Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Seireitei Monogatari ❯ Sins of the Father ( Chapter 114 )

Title: Sins of the Father

Characters: Isshin, Urahara, past Isshin/Masaki, and mentions of Ichigo

Rating: T

Warning: Spoilers up to the Hueco Mundo arc

Words: 1,501

Description: It is his greatest sin and a secret that Isshin keeps all to himself.

 

AN: First, let me say this. I like Isshin, the same as I do most of the characters in Bleach. This is simply a massive speculation on my and my beta's part, and I hope that I've managed to convey all of the emotions and feelings that complicate this piece.

 

 

The tea in front of him was growing cold, but Isshin hardly noticed. He wouldn't have drunk it anyway. Kisuke had made it, and anyone who knew the shopkeeper knew better than to drink anything the man made. Isshin's fingers were pushing the cup around, letting it clatter on the plate, watching the liquid slosh.

 

In the next moment, a hand swooped down, pulling the cup out from under his touch. Blinking, Isshin looked up to find Kisuke watching him, moving the drink aside where he could no longer fiddle with it.

 

Those gray-green eyes were piercing as they regarded him, free from the shadows of his usual hat. “He's heading into Hueco Mundo as we speak,” Kisuke stated and settled back onto his side of the table, voice restrained.

 

“So you said,” Isshin replied, gaze flickering between the confiscated cup and the blond. “I was drinking that.”

 

“No, you were playing with it,” Kisuke corrected, reaching for his own untouched drink. He simply held the cup, letting the warmth seep into his fingers. “He could've used your support, Isshin.”

 

Tipping his head back, Isshin looked at the flat lines of the ceiling. “He's done fine on his own so far.”

 

“Somehow,” the other man agreed. “But only because he's determined. And I think he knows, by now, not to expect anything from you.”

 

Isshin scoffed, hating that Kisuke's words rang too heavily of truth. “He's my son. My only son...” And here, Isshin trailed off, as though that should be explanation enough.

 

“And I love him,” Kisuke continued, watching him darkly. “That's the sort of thing a father usually adds after that kind of statement.”

 

He glared, brown eyes darker with the force of his emotion. “I never said that I didn't,” Isshin snapped in irritation. “I do love him. Couldn't be more proud of the kid. He's much stronger than I am.”

 

“But you still blame him. And he knows it, too. Even if neither of you admit it.”

 

Sighing, Isshin dragged a hand over his face and buried his eyes in his palm. It was easier than looking at his dear friend, whose reiatsu thrummed with accusation and disbelief. It was easier than knowing just where he was and what was being said. And what he had already admitted to himself that Kisuke was throwing into his face. The very ugly truth that Isshin had been harboring inside himself.

 

“I left that place,” the elder Kurosaki muttered bitterly, recalling a scene that still sometimes haunted his dreams when they caught him unguarded. “And I still can't escape it. Not me. Not my children.”

 

There was a clink as Kisuke returned his cup to its saucer, just as untouched as before. “I know you. I know the both of you, and I have for as many years as you've been here in the Living World. It's painful, Isshin, for me to see this.”

 

“And yet, you helped him anyway. You're the one that put that creature inside of him.”

 

“Yes, I did.”

 

His voice was unapologetic, completely so, because Kisuke had recognized how little of a choice he'd had in the matter. He'd done what he'd had to do, which was more than what Isshin could say for himself.

 

“And it is more than you've done for him. A lot of this could have been saved, Isshin, if you had just explained something. Anything. But you didn't. And I can't help but wonder why.”

 

Isshin snorted, dropping his hand and pinning the other man with a sharp gaze. “You don't wonder, you know, Kisuke. And don't feed me any bullshit that says otherwise.”

 

“I have my suspicions,” the shopkeeper agreed, but he didn't look satisfied for it. “So give me a reason. A good one if you even can.” He paused, grey eyes gleaming with so many nameless things. “Why?”

 

His friend wasn't really listening anymore though, thoughts running rampant in his own head. Kisuke was talking, but all Isshin could see was six years ago. Ichigo's crying face. Masaki's blood staining the wet ground. The sound of his own heart breaking, shattering into pieces. The lingering traces of a Hollow's presence.

 

There was a vicious, rotten side of Isshin that placed the blame for all his agony on his son. If Ichigo hadn't been there, if he hadn't been foolish, if he hadn't placed his mother in the way, Masaki would still be here. Would be with him, and Isshin wouldn't be alone.

 

He couldn't help it. He didn't want to. And he hated himself for having those thoughts about his own son. His blood. His pride and joy. But he did it anyway. He blamed Ichigo for Masaki's death, even if rationality and knowledge of the spiritual world gave absolute proof that it was a Hollow who took her life.

 

It was a poisonous, savage part of Isshin that he couldn't chase away, couldn't escape from. It cropped up at all the wrong moments, whispering vilely into his ear. It made him say or do things he shouldn't. Or as it were, keep certain secrets to himself. It was the same awful side that took sick satisfaction in watching Ichigo flounder, in watching him struggle to deal with his Shinigami abilities. Sadistic and cruel, not parent-like in the slightest. Only watching as Ichigo suffered. Thinking it justice for taking Masaki away from him.

 

He had known from the moment Ichigo started developing reiatsu. His son had always had it, and his powers only grew in strength as he aged. Isshin knew that Ichigo eventually would have hit the radar as a tasty snack for any Hollow. But he didn't think it would come as early as nine. And he'd never thought that Masaki would be the one to suffer for it.

 

Isshin could have done anything when his children started seeing spirits. He could have explained; he could have told the truth without telling everything. He could have pointed them in Kisuke's direction. Instead, he did nothing. Nothing at all.

 

He had seen the changes the moment that Kuchiki girl met Ichigo. He had known when Ichigo started flitting away in the night to fight Hollows. He'd watched his son grow in strength, had felt his encounter with the Seireitei Shinigami. And had known that Ichigo had gone into Soul Society after the Kuchiki girl.

 

He'd still done nothing. He had simply watched Ichigo struggle, hadn't even offered up an inch of advice. He'd let that vicious, wrong part of him take precedence. Let it tell him to do nothing.

 

Isshin was a terrible father, and he knew it. He didn't need someone else to point it out to him. After all, he both loved and hated his son all the same.

 

Sucking in a shuddering breath, Isshin saw his hand clench and unclench, watched the muscles flex as it did so. “He's my son,” was all he could say to his long-time friend. “And I'm a terrible father. There's nothing to explain.”

 

Gray-green eyes followed him, observing every motion he made. “It's not too late,” Kisuke replied quietly, softly. Voice hesitant but hopeful. Not for himself but for Ichigo.

 

And in that instant, Isshin knew that Urahara Kisuke was a better man than him. Probably always had been. After all, Isshin would've never been willing to risk his life, to even risk exile for a bunch of half-Hollows. Much less for his oldest child.

 

Isshin shook his head. “You're wrong.” His laugh was bitter and harsh. “I trained him. I taught him what I could. But I didn't help him.” One hand clenched into a fist. “You've been more of a father than I have, Kisuke. You can say that you care for him, that you worry about him. That you love him… You can say all of that and actually mean it.”

 

Silence met his admission, the blond for once at a complete loss for words. There was sympathy in his expression and concern. But there wasn't argument. No refutation. No denial.

 

Aside from a few incidents and occasions when Ichigo was very young, Kisuke had only really known the boy for a few months. And already he would die if it meant that Ichigo would live.

 

Just like Masaki. So much like Masaki that it made Isshin want to hit something. Made him want to throw that distant teacup against the wall.

 

But he didn't. He just sat there and watched. Like he had always done. Which was to say absolutely nothing.

 

“What are you going to do then?” Kisuke finally asked, the atmosphere in the room rife and heavy with tension.

 

And for that, Isshin had no answer.

 

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