Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Resilience ❯ Part III ( Chapter 3 )

Disclaimer: All characters and settings affiliated with the title Bleach are the creative property of Kubo Tite. Not mine.

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Warnings: violence, language, spoilers (up to chapter 255 of the manga).

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Part III

 

Images of a time and place he didn't quite remember zipped through his mind at a speed almost too fast for him to make out what was going on. Shattered ice glistened wetly under dim light, but he wasn't even sure where he was, or if he had caused that to happen. He felt as though he was watching his own life through a spectator's eyes, from a removed position… and the person he saw didn't even look that much like him now, but he knew it was him. He just wasn't sure how; at least not yet. But he did know that these images made his body and mind hurt, with all kinds of pains that were both so familiar and yet seemingly so distant that he couldn't place his finger on what exactly he was seeing.

 

Finally, with a swift movement of ice and cold breath, the motion picture of a part of him he didn't seem to know was hidden behind a moving body of frosted scales and glowing green eyes. His own, or Hyourinmaru's - he wasn't sure which. Nothing seemed to be in its right place, and he was lost.

 

The images flickered out and faded into the dark, and suddenly his body seemed to return from wherever it had wandered off to, the numbness fading and the air becoming more real.

 

Slowly awakening, he was surprised to find himself swaying. It took him a moment or two of a horrible headache and nauseating dizziness for him to realize that he was on his feet, a position which nobody should awaken to. Stomach lurching, he groaned as he covered his mouth with one hand and grasped out at anything solid to hold himself steady with the other. His back ached, his head pounded, and all he could hear for a few moments was the sound of blood steadily rushing past his ears. Closing his eyes until the dizziness passed and the nausea faded to a manageable level, he suddenly realized that Matsumoto was kneeling in front of him, staring into his eyes intently, grasping his shoulders to keep him steady, and repeating his name several times with a worried tone.

 

“Hitsugaya-taichou? Hitsugaya-taichou, can you hear me?”

 

“How is he?” The deep voice belonged to Abarai, he realized slowly.

 

“Still not responding,” Matsumoto whispered back. And again, in that same concerned tone, “Hitsugaya-taichou?”

 

“I'm calling Unohana-taichou,” Renji stated matter-of-factly.

 

Then it all clicked sharply - painfully - into place. His mind felt almost heavy with all the confusing thoughts and memories that flooded it. Somehow, he knew this wasn't supposed to be happening. And he knew that if Unohana came, he would have to tell her about it. No, he wanted to say, but wasn't sure he had the energy. She can't come.

 

“Taichou?” Matsumoto said, relief apparent in her sudden change of tone.

 

He'd said something aloud; hadn't even realized he had. Forcing his heavy eyelids back open, he blinked away the watery blurriness in his vision and fought back the nausea with several deep breaths. When the world finally swam back into focus, he realized that both Matsumoto and Abarai were staring at him with expectant expressions, waiting to see if he had more to say. The light in the room was bright, and he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut again and pressing his fingers of one hand to the bridge of his nose. Matsumoto tried to steady him again, but he batted her hands away with his free hand.

 

“Give me a second, and I'll be fine,” he replied with a thick voice, but he knew it for the lie that it was. He was scared - if Unohana figured it out, then… She can't, which is why she can't come.

 

“Are you sure you don't want us to call Unohana-taichou?” Matsumoto persisted.

 

He sighed and forced his eyelids open. The dizziness had died down just long enough for him to affix her gaze with an icy, authoritative stare of his own. “Absolutely,” he replied evenly, proud that he'd managed to control his tone to mask just how heavily his head was pounding, and how much he really felt he needed to lie down, sift through his own mind to see what the hell had just happened.

 

Raising a delicate eyebrow, Matsumoto took a deep breath and muttered something under her breath before she said, “Okay, if you're sure… but you're going to tell me what the hell is going on, Taichou.”

 

Hitsugaya grunted. I'd tell you if I could make sense of it. But he didn't say it aloud, and instead pretended like he hadn't heard her. She would eventually find out, if this affected his duty in any way. Which it might. Abarai might find out as well, just by association. As it was, the redhead was scrutinizing him warily - disbelievingly - but Hitsugaya knew the man wouldn't question him unless the situation went from bad to worse. For now, at least, it was merely bad.

 

Shit. What a mess.

 

And as if in a divine plan to aggravate him further, he felt the strong reiatsu of Kurosaki approaching, followed by the fainter signature of the younger Kuchiki. Great. Company. Kuchiki probably hadn't missed the strong outburst of his own reiatsu earlier, and he was in no mood to put up with an interrogation session from either. With a grunt, he massaged his eyelids with his fingers again when suddenly a brief image of himself - no, a black-haired, brown-eyed, aged version of himself - greeted him from the back of his eyelids.

 

“What the hell just happened?” Kurosaki's voice roared as the door slammed open, causing the image to dissipate and brought the attention of all three of the room's occupants to the entrance.

 

Kuchiki brushed past the towering orange-haired boy into the room, regarding Hitsugaya with wide eyes. She had heard about the previous incident - who hadn't, really - and clearly, she too had concerns for the young taichou. Hitsugaya concentrated on staying on his feet and breathing as she approached, and didn't move when she walked up to him and laid her hand on his forehead. Kurosaki started to protest, but Renji shushed him with a simple hand gesture. Out of the corner of his eye, Hitsugaya watched Matsumoto tense as Kuchiki closed her eyes in concentration. He didn't move; still concentrating on trying to keep up his display of what appeared to be crumbling strength took all the energy he'd need to step away. One silent moment, and Kuchiki opened her eyes again, almost managing to look even more frightened.

 

“Something's changed,” she said quietly, almost as if she'd intended for only Hitsugaya to hear it. “It has something to do with last month's incident, doesn't it?”

 

If Hitsugaya were to be honest, he really wasn't sure if this had anything to do with last month, though the events coincided all too well. He nearly dies at the hands of a mind-breaking Hollow, barely manages to pull himself back together when the Arrancar attacked again and Orihime was nearly taken by Aizen, and now with the coming war, he was starting to shatter again as memories that shouldn't be there were starting to resurface. Either it was a horrendous ill turn of luck, or something was behind all of this.

 

Aizen. He had to wonder if Aizen was still trying to play with them, as he had last time. They still were unable to figure out what the parasitic Hollow's origin was, or how it was nearly so deadly despite being physically weak. Hitsugaya really didn't like the idea that Aizen was still up to playing games with them, but in order to be realistic he had to consider the problem that this might not be an accident.

 

“I… I don't know,” he replied equally as quietly, looking away.

 

Rukia's sigh was almost so quiet he didn't catch it, but it was enough to know that she too was worried about the whole situation, especially after she'd inadvertently helped Aizen gain something valuable.

 

“Would you mind telling me what the hell is going on here?” Kurosaki demanded.

 

“Ichigo.” Kuchiki turned and shot the boy a glare. He looked down and muttered darkly under his breath, but he said nothing more.

 

“I'm going to go give Unohana-taichou a call,” Matsumoto said suddenly, turning to leave the room. Hitsugaya's hand shot out and caught her wrist, and she looked back at him, surprised. He shook his head.

 

“Don't,” he mouthed. She glared, and he glared back. “It isn't necessary, because I'm fine.” And to prove a point, he began walking towards the bathroom on his own, proud of himself that he was walking steadily even though he knew his legs were shaking and he still hadn't caught his breath. Too many eyes were on him, and it was stifling; he needed to be alone for a while.

 

“Hitsugaya-taichou—” Rukia began, but Renji silenced her with a shake of his head.

 

The silence was deafening, and nobody else moved to stop him. It was just as well, Hitsugaya decided once he'd made it to the bathroom down the hall and shut the door behind him. He braced himself with one hand on each side of the sink and chanced a look into the mirror, shocked to see himself reflected back pale, eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot. No wonder they'd been worried. With a sigh, he turned on the cold water and splashed it onto his face, but no amount of scrubbing would change the fact that he did not like the fact that his memories - the ones trickling back, at least - were inevitably going to cause a problem that nobody had time to deal with. He knew he'd find answers he wasn't going to be pleased with once all the pieces were back in their proper places.

 

This time, when he looked back at the mirror, the black-haired version of himself peered uncertainly back at him, shadowed by an all-too-familiar figure with a broad, sinister grin but in the wrong clothing, and suddenly he felt sick. Tearing his eyes away from the reflection, he turned the faucet on full-blast to drown out the noise, whirled around, jerked the toilet seat upright and retched into the toilet.

 

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“Why didn't you let me stop him?” Rukia hissed, whirling on Renji as soon as they heard the bathroom door close. “Can't you tell that he's—”

 

“Rukia.” She flinched at his serious tone. “You weren't there the last time. He just needs to do some thinking, so give shorty some space, at least.”

 

And suddenly Ichigo was in Renji's face, growling, “God damn it, Abarai - didn't you feel that? Didn't you see him? Something's wrong with him, and if we don't find out what that is he could… Oh shit, aren't you guys already dead? Can you die?” The young man suddenly looked perplexed, forehead scrunching and eyes looking at some point beyond Renji now as he thought.

 

Renji groaned at the question. “Of course we can, you idiot. Just… not the way you're thinking.”

 

“What is that supposed to mean?”

 

“It means that once we die as Shinigami, that's it. There's no after-afterlife. I thought you already knew that, though - you saw Aizen's so-called death, right?”

 

“So if you guys are already dead, then that means you were once alive like I am,” Ichigo said, though he was partly asking after something he'd already suspected. Renji nodded - hesitantly, but a confirmation all the same. Ichigo followed suit and hesitated - only a little - before asking quietly, “Do… do you remember—uh, you know…?”

 

“No,” Matsumoto replied this time, looking concernedly down the hall where the sound of running water faintly filtered through the closed door and echoed back up the hall. “At least, we're not supposed to. Our memories are erased when we awaken for the first time in Seireitei.”

 

Ichigo's mouth formed an “o,” but he said nothing more, nor did anyone else for a few uncomfortable moments.

 

“Is he going to be okay?” Ichigo asked uncertainly.

 

Matsumoto looked away, and Renji shrugged. “He's strong; he wouldn't be a captain otherwise,” the redhead replied. “If something's wrong, he'll figure out a way through it. He's done it many times before.”

 

This time Matsumoto flinched, as if the words stung. Renji looked a little sheepish about speaking so offhandedly about the last time Hitsugaya managed to “figure out a way through it.” Matsumoto had admitted to him once, while very drunk, that she still had nightmares about the several long nights that Hitsugaya fought with the Hollow attacking his mind, and how wounds had appeared from nowhere on the young taichou's body. She was there when he awoke with a shattered and fragile memory. She'd had to watch the entire ordeal, and she said there were some things - sounds, sights, smells - she would never get over. Later, when he'd asked her about it while she was sober, she said she merely hated the massive amount of paperwork that had resulted from it and laughed it off. He knew better. And he'd just shrugged it off under the “no big deal” category.

 

Open mouth, insert foot.

 

“I'm going to go check on him,” Matsumoto said suddenly, standing and fidgeting with the front of the uniform as she made her way down the hall. No indication of hard feelings, but Renji still felt guilty; he'd apologize to her later.

 

With a flask of hot, strong sake.

 

“I'm worried about him,” Rukia said with a low voice once Matsumoto was out of earshot. “That burst of reiatsu earlier - it was definitely Hitsugaya-taichou's, but… raw. Like it hurt him to release it.”

 

Renji nodded slightly. “Might have.”

 

“What exactly happened two months ago, by the way?” Rukia asked suddenly, the question catching Renji off-guard. “I only got to skim a few reports, but those don't have details.”

 

Renji shuddered, but Rukia deserved to hear the truth, as did Ichigo. Hell, might give them some perspective on the whole thing. So he told them.

 

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Matsumoto frowned when she got close enough to the door to hear something faint just beyond the sound of running water. It was just like the taichou to hide anything that might potentially be regarded as a weakness, so of course she had to find out if he was alright. Though Renji's smooth - no, more like insensitive estimation of Hitsugaya's abilities had bothered her some, it wasn't the main reason she'd left the room.

 

Holding her balled fist up to the door, she bit her lip and hesitated a moment before she firmly rapped on the wood. The other quieter sound seemed to hitch briefly before it stopped altogether. A moment later, and the running water was joined by the sound of a toilet flushing, and then the faucet was silenced.

 

“Hitsugaya-taichou?” Matsumoto called into the door's crevice uncertainly. “You okay?”

 

The handle jiggled briefly before it was turned and the door opened a crack, Hitsugaya's icy green eyes - dull and glassy and bloodshot - peering through. Matsumoto tried hard not to wince, really she did.

 

“Are they gone yet?” Hitsugaya asked quietly, voice raspy.

 

“They're still down the hall,” Matsumoto replied. “Do you need anything?”

 

A small bitter bark of laughter escaped through the open sliver between the door and its frame. “A time machine and a few heavy-duty sleeping pills,” Hitsugaya muttered darkly, almost under his breath.

 

Matsumoto winced again. He really must not be feeling well if he actually mentioned his discomfort, she decided. He looked haggard.

 

“You really should go back to sleep. I can clear out the room in the back if you'd like,” she offered with a sympathetic furrow of her brows.

 

Hitsugaya's expression darkened. “No, that's alright. Give me a bit and I'll be fine.” And as if to firmly remind Matsumoto that Hitsugaya was prone to overestimating his own condition, the young taichou suddenly gripped his head and groaned, muttering a curse.

 

“Taichou?” She pushed the door open and took in a full view of the captain as he seemed to practically curl in around himself. Quickly closing both lids on the toilet - damn, had he been sick? - she guided him there and sat him down, squatting down in front of him, staring intently back at him. Patiently, she waited for him to ride out the flash-headache.

 

“God,” he murmured shakily, avoiding her eyes.

 

“I will call in Unohana-taichou unless you offer me a damn good explanation why I shouldn't,” Matsumoto said sternly, but she couldn't muster the anger to glare him down over it. He really didn't look like he would be fine, even with a few hours' rest and a day off.

 

“Please, don't even threaten that,” Hitsugaya said with a defeated sigh.

 

“Talk to me.”

 

After a brief moment of silence, he finally managed to look her in the eye and said seriously, “I can't.”

 

“Can't, or won't?”

 

“What difference does it make, Matsumoto?” he snapped back. “Both. Take your pick.”

 

“Taichou…”

 

“Don't. Just… don't, okay?” He sighed again. “At least… not yet.”

 

At that, Matsumoto raised an eyebrow. “Not yet?”

 

Hitsugaya pursed his lips, and Matsumoto knew that he'd meant it. She wouldn't get anything out of him at this point - or at this rate - so she let it go, like she did every other time. God, how she hated watching him hurt, seeing that pained, pinched, fragile look about him. He was supposed to be strong. He was strong. But still, Rukia was right; something in him had changed, and she was desperate to find out what it was before it was too late.

 

He was right, though - he probably had some sorting to do. Part of her worried that it had a great deal to do with his mind, and after the godforsaken incident, she knew it could - would - be bad. Until then, however, she would trust him to make the right decisions, and to be courteous enough to tell her before whatever the hell was bothering him came to a point of no return.

 

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Hitsugaya watched his subordinate leave the room with slumped shoulders and nearly - guiltily - breathed a sigh of relief. He had tried to assuage her worry by letting her help him to a bed, letting her tuck him in and taking the sleeping pills he'd half-jokingly requested. But he also knew that the pills would do little in his sleep when the reality would be distorted by half-truths and emotion-driven recollections of a past he wasn't even entirely sure was his. People were there that shouldn't be, and yet they seemed to continue to show up. And he was damned sure that if his dreams were reality, he had at least one name on his current “to kill” list that was getting bumped up in the numbers.

 

Either that grinning bastard had found his way into memories that shouldn't exist anyway only because Hitsugaya hated him for his betrayal, or he hated the traitor because he was somehow involved in the twisted mess that was his previous life on earth. In either scenario, Ichimaru Gin was going to die.

 

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.to be continued in part IV.

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Posted this chapter fairly recently at FFnet. Working on the next part.

 

Feedback would be very much appreciated.