Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Reminiscence ❯ 04 -- Fret ( Chapter 4 )

Title: Reminiscence

Memory: 04 -- Fret

Author: La Loba de Mibu

Rating: PG-13

Characters: Ikkaku and Yumichika

Warnings: None

Summary: There was just no way he could imagine continuing on without the other's boisterous, slightly arrogant, incredibly irritating at times, but always strong and protective presence anymore.

Note: The number of the chapter does not reflect the chronological order of the present storyline, rather the flashback portrayed therein.

Disclaimer: Tite Kubo owns all things Bleach.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Previous Memories ~ Series Index

 

::Memory 01::Memory 02::Memory 03::

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

A/N: I'm basing this off that flashback of Kira, Hinamori, and Renji in the academy, and what little we've actually seen of the 4th Divisions healing techniques. Perhaps some of the details aren't completely plausible . . . meh. Also, for those unfamiliar with Japanese architecture, so you may picture the environment correctly: small huts/shacks tend to be centered around a hearth on a dirt floor, surrounded by raised wooden platforms where people would sit or sleep . . . think like in Samurai Champloo, the hut of the crazy man that saved Jin.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

Yumichika was panicking.

 

It didn't really show of course, except for the uncharacteristic crease between his brows marring his beautiful features. He'd long since learned to hide his inner turmoil in situations like this. Fretting just made Ikkaku irritable, and the last thing Yumichika needed when he was panicking was to deal with an irritable Ikkaku.

 

Ikkaku groaned, and a shudder of pain passed through his body as Yumichika pressed harder on the gushing wound beneath his hands.

 

“Shit, that hurts,” if Ikkaku could still manage to grumble out an idiotic complaint like that, then surely he couldn't be that bad off.

 

“Of course it does. You have a gaping hole in your side, you moron,” Yumichika replied automatically, but there was no real bite to it.

 

He ignored the way Ikkaku blinked at him in favor of surveying the scene in the vain hope that someone, anyone, might be coming to get them out of this tricky situation. But all he saw were the mangled bodies of several classmates and other students of the Shinigami academy, strewn haphazardly about the strange human world streets.

 

He didn't understand how things could have gone so wrong. How what was supposed to be a controlled demonstrative hollow hunt led by 6th year class for the benefit of the 2nd years turned into a veritable slaughter. One minute he and Ikkaku had been quietly mocking their sempai as they demonstrated “proper” sword technique against dummy hollow, the next he'd felt an ominous spirit pressure and quickly pushed Ikkaku back as a real hollow rushed through the ranks of their fellow 2nd years' who were distracted watching the exercise.

 

Their instructors had warned them before leaving that due to the amount of souls with high reiatsu concentrated in a single area, one out of every hundred of these training trips to the human world resulted in “serious casualties due to unforeseen circumstances.” Which Yumichika now figured translated to “every couple of years a class gets massacred by a hollow on a rampage.” Their instructors hadn't even passed out the swords yet.

 

The only reason they had even survived was because the two of them had managed to reach the trunk of said swords and pulled them out to defend themselves. Ikkaku, fight-loving idiot that he was, took a step further by actually attacking the hollow, to the presently miserable results. Luckily, the distraction provided an opening for their sempai who soon drew the creature away from them after Ikkaku hit the ground for good.

 

The grey clouds that had been hanging ominously above them decided at that moment to open up and spill forth the water they carried in a steady drumming downpour.

 

“Honestly, Ikkaku,” Yumichika complained lightly, trying to calm himself down as the blood just kept seeping through his fingers, “Where's your damn luck today?”

 

Ikkaku made a horrible noise that Yumichika assumed was supposed to pass for a chuckle.

 

“Sorry, Yumi,” Ikkaku groaned out, “Musta left it at home.”

 

“Stop that,” Yumichika's eyes narrowed.

 

Ikkaku rarely shortened his name, and that he would be doing so now meant things were much grimmer than he cared to think about. He took a deep breath. Think, Ayasegawa, think.

 

Looking around Yumichika spotted the only individual among the sea of blue and red hakama wearing black; a member of the 4th Division obligatorily sent along with the class in case first aid was needed. Indeed it was, and if the poor bastard had survived, then perhaps he could have been quite useful. As it was, he lay still at an odd angle in a pool of his own blood, but the bag he had been carrying lay beside him, strap broken but otherwise untouched. Now if Yumichika could only reach it.

 

He looked down at Ikkaku's wound, slowly leaking out his friend's life blood despite the incredible amount of pressure he was putting on it. If he let go, Ikkaku could very well bleed out in the time it took him to reach the bag and get out what he needed. That was not acceptable. He judged the distance between them and the bag, and came to a conclusion.

 

“Sorry Ikkaku,” he said quietly, tone grave and repentant, “This is going to hurt.”

 

He shifted onto his heels and carefully replaced his hands with one of his knees. The weight of his body would keep the same amount of pressure he'd been holding while he stretched quickly across Ikkaku's body and reached for the medical bag's broken strap. He resolutely ignored Ikkaku's hoarse cry of pain, and the way the blood started to seep immediately into the fabric of his hakama. Pulling the bag closer, he pulled out the largest bandage in the pack as fast as he could, moving back to Ikkaku's side.

 

He pulled the torn kimono around the wound further apart before he moved his weight off the ailing man, lifting him slightly to get the large bandage under his injured side. He decided he was not going to think about how Ikkaku literally had a hole going through him, has he securely wrapped it around to the front of his side. Now for the tricky part.

 

The 4th Division's bandages were all inscribed with healing kidou spells that the Shinigami would then activate with their reiatsu. Yumichika had watched it be done every time he accompanied Ikkaku to the 4th compound after a fight since they'd entered the academy. He was certain that with the knowledge he had since gained in his kidou classes he could pull it off too. He had to pull it off. He was going to pull it off, Soul Society be damned. Concentrating, he focused his reiatsu on bandage

 

Nothing happened.

 

He felt panic nipping at the edges of his focus, but forced it back as he recklessly started to pour everything he had into the pad beneath his hands, willing the damn thing to work. He heard Ikkaku call his name in warning, but he ignored it and pushed on, forcing out more reiatsu.

 

Just when he thought he was going to have to watch his only friend bleed to death beneath his hands, something seemed to click into place, and Yumichika suddenly felt all the energy he'd expelled be sucked into what felt like a vacuum as the pad began to softly glow with healing energy.

 

The rain pouring down on them suddenly felt like ice, and the world did a funny little loopty-loop around him. The last thing Yumichika was aware of was Ikkaku shouting his name before everything went black . . .

 

 

It had been raining that day too. Another miserable day in the outer districts of Rukongai, where everyone suffered and nobody cared.

 

He shivered, cold, wet and tired as he stumbled along the path dragging Ikkaku's nearly dead weight with him. He pushed back the panic and overwhelming sense of helplessness threatening to overcome him. Finally, he reached the shack he and Ikkaku had been taking shelter in for since the night prior.

 

Six days earlier, Ikkaku had taken a mild sword to the thigh during a fight; it was nothing a bandage couldn't take care of. However, the absence of money had forced them to camp out for the several nights, and the lack of a sterile environment allowed the wound to become infected. Now Ikkaku had blood poisoning, or so the village medic had said. But he tried not to dwell on him, because thinking about that man left a foul taste in Yumichika's mouth.

 

When Ikkaku had gone delirious with fever the night prior, Yumichika had dragged him to the nearest settlement in the morning and found the resident healer. They'd arrived soaked from the rain, but no matter how much Yumi pleaded, the man absolutely refused to tend to Ikkaku without full payment in advance. In desperation, Yumichika held a sword to the man's throat and forced the man to examine Ikkaku, only to have him say afterward that there was nothing at this point that could to save Ikkaku, as the infection had entered the bloodstream.

 

In a fit of blind helpless rage, Yumichika had nearly beaten the man bloody, because a diagnosis amounting to imminent death was simply not acceptable. He'd then proceeded to demand any useful wares with which he could deal with the problem himself, and quickly left the frightened medic behind.

 

He laid the Ikkaku down in the makeshift bed he'd prepared, pulling off his wet things, and drying him off as best he could before wrapping him in the only shabby blankets they carried. Stepping down into the hearth, he relit the fire, stoking it until it was warm and bright. There was no sense making the fever worse by letting him lie around in wet things in a cold hut.

 

Working quickly, he made a paste with the herbs he'd been given, added water to some powdery stuff meant to lower fevers, and pulled out a jar of ointment. Getting Ikkaku first to drink the fever reducer, Yumi then unwrapped the wound, revealing dark dead skin surrounded by angry red inflammation. Doing the only think he could think of, he cut away the skin around the wound, and forced out any puss. The task nearly made him sick, but he pulled him self together in short order and continued. After spreading a little bit of ointment to stop the new bleeding, he packed the herbal paste against the wound, and rewrapped it.

 

All he could do now was wait and let Ikkaku fight the infection on his own. There was still hope, the infection wasn't too far gone. That quack had been wrong, it wasn't in the bloodstream yet, it wasn't. Because if it was . . .

 

Yumichika's chest tightened painfully and he suddenly found the small hut didn't have enough air. He hastily stepped outside onto the small porch, shutting the door shut behind him to keep out the cold. Leaning his back against the wall he took several deep breaths of cold humid air to calm down.

 

It had been ten years now since he and Ikkaku had started traveling together; a single decade that had slowly soothed the suffering of countless other decades Yumichika had spent as a lone lost soul in the worst districts of Rukongai.

 

There was just no way he could imagine continuing on without the other's boisterous, slightly arrogant, incredibly irritating at times, but always strong and even protective presence anymore; though, he had long ceased needing protection. Ikkaku had made sure of that himself, but that was exactly why Yumi couldn't do without him anymore. Ikkaku had given food and shelter, without ever asking for anything in return. He had taught him to look after himself and survive on his own, yet had not driven him away or abandoned him. He'd never, not once, touched or looked at Yumichika in way that would leave him feeling dirty as so many other men in his afterlife had before; and that was probably what Yumichika was afraid of losing the most.

 

Sighing as he deemed achieving any sort of calm a futile effort, he returned inside and changed out of his own wet things before settling on the ground next to where Ikkaku lay on the raised floor. Pulling a piece of cloth and bowl of cool water closer, he soaked it and settled it on Ikkaku's forehead, absently tracing the man's brow with his thumb as he finished.

 

“You know, it'd be a rather pathetic way to go,” he spoke to the unconscious man idly, “It would, in fact, be a crime, Ikkaku. This is not an acceptable way for a warrior to meet his end. It's just wrong. So pull it together, will you?”

 

His throat tightened after that, so he stopped talking and simply sat vigil, waiting, hoping, praying, for the fever to break. He must have fallen asleep at some point because he found himself drifting awake with his head pillowed on Ikkaku's chest and a hand running softly through his long, still slightly damp hair. He'd blinked to see Ikkaku watching him, expression neutral as his hand paused in Yumi's hair.

 

“You're not dead,” Yumichika had whispered.

 

“As if I'd die in such a lame-ass way. Why, were you worried?” Ikkaku smirked, but his voice was quiet, and just seemed so utterly reassuring.

 

“Of course not,” Yumichika convinced himself that it was simply because of disuse that his voice cracked.

 

Ikkaku's smirk had softened and he laid Yumi's head back down onto his chest and continued to stroke his hair as Yumichika fought back tears of relief . . .

 

 

Now, nearly 90 years later, Yumichika found himself drifting back to consciousness with that same hand running once more through his long hair. When he managed to open his eyes, Yumi saw Ikkaku hovering above him and realized he was lying in a 4th Division hospital bed.

 

“Welcome back,” Ikkaku said in a tone that spoke of relief, something seldom heard from the other man.

 

“What happened?” Yumi asked, the last of his memories a blur between past and present, remembering clearly only that Ikkaku was injured, “Are you alright?”

 

“Fine, fine!” Ikkaku pushed him back down when he moved to sit up, “Stay in bed, ya nearly killed yerself a few days ago.”

 

“Days?!” Yumichika was shocked.

 

“Yeah,” Ikkaku frowned, “You were out light a light. What were ya thinking pouring out your reiatsu like that?”

 

“Don't make such an ugly face,” he complained lightly looking away from his friend's concerned face, studiously avoiding the question he'd asked.

 

“Ya think this is ugly, ya shouldn't seen me back there went you just keeled over like that. I thought I'd shit my pants,” Ikkaku groused, but started laughing when Yumi scrunched up his face suddenly in a pretty representation of disgust that only he could manage.

 

“Ikkaku,” he whined, and then huffed, “Have pity on my sensitive imagination!”

 

“Suck it up,” Ikkaku laughed again, his hand taking up the soothing ministration through Yumi's hair once more as his tone changed, “Seriously, what a sissy. Fainting like a frickin' girl.”

 

Yumichika stuck out his tongue, “Worried?”

 

“A course not,” but the reply was softer than usual.

 

“Neither was I,” Yumichika smiled softly.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

~*Owari*~