Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Of Violence ❯ Chapter 19: Loss ( Chapter 21 )

Of Violence

Chapter Nineteen: Loss

 

Rukia slipped out of shunpo and came to a grinding halt on the dry, rocky ground, bits of stone crumbling beneath her. One hand on her zanpakutou, she hastily scanned the area, the familiar sound of her subordinates coming to a stop behind her as well. A chill wind buffeted the top of the high bluff where they stood, causing her hair to whip around her face. She scarcely noticed.

 

Every sense within her was tense with anticipation. There was something out there; she was certain of it. She nor anyone else in her unit had yet to set eyes upon it though. Aizen's creation, for she was certain that was its identity, was eerily adept at hiding its reiatsu. Much like all the other freak Hollows that had been popping up recently.

 

She asked herself not for the first time if volunteering for these patrols had been a good idea. Sure the opportunity to blow off some steam and escape from the pressure of circumstance in Soul Society was not to be overlooked. But the odd and lingering Hollows from Aizen's experiments were the furthest thing from fun to fight, and constant vigilance was beginning to take its toll on her.

 

“Kurosaki-fukutaichou?”

 

Rukia didn't bother to correct him. They would all learn soon enough that she was simply Kuchiki-fukutaichou now. She could no longer lay claim to her husband.

 

“Yes?” Never taking her hand of Sode no Shirayuki, she turned towards the Shinigami had spoken. It was her seventh-seat, a young man by the name of Kyuuki.

 

“Is it out there?”

 

She shook her head, returning to scanning the area. “I can't be sure. Tell everyone to be on full alert.” Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her zanpakutou, every sense screaming to be wary and danger. “It's somewhere.”

 

No sooner had the words left her mouth then did she feel a surge of reiatsu spike to the northeast, just past a cropping of boulders. Judging from the reactions of her subordinates, they felt it, too. How could they not? It was strong enough that it was just shy of the weakest Espada. That feeling of uncertainty grew.

 

“Sentarou-sanseki.”

 

The third-seat snapped up beside her with an unnecessarily stiff salute. “Hai?”

 

“Take three or four and see if you can get a better sight on the Hollow. The rest of us will head straight in.” Her mouth tightened into a grim line. “Undoubtedly, Akon-taichou will want some information on this thing before we kill it.”

 

“Hai!” With another sharp salute, Sentarou gestured to three of the nearest Shinigami, and they were off in short leaps towards the burst of reiatsu.

 

Rukia remained another moment longer, eyes narrowing as she scanned the landscape. Behind her, the rest of her unit shifted restlessly, their nerves on edge as well. Sode no Shirayuki whispered warnings in her mind. She didn't much like the feeling to this reiatsu or situation either.

 

Nodding to herself, Rukia was about to turn and gesture the rest of her team towards the unconfirmed Hollow, when the reiatsu abruptly vanished. As if it had been destroyed already or it had cut off its own spirit pressure.

 

“What's going on?” one of the men behind her asked.

 

“I don't--”

 

Her answer cut off just as quickly as another burst of reiatsu appeared, this time to the northwest. The Hollow was on the move. A quick glance proved that Sentarou and his team were already shifting their position. The uncertain knot in Rukia's gut tightened.

 

“Follow me,” she ordered in a clipped tone. “You three, be prepared with kidoh. You four, zanpakutou at the ready.”

 

“Yes, Kurosaki-fukutaichou!”

 

She winced and again didn't bother to correct them. Eyes locked on the last place she had registered the reiatsu, Rukia jumped down and gave chase. The sound of other footsteps just as quick followed her immediately.

 

No sooner had she started towards the northwest then it did the same thing happen again. The reiatsu vanished and then reappeared. This time to the direct west, just below the falling sun. And it was closer this time. The movement pattern seemed strangely familiar, and Rukia's brow furrowed as she scanned her memory.

 

The Hollow was moving faster now, reiatsu flashing in short and peppered bursts. To the west. To the north. To the east. To the south. Back to the west. Around and around, as though it were circling, just playing with them. Or setting a trap.

 

Realization dawned, and Rukia ground to a halt, fear trying to make a place within her. “It's a skipper!” she called out, the oppressive feeling of danger practically screaming through her senses. “It could be anywhere!” Sode no Shirayuki was in her hands within seconds, the sword practically simmering with tension.

 

Her unit at varying lengths behind her followed her example. There was a long tense second where nothing moved but a breath of wind. She could see Sentarou, just as confused as she, and making his way back towards their squad. But she felt nothing of the Hollow.

 

Behind her, someone screamed in tandem with the sudden surge of reiatsu, blanketing and paralyzing as it fell over their entire unit. Rukia was the least affected of them, though it managed to steal her breath for a moment. Her eyes widened at the sight of the ugly Hollow as its crab-like pincers speared one of her subordinates, blood splashing cerise onto the ground.

 

Rukia had never seen this type of Hollow herself before, code-named Skipper because that was its behavior, but she had heard of them. They had enough intelligence to control their reiatsu, releasing and tightening it to confuse the Shinigami. Not to mention the ability to leave little reiatsu “drops” to further confound any pursuers. They had the nasty habit of leading the Shinigami on wild chases and then drawing them into a trap.

 

This thing standing less than twenty feet from her with its tall body and gangly limbs was not the most horrific Hollow she had seen. But for its ability, it was still a creature to behold.

 

Horrified by the fate of her subordinate, Rukia forced herself into action, barking out orders as she moved. Kidoh sparked to her fingertips and a high-powered byakurai was flying through the air. The spell crackled and grew in power as it exploded against the side of the Hollow with enough force to make it stumble. The Hollow roared that terrible sound she had long grown to hate, and its head swung towards her. The kidoh had done little harm.

 

Not to be discouraged, Rukia firmed her lips and leapt into battle. “Mai, Sode no Shirayuki!” she called, the edges of frost creeping to her fingertips as her zanpakutou bled white, surging into shikai.

 

Without giving the Hollow chance to attack another of her subordinates, who were wisely backing away from the huge creature, she summoned the first dance. At the beginning surge of reiatsu and accompanying ice, Rukia felt a smirk touch her lips. As the Hollow tossed aside the body of the Shinigami it had slain to be caught by another one of her subordinates, Rukia enveloped it in the consuming snow of the first dance.

 

“Some no mai, tsukishiro!”

 

A circle appeared beneath the Hollow and surrounded it in a pale light. It roared in disinterest, one hand swinging out wildly. Mid-air as she was, Rukia couldn't avoid the hit easily and the back of the claw caught her arm. She absorbed the blow and let herself fall back to the ground, though she didn't stop the release of her zanpakutou. Blood streamed freely from the wound, and her grip loosened momentarily.

 

Rukia heard the crackling of ice, the faint sound it made as it crept up the Hollow's body and encased the creature in a layer of frost. It went utterly still, and with a flick of her wrist, the ice exploded outwards, the Hollow disintegrating to thin air.

 

A frown pinching her lips, Rukia lowered her zanpakutou and carefully inspected the wound on her arm. It wasn't anything serious luckily. A small kidoh would fix it in no time. The sound of feet alerted her to the approach of her unit, including Sentarou and his small team. She turned to greet them, only to freeze in absolute shock when multiple bursts of reiatsu began to spike all around them. One, three, and then six flares of spirit pressure of equal power to the previous one.

 

“Kyuuki, send a message to Ukitake-taichou,” she quickly ordered, gaze flickering round and round in hope to catch a glimpse of the Hollows that had surrounded them. “We need reinforcements and as soon as possible!”

 

“Hai!”

 

“The rest of you stick together,” she commanded and watched as they drew into a circle, hands nervously on zanpakutou, though they were resolute. “Concentrate your forces on each one at a time.”

 

The landscape shimmered around them like the air above asphalt in the middle of summer before the Hollow appeared. They were the same ugly creatures as before, and Rukia clenched her jaw, the uncertainty in her gut finally holding name. Without allowing herself to worry or even really think, she dove into battle, the second dance on her lips.

 

Darting around the nearest Hollow, she slipped around its back and slashed viciously. It reared back and roared, turning to take a swipe at her. She deftly dodged and took to the air, flitting around its broad sweeps. Sode no Shirayuki flashed in the sunlight as she bored down with the blade and neatly cleaved the back of the Hollow's head. It disintegrated beneath her attack.

 

But there was no time to rest. She couldn't relish that victory before she was thrust into another battle, springing at the next Hollow. They were roaring in tandem now, throwing themselves at the Shinigami in a concentrated effort. Her breaths were coming in sharp pants now, heart pounding in her chest. Not for the first time, she began to worry.

 

One of her subordinates called out in fear. And Rukia's attention was drawn her way. She saw them being pressed back by a group of three, though Sentarou was furiously defending their position with his own shikai. The moment of distraction was all her multiple opponents needed.

 

A claw slapped her out of mid-air. Rukia hit the ground hard, body slamming into the hard-packed dirt. The air was knocked out of her, but she didn't have time to recover. Another Hollow was already barreling down on her. Rukia rolled out of the way of the claw, barely missing being impaled, and fired a kidoh. The ball of flames struck the Hollow, knocking it off balance.

 

Using that to her advantage, she quickly rolled to her feet. “Tsugi no mai, hakuren!”

 

The freezing wind swept through the open plains, and a massive wave of ice flew from her zanpakutou. It engulfed the nearest two Hollows in front of her, bathing them in a thick coating of frost. It was a small victory, and she was already leaping to avoid the blow from behind her. Another claw crashed into the ground where she had been standing, leaving behind an impressive crater.

 

Rukia whirled in the sky and blocked another blow with her zanpakutou. A gasp was driven from her mouth by the force of the strike. There were simply too many of them. Gritting her teeth, Rukia threw out another kidoh, though without time for the whole incantation, it was significantly less powerful than it could have been. It was, however, enough distraction for her to slip out of the Hollow's range.

 

She wasn't quick enough to avoid the strike from behind. Something hard and sharp crashed into her back, batting her to the rocks as though she were a mere fly in the air. An annoyance. Rukia struck solid stone this time and felt something inside her crack ominously. Stars danced in front of her eyes, darkness threatening to encroach.

 

She could smell the sharp copper tang of her own blood. But she couldn't even really remember getting struck again.

 

Rukia stumbled to her feet, something shifting wetly inside of her chest. Broken ribs probably. Coughing, her fingers tightened around Sode no Shirayuki. Determination burned in blue eyes as she glared at the surrounding Hollows. The shouts of kidoh and tactics were her only reassurance that the rest of her unit still lived.

 

They only had to hold off for a little while longer. Help was coming. Reinforcements would arrive soon. Just a bit longer.

 

Hope began to dwindle as she felt new reiatsu join the fight but not that of other Shinigami. No, this was the malevolent spirit pressure of other Hollows. Her insides twisted with uncertainty.

 

And then, it was a blur of action, of thrown kidoh and her blade flashing through the air. She leapt and ducked and rolled to avoid each painfully sharp pincer. Each Hollow's roar rattled through her bones and set her heart to a new, worried rhythm. Her feet touched ground for mere milliseconds before she was airborne again.

 

Her last whispered thought was that she had to live, to survive because her children were waiting for her return. And then, she was leaping into battle once more, Sode no Shirayuki raised high and a strong breath of frigid wind following in her wake.

 

- - -

 

 

Clang!

 

The sharp sound of blade meeting blade echoed across the fifth division's training arena. Ichigo inclined his head approvingly as he blocked the rather forceful blow from one of his subordinates. The boy was improving, his hesitation in battle slowly beginning to filter out of his instincts. Just as his own sensei had taught him, Ichigo was giving his own subordinates the value of resolve.

 

Ever mindful of his greater strength, Ichigo pushed against the blow with Zangetsu, just enough to force his opponent off balance. Dark eyes widened in surprise but then quickly hardened as the boy gritted his teeth and dug his waraji into the hard-packed sand. Ichigo couldn't help but feel proud.

 

He had been neglecting his division for far too long. This was something he had been promising himself to do a while ago and now felt guilty for not initiating these sessions sooner. The fifth had been holding together miraculously well, but they still needed their captain. And Ichigo didn't want to disappoint them any longer.

 

He fell back, pulling Zangetsu free and then pushing forward with a series of quick and short slashes. Resolve gathered, his opponent defended each attack and then parried with several of his own. Surrounded by the eyes of their fellows, all eagerly soaking up the display with interest and perhaps picking up a few pointers of their own, he was doing miraculously well.

 

A wave of sickness suddenly swept through Ichigo, sending a spasm of weakness into his fingers and making his stomach flip. He reeled from the abrupt onslaught, grip on Zangetsu faltering. In his distraction, he staggered, and his subordinate did not hesitate to take the opening. A blade nicked him across the shoulder, tearing his shihakushou and drawing a thin stream of blood. The pain, however, was negligible compared to the strange feeling rippling through the captain's body.

 

A gasp tore itself from Ichigo's mouth as he slammed Zangetsu into the ground, using his zanpakutou as a means to keep himself from toppling over. Every instinct in his body was twitching this way and that, his senses going into overload. Someone... someone important to him was hurt. That was all he knew. He could feel the decrease in their reiatsu, the shortening of their life, and it made him ill. A fresh bout of dizziness attacked his mind and he sucked in a sharp breath, clinging to his zanpakutou's hilt.

 

`Ossan?'

 

That place inside of him where he could always feel Zangetsu, as well as the rest of those important to him, wavered uncertainly. It couldn't be Byakuya, for the bond he felt with his brother-in-law didn't have this pained edge to it. Nor was it any of his children, their bonds always filled with innocent love and adoration. No, this bond was faintly muted, losing its vitality and strength. Which meant--

 

'Yes,' Zangetsu's wide tone whispered through his mind. 'It is Rukia.'

 

Concern and dread warred with the nausea and dizziness as the worst of the sensation passed. It left Ichigo feeling drained as he peeled his eyes open, not even realizing that he had shut them. Awareness to the outside world gradually trickled in, and it was to the feeling of someone's hands on his shoulders, lightly shaking him.

 

“Ichigo-kun?”

 

Yumichika. He would recognize that voice in an instant. And in the background, the subordinate he had been sparring with was apologizing profusely.

 

“I'm sorry. I didn't realize. I didn't mean to--”

 

“It's fine,” Ichigo interrupted the continuous streams of apologies. “It's nothing to be sorry for.”

 

It took great effort for him to straighten, the shock of the bond still a loud ache inside of him. His limbs weren't fully cooperating, fingers twitching in a half-numb state. He barely felt the faint trickle of blood from the superficial wound.

 

He looked up into concerned purple eyes, Yumichika's forehead pinched with worry. “What happened?” he asked because it wasn't every day that his captain suddenly keeled over in the middle of a simple sparring practice.

 

Ichigo swallowed, struggling for words against the desolate feeling making a home in his chest. “It's Rukia,” he managed to grit out and straightened to his full height. “Something's happened to Rukia.”

 

Yumichika's eyes widened in surprise, jaw dropping. “What?”

 

Jerking Zangetsu out of the ground, despite the wave of dizziness the sudden action produced, Ichigo returned his zanpakutou to his back. “I don't know,” he answered honestly, taking one shaky step and then another until they grew in strength. “I have to find Byakuya.” Surely, the Kuchiki noble had noticed as well.

 

His vice-captain nodded. “I understand. I'll take care of things here. Just get going.”

 

Sheer gratitude for Yumichika was a healthy combatant against the pain he experienced. Ichigo shot him a wan but appreciative upturn of his lips.

 

“Thanks,” he replied and then was gone in a flit of wobbly shunpo.

 

Not for the first time was he grateful for the proximity of the fifth division to the sixth. He was at Byakuya's office within moments, the worry inside of him growing and swelling with each passing second. Ichigo had already reached for the bond, holding on tightly. It was almost as if he could feel her heartbeat through the weakening connection.

 

Ichigo was met at the door by Byakuya, who looked to be in just as good a condition as he on the inside. Though on the outside he appeared composed, his worry was reflected in the tightening of his lips and the pinch around his eyes. The two didn't greet, understanding passing between them in an instant.

 

“The thirteenth,” Byakuya said shortly, his words clipped and pained. “Senpai will know what's happening.”

 

The other man simply nodded his agreement, and they were gone just as quickly, worry quickening their shunpo to near battle speeds. The two didn't bother to speak, Ichigo fighting every instinct to blaze furiously towards wherever Rukia would be. But the passing of decades had helped to calm his reckless behavior, and he recognized that her captain would have more information than blindly flitting around in search of her. The pain of the bond was overriding his ability to locate her reiatsu.

 

The two captains arrived at the thirteenth to find it in a panic, Shinigami rushing all around them. It was obvious that something very wrong was disrupting the division. Fear trickled into the concern, and Ichigo didn't waste any time in rushing to Ukitake's office. His fingers twitched to draw Zangetsu and chase after the source of the pain.

 

To their disappointment, the main office was utterly devoid of any personnel. The captain's door was wide open, revealing an empty room. Which didn't bode well for their concern.

 

Ichigo's hands clenched into fists. “I can't just wait here,” he stated through gritted teeth, tone edging towards a growl. “I have to know.”

 

For his part, Byakuya sounded perfectly calm, though inside he was a boiling flow of emotion. “And rushing headlong won't get us anywhere.” His own reiatsu simmered with barely restrained anxiety.

 

He was practically shaking, still feeling the aftereffects of that first surge of sickness. “I can't just stand here,” Ichigo repeated, sight blurring in front of him. “I can't.”

 

“And yet, there wouldn't be any point going anywhere else.”

 

The voice, coming from behind them and tight with sorrow, caused both Byakuya and Ichigo turn around. There stood Jyuushiro in the doorway, captain's haori speckled with blood and face even paler than normal. He looked drawn, and the distinct shimmer of unshed tears in his eyes said all that needed to be said.

 

Ichigo felt everything inside of him crash, the feeling of emptiness finally having a name. He didn't need to hear Jyuushiro say it. He already knew. Rukia, his wife, the woman he still loved was gone.

 

How was that fair? How was that anything close to fucking fair?

 

His hands clenched into even tighter fists, until his fingers felt as though they were bloodless. Beside him, Byakuya noticeably stiffened, his every manner rigid.

 

Jyuushiro took a noticeably wobbly step into the room, shoulders slumped. “It was a trap,” he explained in a choked voice, failing to hold himself together. “Those damn Hollows. By the time I arrived...” he trailed off and swallowed thickly in order to regain control. “I was too late.”

 

The croaked explanation was the last coherent phrase that managed to slip through Jyuushiro's lips before he completely broke down. The tears he had been holding back fought their way to the surface, and he slumped in the doorway, losing control of his reserve. Ichigo, without even thinking, darted forward, to catch Jyuushiro before he hurt himself on the way down.

 

Inside, he was weak and nauseous, but watching Jyuushiro fall apart, he knew he couldn't do so also. He felt numb, especially with the noticeable void in his soul where it felt a part of him was missing. But he had to hold together because Byakuya was still just staring into space blankly and Jyuushiro was already gone, torn by the sight of losing someone important to him for the second time.

 

Ichigo gritted his teeth and bore it, inwardly chanting, 'Not here. Not here. Not now. Not now. I can't. I can't. I can't.'

 

Someone had to do it, and he was the only one left. He could only assume that Jyuushiro had come from the fourth division, that the blood staining his haori was from his last and futile attempt to save Rukia. His heart went out to the weeping man, who was as limp as a child in Ichigo's arms.

 

He didn't know where he was getting the strength to keep together from, but somehow, Ichigo managed it. His eyes glanced to Byakuya, the noble's hands clenching and unclenching, his reiatsu a wild scattering of emotion that lent the air the fragrance of cherry blossoms. The scent warred with that of an approaching thunderstorm, and the many knickknacks in the office were already rattling. There was a distinct shatter as Jyuushiro's favorite tea set split into pieces before Byakuya managed to tighten the reins on his disturbed reiatsu.

 

Control was slowly slipping from Ichigo's grasp, whittled down by the sense of loss striking through his person. They had separated, and true, their marriage was over. But he had still cared for Rukia. He still loved her and knowing she was gone, that he would never see again, was a pain he couldn't easily dismiss.

 

And his children! He hadn't even managed to tell them that they were getting divorced. How was he supposed to explain this? How was he supposed to go home and tell them they would never see their mother again?

 

Unconsciously, Ichigo's hold on Jyuushiro tightened as he fought to keep from slipping into his own sorrow. His knees threatened to buckle beneath him, sending both he and Jyuushiro to the floor. Zangetsu was far too heavy on his back.

 

“Jyuu!” Izuru's voice was a welcome interruption and relief to Ichigo. He was even more relieved when the third division captain swept into the room and pulled his husband into his arms, freeing Ichigo. He had likely sensed Jyuushiro's distress, the same way Ichigo had sensed Rukia's end.

 

Rukia.

 

The last hold he had on his control fell to pieces around him, and Ichigo found himself kneeling on the floor. He wasn't entirely certain how he had gotten there. Without a need to support Jyuushiro, his conscious decided it was okay to let go. The numbness in his extremities reflected the hollow feeling inside of him. The place where his bond with Rukia had once been was now barren, and he felt it all too strongly.

 

Others were quickly crowding the confines of Jyuushiro's office, and Ichigo only faintly recognized Shunsui and Renji. He knew that Byakuya was present somewhere too, could feel the pain in the man's reiatsu. But his own open eyes saw nothing, still in a state of disbelief and shock.

 

Stray words and phrases filtered to his conscious, but they weren't understood. Nor did he bother to interpret them. If anyone was speaking directly to him, he didn't know it. The tightening in his chest and stomach absorbed his attention, along with the nauseating sensation that accompanied the abruptly broken bond.

 

Ichigo missed big blotches of time, the hours bleeding one into the next. He didn't come back to awareness until someone shoved a warm cup into his hands. The scent of herbal tea floated to his nostrils, waking him from his stupor. Blinking, Ichigo looked up into large and concerned blue eyes.

 

Hanatarou.

 

His brother-in-law smiled encouragingly at him. “Drink, Ichigo-san,” he urged in his same gentle tone. “It will help to calm you down.”

 

He did so on automatic, too exhausted both inside and out to think for himself. The tea was warm on his tongue, and sensation flooded his insides, replacing the frozen feeling that had overcome him. Blinking, Ichigo looked around. Sitting next to him was Byakuya, holding a similar cup of tea with a similar blank expression.

 

He was still in Jyuushiro's office, but the others had gone. Jyuushiro and Izuru, Renji if he had even been there at all. And Shunsui as well. The place was utterly abandoned. Just beyond an open window, he caught the impending darkness of evening. It had been before lunchtime when he was sparring with his division members.

 

He should have been home hours ago.

 

“Oh, kami,” Ichigo breathed, trying to rise on wobbling limbs as his fingers spasmed around warm porcelain. Tea splashed all over his hand from the jerky motion. “My children.” How could he have forgotten them?

 

Small hands settled on his shoulders, forcing him back down. “Don't worry,” Hanatarou explained, still attempting reassurance with that gentle smile. It did nothing to comfort the aching captain, however. “Yuzu has them. I made certain they were taken care of.”

 

Ichigo allowed himself to settle back down, relieved that his increasing failure as a father wasn't going to result in his children being uncared for. He certainly owed his friends a great debt for all of their support. From the beginning of the entire mess to even now, they had been by his side, providing the aid when he needed. And now was no exception.

 

Convinced that Ichigo was going to remain seated, Hanatarou returned to standing in front of the two captains. His eyes were filled with worry, and the silence in the room was stifling.

 

“Where is Jyuushiro?” The question came from Byakuya, stiff and carefully stated.

 

A quick glance proved to Ichigo that the Kuchiki heir was holding onto his composure with great difficulty. The white-knuckled grip on his teacup was all the proof he needed. On instinct alone, Ichigo shifted a bit closer to Byakuya, comforted by the man's proximity. He drew strength simply from Byakuya's presence, knowing that he was not the only one suffering.

 

Hanatarou sighed, eyes casting towards the tray next to him where his hands mechanically rearranged teapot and other paraphernalia. “Kira-taichou has taken him home. Ukitake-taichou was quite distraught.”

 

Given that it was the second time he had lost a much beloved lieutenant, Ichigo could believe it. He brought the tea to his lips and breathed in the aroma but couldn't feel the knot in his belly loosen at all. He sagged where he sat on the floor, head hanging on his neck.

 

“What am I going to tell them?” he whispered, the question directed at himself but likely heard by the other two in the room.

 

It was hard enough handling the knowledge on his own. He could feel the tears burning at the back of his eyes, and the lump in his throat refused to go away, no matter how much he swallowed. It would break him to see the same sorrow reflected in the eyes of his children.

 

Neither had any answer to offer him. And silence lapsed in Jyuushiro's empty office, broken only by the faint sounds of them sipping disinterestedly at their tea.

 

- - -

 

The room was silent and dark except for the sound of the overhead fan whirring in continuous circles. The air it produced was a faint breath down on the bed beneath it, lightly stirring strands of white hair. But Jyuushiro barely noticed, curled as he was on the layers of his mattress. He was dressed in a light kimono for comfort, his captain's haori and shihakushou already remanded to the closet. Sougyo no Kotowari was in his stand within a hand's reach away.

 

His tears had long since dried, leaving him feeling worn out and empty. Sleep, however, would not come. He wasn't entirely sure if he wanted it to. He kept seeing images in his mind, reliving over and over the scene he had come across after receiving Rukia's summons for more aid.

 

Message by Hell Butterfly never could quite convey the urgency of the situation. It wasn't able to relate the fear in Rukia's voice or the half-defeated state she had been in. Jyuushiro had hurried to her aid, Rukia calling for help something that rarely occurred. But even then, he hadn't been fast enough.

 

It had been a grisly scene he had stumbled upon. Evidence of more than half a dozen Hollow lay in scattered, frozen pieces around the area. Three more still roamed across the expanse, one battling against the remains of Rukia's unit. By something miraculous, Sentarou was still holding together with the last of his team, a paltry four compared to the two dozen that had been sent out.

 

At first glance, he hadn't seen Rukia anywhere.

 

Jyuushiro had taken no chances. He had released his zanpakutou to shikai and had taken down the remaining Hollows in one fierce blow, letting his reiatsu spill over the battlefield. As the last of their roars had faded, their bodies dissolving to thin air, he had ordered the Shinigami he had brought with him to search for the missing others. Rukia, he had searched for her himself.

 

He had found her, lying in a crumpled heap at the base of a rock outcropping. There had been a garish streak of blood sliding down the stone face. He had only been able to assume that she had been thrown there at the very last attack and left to die where she fell. Heart pounding in his chest, he had run to her side, immediately gathering up her frail and battered body. Blood had immediately latched onto the pristine white of his robes.

 

She hadn't been breathing, and her limp fingers had released her slack hold on Sode no Shirayuki, the blade snapped off at the very tip. He had still been able to see traces of ice though, remnants of her final dance. Yet, in his irrationality, he had still hoped to save her.

 

Jyuushiro had scooped up her broken body into his arms, and calling out to Kiyone and leaving her in charge of cleanup, he had made his way quickly to the fourth division. Her condition was beyond the low-level fourth division members that had been assigned to accompany him. Shunpo hadn't been fast enough for him, the whole time his fingers grasped tightly around Rukia. Inwardly, he had been hoping beyond rationality that she could be saved. That Orihime could save her or Isane in bankai. That maybe there was a way to cheat death that he still didn't staunchly believe Rukia suffered.

 

He had known that he should have returned to see to the state of the rest of his subordinates, the lower-seats he didn't know as well and the others who had fallen. Proper protocol and honor and respect practically demanded it of him. But for Jyuushiro, who hadn't wanted to lose another vice-captain, he had ignored all sense of practicality.

 

It had been a frantic Jyuushiro who stumbled into the fourth, half-crazed and shouting for someone, anyone really. Isane had appeared almost immediately, and he hadn't liked the look of resignation on her face. There was nothing she could do, the woman explained to him in a quiet voice. She couldn't bring back the dead.

 

He had let Isane take Rukia from him only because his arms couldn't bear her weight any longer. A Hell Butterfly arrived not soon after, Kiyone letting him know that the others had been gathered and were returning to the thirteenth. Some of the fallen had been found alive and were on their way to the fourth. A small favor. Jyuushiro had responded entirely on automatic, struggling to hold himself together.

 

Byakuya was going to kill him. That had been all he could think. Finally trusting his dear sister to the vacated second-seat, allowing her to take the coveted position. Placing his trust in Jyuushiro's hands. And yet, he had allowed her to be killed. If only he had been quicker, if only.

 

Isane had suggested he return to his division, to greet the return of his subordinates and to see to the surviving members. With Rukia gone, he had to take control. He had to hold himself together. Jyuushiro had agreed, somehow finding the rationality where it had been pushed aside. But on his return, he had first laid eyes on Byakuya and Ichigo, and everything had stopped. He had nothing but sorrow to offer them, and at that point, he had lost control.

 

The door to the bedroom opened, letting in a thin stream of light, and promptly closed behind the visitor. Silent steps padded across the floor before the bed dipped behind Jyuushiro, and he was engulfed in warm arms. A familiar scent accompanied his embracer, and Jyuushiro sank back into the comforting touch.

 

“Izuru,” he breathed in a tone that was this shade of broken.

 

“I'm here,” his love assured him, breaths a warm comfort on the back of Jyuushiro's neck. “Don't worry about the division. Everything is being taken care of. I sent my own vice-captain to help.”

 

He drew in a shuddering breath. “Thank you.”

 

The arms around him tightened, drawing him closer into the embrace. “You know that's not needed.”

 

Jyuushiro didn't respond, feeling the pain crest over him again. For the second time, he was suffering this sorrow. It was like he was reliving his dear son's death all over again. He couldn't save Shiba Kaien, and he hadn't been able to save Rukia. He was useless as a captain. As a man.

 

His body shuddered, and Izuru's grasp tightened in response. “They're going to think I'm cursed,” Jyuushiro whispered as he stared into the deep darkness.

 

He couldn't shake the feeling that this was his fault. He had allowed Rukia to take and lead the patrol. He had sent her after the strange reiatsu readings, and he had allowed her to return to full duty. He should have made her stay within Soul Society, mending the remains of her family and spending time with her children.

 

But she had been adamant about needing space and time to think, and he had granted it to her. Now, Jyuushiro was kicking himself for giving in to her request. And if he had been faster, if he had somehow arrived sooner. He might have been able to save her.

 

If. If. If!

 

The whole situation was plagued with ifs, and he couldn't erase them from his mind.

 

“No, they won't,” Izuru returned confidently. “You are a wonderful captain, who cares deeply about his subordinates. You're not cursed.”

 

He let the words wash over him. “Izuru, I don't want another vice-captain.”

 

Honestly, allowing Rukia to take the position had been hard enough. And then, look what had happened to her.

 

Jyuushiro swallowed thickly. “I'm not even sure I want to be a captain any longer. I'm getting tired.”

 

The words left his lips, and they were accompanied by a rough cough, his entire body shuddering in response. His lungs ached and burned, though Jyuushiro tried to hold back on the painful coughs. In response, strong hands rubbed at his back, trying to soothe the ache they produced. He could feel his breath rattle in his chest.

 

When the fit subsided, Izuru was there rub out the aches. “You know that you love being a captain,” he murmured into his husband's ear. “You'd miss it.”

 

“I know.” His tone was miserable. “But I can't do this again.” He didn't think he was strong enough to live through the death of another dear subordinate. The habit of considering his vice-captain precious was growing to be quite painful.

 

Izuru hummed noncommittally, letting a comfortable silence wash over them. For Jyuushiro, just having his husband near was comfort enough. His heart still ached, and he couldn't shake the images from the back of his mind. But at least, he wasn't alone.

 

And he knew that somewhere in the living room snoring his life away, Shunsui was waiting. Concern for his best friend had kept him from returning home, and so he hovered like a mother hen, much like he did whenever Jyuushiro was hospitalized for his illness.

 

The fact that he wasn't alone helped to ease the pain, just a little. He felt himself relaxing fraction by fraction into his husband's embrace, and it wasn't much later that he succumbed to his exhaustion. He let his sorrow wash over him and sank into sleep, physically and emotionally drained.

 

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