in the shattered window of the warehouse they had taken refuge in.

He hated it. Everything, from his hair to the tattered captain’s haori on his back to the shihakusho that represented everything that he no longer was. Everything about the way he looked was a painful reminder that he was worth nothing to the people he devoted his life to, cast aside and shunned the moment he was no longer deemed perfect and respectable, for something that he didn’t even have a choice in.

Shinji understood that the hollow was a part of him, it was a manifestation of his best qualities backed by the support of his worst, most monstrous aspects. The sphinx that paced in his inner world alongside Sakanade had told him so, or at least, that’s what he thinks it was trying to tell him (the damn thing would only ever speak in riddles). But he still wanted to scrub his skin until it was pink and raw, in hopes that it would cleanse the disgust and horror he felt every time he heard the shadow of a whisper in his mind.

The moment he was sure that his and the others’ gigai had stabilized, he was out in town, looking for new clothes. He wasn’t sure what humans wore, it had been at least 800 years since his last visit to the human world, and he had only stayed for a short amount of time to keep an eye on some of the newer shinigami. Fashion-wise, Kisuke hadn’t been much of a help. He didn’t think wearing a samue in the ugliest shade of green that he could possibly find was going to be helpful in blending in with the humans. Eventually, he settled on a few button down shirts and some jeans.

The hardest part was dealing with his hair. It took him days of talking with the other hollowfied shinigami, restless spars and heated arguments to settle on a decision. On one of the nights when visions of horrors drove him from sleep, he simply pulled a knife out and hacked away at his hair. The shorter hair felt better, it was easy to shake his hair out and felt so much lighter. He regretted it a bit for a few days afterward (especially when Hiyori had decided that it had been permission to call him Baldy even more than she already did), but it felt almost… rebellious.

There were no rules he had to follow, other than to not do anything that would draw attention to them. And that wasn’t even really a rule, just something they knew that they had to do to keep Central from coming after them.

Freedom wasn’t all that fun though. They struggled to keep their hollows at bay, constantly fighting underneath the warehouse, with only Hachigen around to hold barriers up to prevent collateral damage. Urahara was usually busy doing other things, and Yoruichi had snuck back into Soul Society after some time. If anything, it was Tessai that they had gone to for things, usually food, when they were exhausted and the moon shone clear in the sky.

Shinji found Urahara to be kind of creepy, especially as the years passed. Urahara was never surprised, not when he had first showed up for gigai modifications with his new hair, nor the next time when he showed up with pierced ears, nor the time after that when he had a tongue piercing. Urahra’s all knowing-ness was too similar to Aizen’s, that level of intellect was quite frankly terrifying, and the “humble shopkeeper” act that Urahara began to adopt didn’t settle any of his concerns, but at least Urahara wasn’t trying to run tests on them.

Over time, he acquiesced to his position as the leader, watching over the other… Vizards. That’s what they are, shinigami with hollow masks. They go out more often and learn to blend in with the humans until they’re comfortable enough to order food for themselves, go to bookstores and attend concerts. It still made him a little jittery being able to sense hollows and see the shinigami in charge of the region, unable to do anything without drawing attention to himself, to everyone, but he got used to it, adapted, like he always did.

Shinji smiled down at the body that was curled against him, gently running his hand through Ichigo’s soft orange hair. He thought Ichigo was cute in his clothes, an oversized sweatshirt that fit neither of them, and there was an edge of possessiveness that set itself in the way his lips curled upwards.

Ichigo frowned for a moment and shifted closer to him, and Shinji tightened the arm curled around his waist in response. His smile slipped as he remembered the haunted expression that had frequented Ichigo’s features after Aizen had been sealed, the upset that had lined the determination that he had shown when fighting Ginjo, and hadn’t left even when he had visited Seireitei afterwards. Nothing would ever make Ichigo feel so powerless ever again. He wouldn’t let it happen. Ever.

Ichigo woke slowly, enjoying the way Shinji was curled around him. He didn’t open his eyes, just stayed in Shinji’s arms and enjoyed the quiet hum of a melody that he once overheard Shinji playing on the harp in the West Wing.

A soft sigh was breathed against his neck and he felt Shinji lifting him up, cradling him against his chest. He was set down on something soft, and he realized he was in their bed as fabric was pulled over him.

Ichigo could feel Shinji’s eyes on him and he tried not to move too much and keep his breathing steady. Finally, he felt Shinji shift a little, then the quiet press of lips against his brow, and then he was being pulled into Shinji’s arms again. A small smile made its way to his lips as he dozed off again.

Shinji hadn’t found out about Kisuke’s Hogyoku until after Ichigo had returned from Soul Society. He didn’t like it, but he had understood that Kisuke had done what he had thought best.

At best, Kisuke was just a misled scientist with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and at worst, Kisuke was the reason for everything that Aizen had done. But he knew better. Kisuke had come from the Onmitsukido, and before that, Kisuke had come from the Rukongai. There was a sort of ruthlessness that you could only learn on the streets of the Rukon, it turned souls into monsters as they fought for the scarce resource that was available.

Shinji knew that better than most, having come from the Rukon himself. It had been centuries though, and he had forgotten the way he had once been merciless. The complacency hadn’t done him any well, he still regretted the way he had failed so miserably against Aizen, then again against the Quincies. Some nights, it made him feel better knowing that he had saved half of the Gotei’s asses with his actions, he had been the cavalry that they hadn’t known they needed (though in hindsight, it should have been obvious, everything from the betrayal to the Hogyoku fusion in an attempt to become a God had been telegraphed long before it had actually happened). On other nights, it sickened him. Aizen hadn’t even had to use any special powers to cut him down. Shinji knew he had sakanade and the power of a rampaging power at his behest and he hadn’t even managed to leave a scratch on Aizen.

He still knew that he had played an important part, buying time for the captains that had gone to Hueco Mundo first, for Ichigo, while preventing as many casualties as possible. But it still made him feel like shit. He had been a captain for centuries, a Vizard for decades, and yet all he had been able to do was play decoy for a few minutes.

Shinji hadn’t exaggerated when he had told Yamamoto that he wasn’t an ally of the Gotei 13. The other Vizards agreed— they didn’t want anything to do with the people that had so quickly casted them out for being the victims in Aizen’s experiment. But they had all gone back after the Winter War. They hadn’t done so lightly. They wanted to stay in Karakura.

But Kisuke had assured them that their presence wasn’t necessary. They went back to Soul Society, if only because they knew that there really wasn’t anyone else that could help fix things after all Aizen had done. He hadn’t been happy, working in the Fifth again. The captain’s haori weighed heavy on his back, an ugly reminder of what he had once been and what he had lost, and who he had left behind in Karakura.

It hurt when the Shinigami shied away from them, but he had quickly learned to stick with the other Vizards. He understood when it was the Kuchiki girl, who had watched him fight that blue-haired espada with ease, or that meek kid from the fourth who was supposed to fetch him for routine checkups at the Fourth. But when it was Soi-Fon, or that emo kid from the ninth that practically worshiped Kensei, it stung just a bit, because hadn’t he already proved himself to them? That he was not only innocent, but more than capable on both the battlefield and in the role of captaincy?

Ichigo hummed as he moved around the palace kitchens, adjusting the fire on the stove tops as needed. He found cooking to be rather calming now that it wasn’t an obligation. There were more than enough palace workers and definitely more than a few chefs that would gladly work for the palace to cook for them. But he liked to cook for Shinji, loved the way Shinji would light up upon seeing his favorite dishes waiting for him.

Cooking and baking came easily to him. He had years of practice from cooking for Karin and Yuzu, and he had pushed himself to learn new dishes so they wouldn’t have to eat the same few foods every day, since they had been too poor to have take-out often. He could easily change recipes to get the result he wanted, he had experimented lots when trying to perfect recipes he had found at home. Karin and Yuzu weren’t picky eaters, but he still wanted to give them the best that he could.

Now he likes to frequent the palace kitchens, planning little surprises for Shinji. On days that Shinji sleeps in, he gets to make breakfast for him. Shinji isn’t a picky eater, he’ll eat anything and everything you put in front of him. Ichigo suspects it’s from his rukongai days, when he had no choice but to eat anything that he could possibly get his hands on, even if it didn’t taste good or was old and half-rotten.

Shinji rarely talked about his time in the Rukongai. From what little Ichigo had heard, it seemed like it was a very long time ago, when the entirety of Soul Society was like the outer districts, with no government system or economy. He could tell Shinji was thinking about it sometimes, there was a dulled, distant gaze he wore and it often left him subdued for the next few hours. Ichigo didn’t say it, but he knew that Shinji knew that he was trying to make up for all of the lost time between them.

Still, even if it wasn’t the most practical, Ichigo did his best to make an assortment of foods for Shinji to try. Karin and Yuzu bring a new cookbook for him every time they visit, so he never runs out of new things to make. (He wouldn’t ever admit it, but some of the faces Shinji made at foods he’d never seen before were both adorable and hilarious.)

Shinji’s time in Soul Society after the Winter War was nothing compared to the time he had spent after the Quincy War. The Gotei 13 had been left in ruins, most of its leaders dead or badly injured and an unfortunate number of officers were missing, likely crushed under the rubble or killed by the Sternritter. Somehow, all of the members of Central 46 made it out alive despite having only a laughable amount of strength, and still their first priority is trying to take over.

They’re all exhausted when Shunsui calls an emergency captain’s meeting, or at least, for what’s left of the captains. Shinji feels bad, the deep eyebags under Shunsui’s eyes look almost like bruises and it’s clear Shunsui hasn’t been taking care of himself in the few weeks that have passed since Ichigo finally cut Yhwach down. He can’t possibly imagine what it must be like to be the only senior captain left standing, forced to wear the haori that would really still belong to Yamamoto in all of their hearts. And then Jushiro— Shinji hadn’t even had friends till he joined the 5th, nevermind from the academy days. Shunsui and Jushiro had been the first to graduate from the Academy, about 70 years before him. That kind of loss leaves scars that he wasn’t sure Shunsui would ever be able to recover from.

Shinji tuned most of what Shunsui says out, instead focusing on the tired faces of the captains around him. There’s still fresh tear tracks on Rukia’s face and Byakuya looks more worn down than he’s ever been (barely standing too, his reiatsu the only thing keeping him together in constant kaido), Isane looked like she hasn’t slept in a hundred years and Zaraki remains silent for the entire meeting, his eyes glued to Isane’s spot, where Unohana once stood. He doesn’t tune back into Shunsui’s dry spiel until Kisuke shows up, looking guilty as ever but with fresh conviction in his eyes.

“Central 46 is deciding whether to put Yhwach or Ichigo on the throne,” Kisuke announced.

Shinji felt his stomach drop. He heard someone yell “No!”, and it took him a moment to realize that it was him that yelled it. He jerks back slightly, surprised, but Kisuke just turns towards him ever so slightly, lips pressed together.

“The issue is, they can’t find Ichigo.”

Shinji’s mind stutters for a moment, flipping through every worst case scenario possible. Ichigo doesn’t go missing, he always stands at the front, ready to face any challenge that comes his way to protect everyone else. Which means Ichigo has either been kidnapped, or—

“That would be correct, Shinji,”

Shinji stared at Kisuke, blinking in surprise.

“I need ta go,” he said, already walking out of the room.

“Where are you going?” Rukia asks, and he abruptly realizes that no one else has put the pieces together. He almost answered her, then decided that if they don’t know Ichigo well enough to work out what Ichigo has done, he’s not going to be the one to tell them.

“I’m goin’ ta find Ichigo,” is what he ends up saying.

Shunsui looked at him for a second then nodded.

“Go, Hirako-taicho. I’ll hold Central off for as long as possible,”

Shinji lifted a brow, silently turning to leave. He almost stopped when he heard Shunsui mutter “Just like I did a hundred years ago when you were the one that Central set its sights on”.

Had Shunsui really tried to stop Central from executing and exiling them?

Shaking his head, he stepped into shunpo, flashing across the rooftops of Seireitei with practiced ease. It took him a moment to remember the broken path up to the remains of the Wahrwelt, each step faster than the last.

He felt barriers ripple around him, useless now that the throne was empty and there was nothing to anchor them. Shinji paused when he was about three-quarters of the way up, breathing heavily from the constant running. He looked down at the vast plane of brown and green below him, Seireitei a barely visible white speck among the brown.

He could feel Ichigo’s reiatsu barely brush the edge of his and his shoulders sagged in relief. Ichigo was still alive, and his soul was still in one piece.

For now.

Chapter Text

Crumbled, dystopic buildings surrounded him and he couldn’t do anything but walk through Karakura, dead bodies lining the streets and an eerie silence that pulled him forward even against his will. Hiyori. Kensei. Rose. Lisa. Mashiro. Love. Hachi. Isshin. Urahara. Yoruichi. Ichigo.

Ichigo.

Ichigo.

Ichigo.

Shinji fell to his knees in the middle of the road, before Ichigo’s broken and battered body. He didn’t even have the energy to cry, or scream, or talk. All he could do was cradle Ichigo’s head in his hands, eyes like a fire that had burned too bright and too quick.

Too late.

Too little, too late. He should have been there earlier. Why hadn’t he been there? What had he been doing? How did he miss everything? Where was Ai—

“SHINJI!”

Shinji’s eyes snapped open, met with only the pitch black of night.

“Shinji!”

The voice startled him, but for some reason his body didn’t move the way he wanted it to, his arm didn’t come up to push away the hands that helped him sit up.

“Shinji, are you okay?”

“Hnnn?” was all he managed to say, his mouth felt like it was full of cotton and he couldn’t think past the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.

“You were having a nightmare.”

“Ichigo?”

“I’m here,” Ichigo reassured Shinji, brushing his sweaty bangs out of his eyes and gently wiping his face with a cool washcloth.

“M sorry,”

“Don’t be. I was already awake anyways. C’mon, let’s get you a nice bath.” Ichigo noticed that Shinji was struggling, so he picked him up instead, a small smile tucked in the corner of his mouth when Shinji wound his arms around his neck.

It was rare to see Shinji so open and vulnerable, and it made Ichigo feel warm inside knowing that Shinji trusted him this much, even when he was barely lucid. “I can bring you tea, or soup, or snacks,” he offered, as Shinji settled into the tub.

A mumbled “Stay,” was the only response he got, and really, who was he to deny such a request? He sat by the edge of the tub, resting his chin on crossed arms as he watched Shinji’s shoulders slowly slump and fists unclench.

And if they fell asleep like that, it would just be their little secret.

“Ichigo!”

Ichigo’s shoulders jerked back, his head snapping up in surprise. He had been so absorbed in staring at Yhwach’s corpse on the throne that he hadn’t processed Shinji’s reiatsu approaching, nor the sound of footsteps echoing against the crumbling walls of the palace.

“Shinji?” He blinked, trying to clear the faint buzzing in his head. “What’re you doing here?”

“I could ask the same ta ya.”

“You already know, don’t you?” The corners of Ichigo’s mouth faintly turned upwards as he turned to see Shinji’s signature cheeky grin. “I’m the best candidate to become the next Soul King. And I don’t really want Yhwach’s dead body to rule over the worlds forever, I don’t really know what the Soul King does but I’m sure a corpse can’t do a good job of it.”

“Well, I can still try an’ stop ya, can’t I?”

“Shouldn’t you want me to do this? I could fix Soul Society. I could help everyone, even the espada that made it out of Aizen’s shit alive.”

Ichigo watched as Shinji’s grin faded into something that looked just shy of contemplative, a half-hearted shrug and arms that crossed over his chest.

“Yeah, but ya don’t have ta. Ya can, but should ya? You’ve got so much more ta live for than ta be stuck fixing everyone else’s mess. You, of all people, shouldn’t have ta sacrifice everything ta save the world, again.”

“But I can.”

“And I can stop ya.”

Ichigo blinked at Shinji, almost unseeing and confused.

“What if I don’t want you to?”

“I’ll stop ya anyways.”

Shinji made it all sound so simple, like there was only one right answer to a question that he didn’t even know. And still, he didn’t care, because there was such an easy solution right in front of him: to take on the responsibilities of the Soul King.

Ichigo didn’t think he had given himself away with a glance towards the throne, but there must’ve been something in his eyes (or maybe Shinji had just gotten really good at predicting him), that had him crashing into Shinji as he tried to dash towards the throne.

“Y’r a stubborn thing,” Shinji wheezed, his fingers still firmly grasping at Ichigo as he held him back. “Why are ya so willing to throw everything away? What about Isshin, or your sisters, or your human friends? Hell, what about the other Vizards, what about me?”

Ichigo stopped suddenly, Shinji’s words drove the tension from his movements as he slumped in Shinji’s grasp.

“Because of what’ll happen if I don’t. Yhwach’s dead body can’t be a good King, and no one else is shinigami, hollow and quincy.” He paused, eyes narrowing as he seemed to regain his determination. “If I’m the only one that can, then I need to do this to protect everyone, so I will.”

He watched as Shinji studied him, catching the corners of Shinji’s lips tugging downwards in a set frown.

“I won’ let ya.”

He didn’t bother to dignify it with a response, instead twisting and pulling himself free of Shinji’s grasp. He was so close— all he had to do was touch the throne, and then he could fix everything— and then he was yanked back, and damn Shinji for being just a touch faster than him. His eyes widened as Shinji’s hand fell on the seat of the throne and a satisfied grin flashed on his face momentarily. Shinji had intentionally claimed the title, knowing he wasn’t meant to take it, all because he didn’t want him to take it upon himself to take Yhwach’s spot?

Ichigo only had a heartbeat to breathe before a crushing power rolled over them, cracking tiles in the floor and sending him to his knees. “The unworthy will be destroyed if they try to claim the empty throne,” Ichibe had once told him, some time after Yhwach’s defeat.

His breath caught in his throat at the shattering realization— Shinji would let himself be destroyed just to stop him from bearing the burden of the King’s duties.

Ichigo hummed as he mindlessly rubbed his thumbs into the back of Shinji’s hand, half reading Shinji’s book over his shoulder and half letting his mind wander. He could feel the power that thrummed over Shinji’s skin, always present but never overwhelming.

Being able to feel Shinji’s reiatsu made him feel less obtrusive. He could see the slight discomfort of many shinigami when he wandered around Soul Society, the tension that set in the shoulders of those unfamiliar with his reiatsu. The captains and lieutenants usually didn’t mind, Kenpachi used it to track him and Byakuya always made snide remarks, but they didn’t fear him the way the officers did.

Shunsui and the Zero Division members all had tried to teach him how to reign his reiatsu in, but it only seemed to work for a couple of days before his reiatsu found a new way to leak, even after sealing his zanpakuto and meditating with Zangetsu. He shrugged it off, to Shinji’s amusement, and just accepted that it was another odd quirk to his power. Ichigo never really figured out the extent of the whole culmination of his shinigami, hollow and quincy powers, and after having a shouting match with Goat-Face over it, he decided he didn’t really want to know anyways.

He liked Shinji’s reiatsu, even before he had sat on the throne. It was like his own, loud, protective, with a hint of something monstrous and barely restrained that was weaved into every graceful display of power. It wasn’t even the hollow of their souls, because none of the other Vizards had reiatsu that felt quite so lethal, but something more, a desire to protect through any means necessary and the power to endorse it.

And Shinji had nice hands. His fingertips were soft as they met his own, palms gentle against his cheeks when they cupped his face. They were the same hands that Ichigo had seen ruthlessly take apart whole hollows with ease, fingers that had been curled around the blinding red of a charging cero. And despite all of that, Shinji only turned his hand so its palm was pressed against his, and laced his fingers with his. It was loose and warm against his own hand, the heat against him both comforting and grounding in a way that he hadn’t felt since he was six. Ichigo was secretly pleased when Shinji would bring their intertwined hands up to his lips, leaving kisses on the back of his hand that he swore he could feel even days after.

Shinji staggered under the overwhelming pressure. He caught himself with a hand on the seat of the half-crumbled throne of stone. He gasped for breath, the reiatsu suffocating and seeping into his skin, shaking the core of his very soul in a way that it’d never been touched before.

His mask came easily to him, perhaps too easily, forming under the palm of his hand as he fought to stay upright. There was a pull on the threads that wove his soul together, unweaving the ribbons only for them to be replaced with bone white equivalents. Shinji hadn’t ever felt his hollow so… protective. They had come to peace with each other after nearly tearing each other apart, haughty and unapologetic, yet a harmony that they accepted their new state of being.

The bone spread down from his mask over his chest as he slipped, one knee crashing to the floor and suddenly he was just a spectator to the flood of reiatsu that unleashed against the current. Sakanade unsealed under his hand and bone crept over the deepest parts of his soul, encasing it and repairing the torn fragments as fast as they were destroyed. He spun his reiatsu around him, forming a small tornado that only spun faster as it was drawn in closer to him. His eyesight sharpened and the sound of reiatsu tearing became pronounced as his hollow rebuilt his soul, adapting to each strike as he continued to increase his reiatsu output.

A near-silent gasp caught his attention, and he was suddenly reminded of Ichigo’s presence. How had he forgotten, when his only goal was protecting Ichigo? Was Ichigo also drowning in the power of the three worlds? For a split second, he wondered what he looked like to Ichigo, half-consumed by his own power, the pharaoh’s strength blatant and stark against the way it felt when he suppressed it.

Shinji paid dearly for the momentary interruption, the throne becoming a blade that sliced through the front of his mask like it was paper. He was out of options and tiring under the relentless assault of the palace itself, an overflowing well of power settled just out of reach. Ichigo would understand, he reasoned, as he finally dropped the reigns on the wildest part of his soul. After all, Ichigo had done the same.

His mask crumbled before reforming an instant later, spreading down his body until his body was encased in gold and white bone, reminiscent of armor plates. The throne wasn’t strong enough to kill them, not really, no matter how much it wanted to. He might have lacked the Quincy heritage, or whatever else the throne might have wanted to demand of him, but he had nearly a millennium of time to cultivate his power. He could use kido without incantation or hand movements, and throwing ceros had become as easy as breathing.

Vasto Lorde had been a strange form to stumble upon when he had first experimented with his hollow, too human-like for him to rely entirely on instinct but too hollow for the logic he’d like to have when roaming the world. He hadn’t understood why he would ever need such a form, a dangerous combination of soul that could only be for destruction, but now he was grateful that he had made peace with it.

Ichigo woke up earlier than Shinji did on most days, and he likes to think that it’s because Shinji finally feels safe enough to sleep deeply. Sometimes Shinji looked peaceful, a small smile on his lips and mussed hair that shined like a crown, fitting for a king.

Other mornings, Shinji was tense, sheets crumpled in his clenched fists and brows furrowed in something that could have been concentration or discomfort or upset. Ichigo didn’t think they were nightmares, since Shinji usually tended to mutter and twitch when he was having nightmares. Still, he liked to sit up and hold Shinji close until he woke, pressing his lips against Shinji’s skin in hopes that it would help soothe him.

Ichigo had never said anything about it to Shinji, but he was sure he already knew. Shinji had always been sharp and expectant, a step ahead of everyone else and intuitive beyond reasonable ability, so it would only be natural that Shinji would be aware of something that he wasn’t even conscious of.

It was always just the way he couldn’t help smiling and brushing hair out of Shinji’s face, watching the tension fade into relaxed slumber despite the instinct to wake at every possible threat that arose. Plain declarations of trust made him feel giddy, even though he always knew that Shinji trusted and loved him. It was different, it made heat bloom in his chest and he only wanted to hold it forever.

Sometimes he wondered if Shinji felt the same, but Ichigo never pried, just waited patiently like he did every morning, and eventually Shinji began staying in his arms even after he woke. And when Shinji smiled at him, irresistibly bright, and laid his head on his chest, Ichigo knew that Shinji felt the same, even if he didn’t say it.

Shinji was almost surprised when the immense reiatsu suddenly disappeared, and he nearly stumbled at the sudden lack of pressure that he had been resisting. There weren’t many things that could catch him off guard, but a sudden intrusion in his soul made him stiffen in surprise.

And before he could do anything about it, his entire being was unmade and remade in an instant, everything just slightly different, the reiatsu of the world woven into his soul alongside the hollow, command laced into his skin and down to the core of his very being. Shinji felt lightheaded, suddenly aware of every conflict and treaty that plagued the worlds, the despair of Hueco Mundo a horrible contrast to the unyielding superiority complex and disgust that flowed freely in Soul Society. Ironically, the living world was the least problematic, a harmony of balance that seemed strange compared to the other worlds.

He could see everything but nothing, a vague sense of the worlds but no specific being or movement. The sense of presence is stronger than ever, and he’s not sure that the floor won’t crumble if he takes a step forward. He turned away from the throne, slowly, straightening his shoulders. Bright orange in the corner catches his eye, Ichigo’s mask slipping into reiatsu particles between his fingers and he belatedly realized just how intense the worlds’ test of his worthiness must’ve been (a test, he pretended, was easier to swallow than admitting the three worlds had just tried to kill him and he had survived, he had won).

“Shin-” Ichigo coughed out, voice hoarse.

He walked over to Ichigo, and his body felt strange enough that he stumbled over his own feet, then immediately caught himself with instinct that he didn’t even know he had, much less expected after such a tiring ordeal. Shinji crouched in front of Ichigo, reaching out to cup his jaw and tilt his head up.

“You idiot, Shinji. I thought you were going to die!”

“Well, I didn’. It’s gonna take a lot more than just th’ world to kill me,” he responded, maybe a bit too cheerfully because he was met with Ichigo’s signature scowl.

“I thought you died when you started hollowfying again.”

Shinji’s grin slipped, replaced by a frown that tugged at the corners of his lips.

“”M sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.” He was slightly taken aback, surprised at the conviction in Ichigo’s voice.

“What if I lost you forever?” Ichigo’s voice broke halfway, and Shinji’s felt like his heart had dropped to his stomach. He pulled Ichigo into a hug, almost wincing at the grip of Ichigo’s fingers.

“It’s not gonna happen, I promise. I said I would help you no matter what, didn’ I? C’mon, they’re missin’ you down there.”

“No,” Ichigo muttered petulantly into Shinji’s shoulder. “I’m not leaving you here to deal with everything alone.”

The corners of Shinji’s lips quirked upwards into a small smile despite the exasperation he felt at Ichigo’s stubbornness. Really, where did he get it from?

“I won’ even be alone, the Zero Division is here and I’ve got company in my head too. More than I used ta, anyways. Seems like the world ain’t happy the way it is. Your friends are worried ‘bout ya, at least go see them.”

“You came alone, though.”

“Well, to be honest with ya, I sort of walked outta the meeting where Kisuke was tellin’ us ‘bout how Central wanted to put ya on the throne. The captains have things to handle down there ‘n your friends are still injured. They wouldn’ have been able to keep up with me either way.”

“I’m still not leaving.”

Shinji snorted.

“Yeah, I noticed. C’mon, we gotta figure out what to do now.”

Chapter Text

Disgusting. Shiny red blood on his fingertips, sticky and rolling down his hand in beads that fell to the floor and stained in splatters. A part of him wanted to taste it, he wondered what such a pretty liquid tasted like, if it was just as vibrant in scent and taste as it was in sight.

He didn’t come across people who could bleed very often, mostly watching others from behind bushes and trees. He knew he was small, yellow hair that reached his calves and had to be cut every so often, lest he trip on it while running or hiding.

Most people he had come across had been nice, albeit a tad empty, lacking personality and didn’t quite understand his hunger, the desire to hunt and eat, the need to restore energy after spending long periods of time on the run.

Granted, they didn’t live long either. He seemed to always bring bad luck, the black monsters always appeared some time after he stayed in one place for too long. It wasn’t hard for him to fight them off. After all, he had spent however long his life had been, alone, and constantly on the run. It had sharpened his reflexes and strength, and he didn’t have a problem tearing the monsters apart with his hands, the satisfaction of watching them dissolve after he cracks the white mask in his hands.

People that bled, they were like him, they could hit the monsters and ate what they could to get by. He had heard rumors of other towns like this one, but better, with real buildings and where food was plentiful. The only problem was that he didn’t know where the other towns were, not even which direction to walk in, because there was nothing but dirt and dust nearby, the occasional mostly-dead tree and rodents that hid in burrows.

Hesitantly, he brought his fingers up to his mouth, then recoiled at the metallic taste. Blood was not as appetizing as he had thought it was, despite the way his stomach rumbled and growled for more. Unfortunate.

“Shit,” Ichigo panted, “You’re fast.”

Shinji just laughed, always staying two flash steps ahead of Ichigo, turning sharp corners and nearly flying as he leapt across the buildings through open windows.

“Trouble keepin’ up, darlin’?”

Ichigo growled, ducking into a corridor as he chased the dust Shinji left in his wake. Even with his combined sonido and shunpo, he couldn’t close the gap between them, and he was pretty sure Shinji was still holding back.

“C’mon, I know ya can do better than that!”

Bastard. He even still had the energy to be a tease, after running for so long. When he finally gets a hold of Shinji, he’s going to—

Ichigo ran into Shinji’s back, trying to grab onto Shinji’s shirt for stability as he fell back. He glared up at Shinji’s smirk, scowling as he grabbed onto his outstretched hand to

“Gotcha!” Shinji grinned, pulling Ichigo up effortlessly. “You stink.”

“And who’s fault is that?”

“Hmm… I dunno. I think it’s your fault, for chasing me all this way.”

“You made me!”

“No I didn’t!”

“You took my favorite throwing knife!”

“Did I? I don’ remember doin’ that. I only told you that I did.”

“SHINJI!”

Shinji simply swept Ichigo up in his arms, stepping into shunpo as he laughed at the pout on Ichigo’s lips. Adorable.

“Maybe you’ll win one day.”

“You’re not even breathing hard!”

“You’ll just have to get faster then,” Shinji teased, “Maybe another round of tag will help you get faster.”

Ichigo groaned and shook his head, throwing an arm over his eyes dramatically.

“A nap and a shower first,” Shinji suggested, which Ichigo seemed much more agreeable to. “And maybe a snack too.”

Ichigo perked up at that, drawing a laugh from Shinji.

“Really? It’s the snacks that got ya?”

“Sharing snacks with you is my favorite thing to do.”

“You sap,” Shinji muttered, but he smiled, already planning a trayful of Ichigo’s favorite snacks to make while Ichigo rested.

“They’re missin’ ya, you know.”

Ichigo looked at Shinji, who was lying on the couch opposite to his, an arm draped over his eyes and seemed to be asleep.

“How do you know?” Ichigo asked, slowly.

“Intuition,” Shinji shrugged. “I’m sure they’ve noticed you've been gone for what, a week?”

“What about you? I’m sure they’ve noticed you’re gone too.”

“I’m not quite as missable as ya. They’ll fin’ someone to take over the Fifth, it’s not that hard, just paperwork mostly.”

Ichigo fell silent, eyes flicking back down to the book in his hands.

“Plus, they can probably feel me up ‘ere. I can’t be sure, but I’m tryna make some o’ the rukongai more livable. You know, more plants, water, that kinda stuff. Not that it’ll make much of a difference, but I don’ wanna screw with the stuff near Seireitei yet. Don’ wanna accidentally blow somethin’ up or destroy the city. Not that I ever really liked Central or the Gotei. But it’d be a bitch for Shunsui to deal with, and he doesn’ deserve that on top of everythin’ that’s already happened.”

“Did you… did you know that this would happen?”

“Of course not, I’m not Urahara. But, well, I kind of assumed that it would be this way. You know, the whole isolation thing, the massive fuckin’ headache it is to keep the worlds seperate. Nothin’ specific.”

“Oh.” Ichigo paused. “Is that why you stopped me from taking the throne myself?”

Shinji sat up slowly, shaking his hair out and rolling his shoulders. He planted his feet on the ground and rested his elbows on his knees, folded his hands and hummed thoughtfully, before meeting Ichigo’s gaze.

“Partly,” he admitted, “It was a combination of things. But yes, I didn’t want you to bear this kind of burden, especially alone.”

“You tried to stay up here, all alone too.”

“You’re a kid, Ichigo. I’m almost as old as Shunsui, I’ve seen and heard things, I’ve experienced life, I can handle this kinda responsibility too. I’m also stronger than you, not that it’s ever done me any good, ‘cause I can’t use my abilities to their full potential around allies. But there’s nothing to fight here, it’s just me an’ the world. You’re strong, Ichigo, but ya got your whole life ahead of ya.”

“I can’t just leave you, though.”

“Why not?”

Ichigo was surprised at the sudden change in Shinji’s voice, genuine curiosity and fond exasperation made the syllables softer, hesitation and stubbornness coloring his tone in a way he hadn’t heard before. Why not? What did Shinji expect from him, persistent denial of his own health? It wasn’t about himself— or rather, it was, and more selfish than a sacrifice.

“I don’t want you to leave me,” is what he managed to say. Shinji’s amber eyes met his and his voice died in his throat. Cold dread seeped into his chest as Shinji sighed, and he scrambled to explain. “It’s just— you know how it feels, you know, when everyone expects everything from you and—”

Shinji stood suddenly, and whatever he had been about to say dissolved on his lips. He watched, curious and unsure, as Shinji walked up to him. His hands were enveloped by Shinji’s, soft warmth that guided the book into his lap.

“I know,” Shinji said, once Ichigo looked up at him. “I won’t force ya to leave. But please,” he paused, squeezing Ichigo’s hands lightly, “promise me that you’ll at least visit your friends and family.”

“Really? You’ll let me stay?”

The childish hope in Ichigo’s eyes reminded him that Ichigo had never really gotten to experience life as a child, that he had been forced to grow up far too quickly, then had been placed in the middle of all of Soul Society’s affairs and had been forced to do what he himself hadn’t been able to do.

“O’ course. You can stay for however long ya want.”

And maybe he didn’t really want Ichigo to leave either. After everything Ichigo had gone through, he didn’t really trust anyone, especially the Gotei, to drag him into another war of some sort. Ichigo was well known for, well, being Ichigo, and that made him easy prey for both Central and the Gotei. Not that he didn’t trust Shunsui, but after the Gotei had left himself and the other Vizards to die after their hollowfication, he didn’t want to take those kinds of risks.

Shinigami, is what the people who could bleed were called, according to the lady that ran the food stall in this new town that he had found.

He didn’t remember how he had gotten out of the first town he had lived in, or the one after that, or the one after that. It had all been sort of the same, run down collections of shacks, death rampant and food scarce. The days blended together and he wasn’t even sure if there was a meaning to all of the time spent.

It was cleaner here, in this new town, labeled with a sign that read “District 76”. He didn’t know what that meant, or why he could even read the sign, given that there was no real use for it. He just needed to find food, and not die. There weren’t so many hollows in this town, and most people wore better clothes. Still rags, but unlike his own half-shredded cloth, stained with dirt and dried blood.

The people were nicer (or not, he had found out, after nearly being kicked by a shopkeeper for straying too close to his booth), at least they had some sort of personality, not that he knew why it mattered. Some of them had food, real houses, and places to sleep.

There was a spring a little ways into the forest that bordered the town on one side, and it didn’t seem like many people carried weapons. He had his own, a knife stolen from a rotting corpse in a town that was labeled “District 80”, it made his fingers tingle and sometimes he felt a little more confident when it was in his hand.

He hoped he could take a bath in the spring, or at the very least, wash the dirt and blood out of his hair, before traveling onwards. He hoped he was moving in the right direction, it didn’t seem any better here than the past few towns he passed through.

“Hirako-taicho hasn’t returned yet,” Renji mentioned. Mutters among the assembled broke out, many nodding in agreement or worrying about what to do.

Kisuke and Shunsui exchanged glances, a silent message of certainty passing between them.

“That’s why we asked you all to come here. It’s… well it’s a bit awkward to explain, so I’ll let Kyoraku-taicho handle it.”

Kisuke’s subdued demeanor made everyone restless, even most of the captains were shifting from foot to foot, agitated under the unconscious threat that laid underneath. The only times anyone had ever seen him serious were during times of war, or before, when he had been a captain, an onmitsukido member, everything but a harmless shopkeeper.

“Hirako-taicho will likely never return. We can’t be sure until Hirako-taicho and Ichigo-san visit us, but one of them has taken the burden of the Soul King. We just don’t know which one. They’re both stubborn enough to stay with the other, and we have no way to get to the Soul King Palace now that the stairway has been slowly disappearing, so we can’t go visit them ourselves.”

“So we can’t do anything but wait, is what you’re saying?” Chad asked.

Shunsui and Kisuke both nodded, to the disappointment of everyone.

“Well, it’s not like we didn’t expect this sort of behavior from Ichigo,” Yuzu piped up. “He has always been the sort to sacrifice everything to protect everyone else.”

“Yeah, Ichigo will come visit when he’s ready. Don’t you think he deserves some time to rest, especially if he’s the one who’s one the throne now? After he was dragged into all of your wars, because you couldn’t handle them yourselves?”

Kisuke almost laughed at how cowed some of the others looked at being scolded by Karin. No doubt she had gotten the same stubborn, fierce protectiveness as Ichigo, likely from the Shiba side of the family.

“What do we do about Central, then?”

“You’re the one with leverage within Central, aren’t you, Kuchiki? Can’t you just tell them to piss off? It’s not like they did anything useful, anyways,” Uryu responded sharply.

“Yoruichi-san has also already agreed to interfere with Central’s matters,” Kisuke interrupted hastily, warily eying Byakuya’s glare. As amusing as it would be to watch them all go at it, for Kyoraku’s sake, and his own, it would be in his best interest to defuse the situation. (For now, at least. Maybe he’ll deliberately start a fight later, when half of them are drunk.)

“The Kuchiki clan does not—”

“I will attempt to contact the Royal Division, but I doubt that I’ll be successful in doing so. Unfortunately, Yamamoto-sotaicho was unable to pass on any information that we might’ve had, other than creating an ouken the way Aizen tried to,” Kyoraku continued, entirely ignoring the argument. As silly as it was, it meant that Byakuya was likely feeling better, thanks to the Fourth.

As unlikely another war was, they needed to prepare, especially with how severely depleted their ranks were. He needed Byakuya to help train masses of new recruits, because as nobilistic as the Sixth was, there was no denying that Byakuya was a skilled necessary asset.

“Thank you for telling us, Kyoraku-taicho. We should get going though, before someone notices we’re missing.”

“You are welcome, Inoue-san. Remember, you’re always welcome to visit,” he said, nodding at the teens. “Urahara-san will take you back, and we’ll send a message if we get any news about Ichigo.”

A rather rowdy round of goodbyes were exchanged, a small smile curled Shunsui’s lips, despite the pang of sadness that echoed in his heart as he was reminded of the goodbyes that he never had the opportunity to say.

Kisuke met his gaze as the teens stepped through the senkaimon, a nod of approval that made his chest feel a little warmer. There was still hope for them, the Gotei, both in terms of rebuilding from what was lost, and reconciling with those they had cast away a century ago.

“You’re spacing out again.”

Shinji blinked and shook his head, sighing as he caught Ichigo’s worried gaze.

“Sorry, there’s just… so much to do.”

“I know.” Ichigo frowned at the dark circles under Shinji’s eyes and the tension that locked his shoulders up. He worked far harder than he should, often missing sleep to handle simple affairs that could have been taken care of by literally anyone else, and yet incompetence was rampant among every tier of the government. “Let me help?”

Shinji peered at Ichigo from behind his bangs then nodded.

“Can you scoot forward a bit? And take off your shirt. I’ll be back in a second,” Ichigo said as he left their room.

Shinji complied, shrugging out of his shirt and letting it fall to the floor.

“Hmm, actually can you lie down? On your stomach,” Ichigo instructed as he walked back into the room.

Shinji pulled a pillow to rest his face on, letting Ichigo move his arms so they rested beside him. Ichigo climbed over him, straddling his lower back as he poured some oil onto his hands.

He started with Shinji’s shoulders and neck, pressing his fingers rhythmically against the muscle and slowly working the knots out of his body. He was pleased when Shinji relaxed under him, groaning softly as he worked the tension out of his back.

Humming lowly, Ichigo let his fingers trace over Shinji’s skin, trailing over an assortment of thin white lines, a patch of lighter white on his lower back, no doubt from a severe burn, at least a couple of centuries old.

The heels of his palms dug into his back in long, slow strokes, easing the stiffness from hunching over the desk as he scoured the fine print of laws that had existed for centuries. Ichigo thought Shinji should’ve taken it easier, after all, the Seireitei had stood for centuries, it could wait a little longer to be properly sorted out.

When Shinji was nothing but a loose puddle of limbs, Ichigo shifted off of Shinji, helping him turn onto his back. Shinji sleepily grinned up at Ichigo, pulling him down for a kiss.

“Thanks.”

“Sleep,” Ichigo shushed at him, reaching over to turn the lamp off. “You can thank me later.”

Shinji snorted but settled down, pulling Ichigo into his arms and snuggling under the blanket.

He first realizes there’s a way to heal himself faster when he’s got a nasty gash across his back and a limp from an injured ankle, and almost falls flat on his face under the claws of exhaustion. By then, his skin is littered with scars from fighting the monsters in the leagues between districts, and he doesn’t really mind either. He’s numb to it by now, the pain a welcome distraction from the endless wandering that he seems to do nowadays.

There’s a swell of power that’s undeniable as it ebbs and flows with every beat of his heart. The warmth of the power accompanies the blood as it drips down his back, and suddenly it’s not all as bad as it had been moments before. He wasn’t quite sure if he was just getting used to the feeling of injury or if he really was getting better.

He pressed his fingers to where it hurt and it still came back, wet with blood, but it didn’t hurt like it was a fresh wound. It throbbed a bit and he could still feel some pain with every beat of his heart and yet it didn’t sting.

Like an older, half-healed wound.

Had he done that?

He tried to replicate the sensation of warmth— not blood warmth, but power warmth that pooled deep in his body and rose to his fingertips like controlled fire.

The slow ache in his back slowly faded under the pulsing heat that roads in his back, and soon there was nothing left but dried blood caked on his sweaty skin. Hell, even the rest of his body felt better, and he hadn’t even used whatever magic he had on those.

Were there others out there that could heal themselves too?

Well, it didn’t really matter, since he had finally managed to stumble back to the small camp he made hidden in the thick brush of the forest.

He barely managed to cover himself before passing out as the fatigue finally caught up to him.