Resilience // part IX, section two

--

There were only three this time. 

Only, of course, being a comparative term. The last time, there had been only five, and it had taken nearly all the Shinigami currently taking temporary residence in the Living World to keep them at bay. At least now they knew exactly what the Arrancar were after – apparently, something about Inoue had caught Aizen's eye.  

Ichigo wasn't about to let them have her. They'd nearly lost her to Hueco Mundo in the last major Arrancar attack; if Urahara hadn't seen through their ruse and insisted Inoue stay in Soul Society until he could safely escort her back to the Living World, she probably would have been in their hands by now. This time, however, Inoue wasn't in the relative safety of Seireitei's gates, and they were one captain and his lieutenant fewer than the last time they'd fought the Arrancar.  

Ichigo hoped that Renji had stuck to his own damn plan and had taken her to Urahara as soon as he'd sensed the Arrancar's arrival (who the hell couldn't sense the damn things?). He had almost insisted that Rukia stay behind as well – images of what Grimmjow had done to her the last time still haunted him at night – but he knew it would be a futile effort, so he didn't even bother trying this time around. She was running next to him, both of them heading in the direction of Ichigo's father's clinic, where it seemed there was the strongest concentration of foul reiatsu.  

Yumichika met him with serious eyes and a curt nod not too far from the Kurosaki clinic; Ikkaku was likely close behind. That was good – at least three against three, possibly four in their favor. If all had gone according to plan, Renji would be on his way as well.  

There. Ichigo could see the outlines of reiatsu now, just a matter of blocks down the road. He turned and checked to see if Rukia was behind him – he knew she was there; he could sense her there, but he needed the visual confirmation – and she nodded back at him, but her gaze suddenly shot past him and widened. She barely had time to shout a warning as Ichigo turned and nearly collided with a rather tall, lanky Arrancar, built much like Grimmjow but with more wire and less brute strength. The Arrancar grunted as Ichigo brushed past him, and then turned and skid to a halt with his hand on the hilt of Zangetsu. He paused, feeling as though the Arrancar was going to say something – a scathing remark on the fact that Ichigo had nearly run into him, or perhaps a demeaning slur about Ichigo's skills and a comparison to Grimmjow.  

Grimmjow isn't here, Ichigo noticed suddenly, and the realization left him both relieved and oddly frustrated. 

Instead of a rude greeting like Grimmjow would have issued, this Arrancar said not a word and didn't give him the luxury. No rank announcement, either - this guy might not even be an Espada. With a sharp scrape of metal against wood, Ichigo's opponent drew his zanpakutou and charged. Ichigo quickly pulled Zangetsu's larger blade up to knock the Arrancar's thrust away from his body, and then he propelled himself backwards and skid on the air currents, holding his sword pointed out in front of him as he faced the Arrancar. He drew in a deep breath.  

"Ban– shit!" Another Arrancar cut off the release of Ichigo's bankai with several bala, forcing Ichigo off his stance in order to deflect the energy bullets.  

Clearly, these guys weren't up for sitting around and gauging their opponent, Ichigo realized morosely. Unless he got a good chance, he wasn't going to be able to even think about releasing his bankai, and if these Arrancar were anything like Grimmjow or the other ones they had encountered before, he was going to be in deep trouble. 

Ichigo didn't even register Rukia's sharp call until he saw the first Arrancar freeze mid-attack just a few feet in front of him; she had released her shikai from behind the Arrancar. Her stern eyes met his for a moment, and he nodded. She had given him just enough time.  

"Bankai!" Ichigo roared. 

--

Matsumoto's voice floated softly through the traditional shoji that surrounded the rooms of the fourth division's infirmary rooms. Hinamori hadn't really noticed before, but the more she listened, the more she realized that the Tenth's lieutenant had a rather soothing cadence to the way she spoke. It almost made Hinamori jealous, but at the same time, she simply couldn't bring herself to interrupt it.  

"Renji snores when he's asleep. He doesn't like admitting it, but it's pretty loud. He's in charge there right now, just in case you were wondering who I left running the outpost." There was a brief pause, and then, "You know, I hope you wake up soon, because that probably wasn't the best idea I've ever had." 

Hinamori stifled a small giggle with her hand. Even though Matsumoto was clearly worried about her captain, she still had the mental fortitude to keep at least a mild sense of humor in such a tense situation. That too made Hinamori almost envious of the buxom woman, especially since she clearly had a close bond with Hinamori's childhood friend. Not that Hinamori wasn't willing to share, of course; it was more the fact that she felt as though her time in a coma had put her a little out of the loop on many things.  

Hitsugaya had been hurt that time as well, she recalled. He had healed enough to go back on duty long before she had awakened, so she often forgot that he too had nearly died during that confusing time. Simply thinking about it gave Hinamori a headache. There had to have been some kind of mistake; Aizen wasn't the type of person to do that to anyone. 

She peered through the crack between the slightly-parted shoji into what had become Hitsugaya's room, and was almost surprised to see how lifeless Hitsugaya looked. His pale face took on a glassy sheen from sweat reflecting in the dim light, though his features looked almost too relaxed. Matsumoto sat beside Hitsugaya's pallet, clasping his closest hand with one of her own. One of the Fourth's seated officers sat on the other side, eyes closed in concentration, hands glowing as they hovered over Hitsugaya's chest. He had to have been badly hurt if they still were working on his wounds even after Unohana had done her work. Hinamori's heart sank; Kiyone had not exaggerated the situation at all, much to Hinamori's dismay. Aizen couldn't have done that to Shirou-chan – he hadn't done it. 

This was Gin's fault. Hadn't she heard them talking about Gin not too long before, when they'd first brought Hitsugaya to the Fourth's ward? Aizen simply wasn't that cruel. … Was he?  

Hinamori chewed on her lower lip, frustrated at the small knot of doubt tightening in her stomach. Aizen had never failed her before – those weren't Aizen's eyes looking at her, when she had nearly been killed all those months ago. Those were the eyes of someone else entirely; someone cold and cruel. Gin's eyes – when they were actually visible – were just like that.  

A low groan startled Hinamori out of her train of thought, and her eyes snapped back to Hitsugaya's still form. Matsumoto had placed her free hand on the young captain's forehead, whispering soothing words.  

She couldn't watch anymore; watching only made her angry and frustrated, and Hitsugaya certainly didn't need that right now in his situation. He needed to pull through, and if he didn't, Hinamori was sure that not even the threat of eternal hell could stop her from storming to Hueco Mundo and extracting payment from Gin herself.  

--

By the time Renji arrived at the scene of the fight, there wasn’t much left. Strewn bodies of dying Arrancar lay in haphazard fashion, Ichigo at the clear center of the carnage. The orange-haired boy stood with his back straight, facing away from Renji.

Renji let out a low whistle. “Well, it looks like you didn’t need my help this time, Kurosaki.” Ichigo’s face half-turned towards him. “What, no Grimmjow this time to– holy shit, what the–!”

He barely had time to bring up Zabimaru for protection before Ichigo nearly flew into him, half his face covered in a white mask, revealing an unnaturally wide grin and dark black eyes with yellow irises. Ichigo’s weight slammed heavily into Renji, buffered only by the clashing of swords between them; the soles of Renji’s feet burned as they skimmed against the pavement.

“What the fuck, Kurosaki? It’s me, you dumbass!” Renji roared, locking eyes with Ichigo.

The laugh coming from Ichigo’s broad smile sounded warped – it wasn’t his voice. Renji’s mind raced as he looked around for an explanation. Clearly, Ichigo had been the one to demolish the three invading Arrancar with little trouble, but as his eyes scanned quickly over the battlefield, they fell on Rukia’s prone body.

Fuck.

Renji gritted his teeth and snarled, “You goddamned piece of shit–”

“Abarai, stop!” It was Yumichika’s voice, and Renji saw him pulling himself gingerly to his feet across the now-broken intersection of road over Ichigo’s shoulder. “Kurosaki didn’t hurt Rukia!”

Oh. Oh. Ichigo had pulled out that crazy-assed mask of his, and Rukia had been hurt in the fight. Renji wasn’t an idiot; he knew how the punk kid felt about Rukia, and knew that it could have been enough to see Rukia felled to put a chink in Ichigo’s usually rock solid armor.

“How the hell do we change him back, then?” Renji shouted back, pushing against Zangetsu with all his strength.

“I – I don’t know,” Yumichika replied uneasily.

“You’re both idiots,” the distorted voice snickered from Ichigo’s mouth. “There will be no changing back. I am Kurosaki Ichigo now.”

“Like hell I’m going to believe that!” Renji shoved “Ichigo” away from him, and ran his hand over Zabimaru’s jagged blade. “Howl, Zabimaru!”

A sudden flash of light overhead pulled Renji’s attention away from his target just long enough for him to see a figure wearing a similar Hollow-like mask; it was heading straight for Ichigo.

“Renji, move!”

Renji wasn’t sure if it was Rukia’s voice that brought him out of his stupor, or if it was the sudden realization that he was about to get pounded into the pavement that did it – he performed several shunpo to the side, dodging chunks of concrete as they crossed his path. On his way out of the intersection, he passed by Rukia and scooped her off the ground as gently as he could at the speed he was going. He was joined by Yumichika on the flat roof of a nearby building.

“Who the hell is that?” Renji demanded once he’d stopped moving.

“I don’t know,” Yumichika replied. “He kind of looks like that one weird new kid from school, but it’s hard to tell with that mask on his face.” He looked up, frowning. “Do you think that–”

“That guy was talking with Kurosaki earlier,” Ikkaku said suddenly from behind them.

Yumichika whirled, glaring. “And where the hell were you just now?”

“None of your fuckin’ business,” Ikakku snapped. “But look – he’s not trying to kill Kurosaki, just slowin’ him down. I don’t think he’s an enemy, but he’s certainly no normal kid.”

“No shit,” Renji replied.

Rukia cleared her throat from Renji’s arms, squirming to get his attention. Renji almost forgot he’d been carrying her, and that she was–

Shit!

“You can put me down now, Renji,” Rukia stated evenly, in that tone she only used when she was dangerously irritated.

Renji didn’t care and glared at her. “Last I checked, you weren’t in much mood for walking on your own.”

“I’m fine,” Rukia snapped back, pushing against Renji’s broad chest. “Now put me down, or I swear on Sode no Shiroyuki that I will–”

“Fine, fine,” Renji said, not wanting to squabble. He put her on her feet, holding her steady as she wobbled only slightly before she regained her balance. “Happy now?”

She said nothing, and instead turned to watch the fight. Ichigo – or that damned freak that apparently still lived in him – seemed to be having trouble against the strange blond boy’s onslaught, and it wasn’t long before Zangetsu was knocked away and “Ichigo” was slammed backwards into a building. Before “Ichigo” could move, the boy was there, a sword in hand, pointed at the impostor’s throat.

“The fuck– that’s a zanpakutou!” Ikkaku suddenly exclaimed.

Renji’s eyes widened; there couldn’t be more than one rogue shinigami around this town, could there? They all watched with startled expressions as the blond boy’s hand shot out and grabbed “Ichigo”’s mask, giving it a sharp tug before it shattered into pieces, leaving Ichigo’s wide brown eyes blinking back in utter confusion.

Rukia sighed loudly beside him in relief; he couldn’t agree more, though he couldn’t deny that he wanted to hear an explanation for all this freakish shit. A quick shunpo brought him back to the intersection, and even before he could reach out a hand to grab the wiry shoulder of the blond kid, a thin hand closed around his wrist in an iron grip.

“I’m not the enemy, Red,” the boy said evenly.

“I know that, damn it,” Renji began, snatching his wrist away. “But–” The boy cut him off with a flick of his hand. He turned to pin Renji with a hard stare.

“I’m sure you’re all very confused by now, but just so you know, the only one you should blame is Kurosaki here for being so damn reckless,” the boy replied, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Ichigo. He whirled again to face Ichigo.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Shinji?” Ichigo demanded.

“It means that just because you haven’t been specifically singled out by Aizen’s master plans, kiddo, it doesn’t mean you’re Mr. Invincible,” the boy – Shinji – retorted. Renji’s brow furrowed; how the hell did this Shinji know of Aizen? “You know better than to lose control like that – I thought you’d learned your lesson from training, but noooo.”

“I thought I had control, jackass!”

“Well, then explain what the hell just happened, then!”

“Fuck you, Shinji. Fuck. You.”

“You’re too valuable of a fighter to let yourself slip like that, Kurosaki. You know that.”

Ichigo looked away. “It won’t happen again.”

Shinji folded his arms, regarding Ichigo with a smirk. “Prove it, then.” When Ichigo reached for his zanpakutou, Shinji cut him off with a wave of his hand. “No, not now, idiot. Later – we’re obviously not done with your training just yet. You still have to hold up your part of the deal, don’t forget.”

Ichigo scowled at his back as Shinji turned to face Renji. He pinned Renji with a solemn stare, which startled him.

“Keep an eye on him, Abarai.”

And before Renji could finish sputtering long enough to ask Shinji how the fuck he knew his name, Shinji was no longer there.

Ikkaku and Yumichika arrived just as Shinji left, both giving Ichigo weird looks. Ichigo looked away, face red. He knew, the dumb shit – and Renji was going to demand the explanation out of him just as soon as they saw to Rukia’s injuries.

--

Hitsugaya wasn't sure when he began realizing he was awake. He knew he had been aware for some time, but hadn't moved to open his eyes – it felt good, just resting like this. Small pains and aches in his chest would flare up every so often, but as those became less frequent, he found it much easier to simply relax. It had been far too long since he'd been able to do that last.  

Part of his mind recalled hearing Matsumoto's voice, speaking softly from beside him. He wondered where he was – at his makeshift office in Orihime's small apartment, perhaps – but it didn't seem important just yet. She was probably just letting him sleep. She had been worried a great deal lately about–  

Something was wrong. This wasn't his office, he realized suddenly; he wasn't even in the realm of the Living. Scrambling desperately for an explanation, he tried recalling the last thing that had happened before he had dozed off, and couldn't remember anything except pain and the pungent scent of his own sweat and fear. Where the hell was he? What had happened? He inhaled sharply, eyelids flying open in a sudden panic, crying out as his vision went white from a deep, stabbing pain in his chest. Oh god, ohgodohgodohgod– 

A small pressure squeezing his hand chased the panicked blur away from his vision, and the white light faded to the dimmed outline of a dark ceiling. Trying to recapture lost breath, he breathed harshly, listening to the sound of his own soft wheezing that accompanied dull pain resonating from deep within his lungs. Wanting to see what had trapped his hand, he slowly turned his head to the side and saw a petite silhouette laying on the floor beside his futon, one soft hand gripping his.  

Hinamori. 

Closing his eyes, he took an experimental deep breath, and noticed that it hurt less when he breathed through his nose slowly. Hinamori was sleeping next to his futon, holding his hand the way she used to when he was sick during their childhood in Rukongai. There was no danger here. The thought helped calm him, making him want to simply drift back to the relaxed state of semi-consciousness so that he could enjoy the moment.  

"H-Hitsugaya-taichou?" a soft voice on the other side of the futon whispered, nearly startling him. Hitsugaya's eyes opened again to see Hanatarou's concerned face hovering above him. "Ah! You are awake!"

Hitsugaya frowned, trying again to piece together what had happened – this time without the panic and the pain – and then it occurred to him that he knew exactly where he was: the infirmary in the Fourth Division.  

"–cry out earlier; are you still in pain?" Hanatarou was saying. 

Hitsugaya blinked, trying to clear his throat so he could answer. "What… happened?" he croaked, the harsh sound of his own voice surprising him. 

Hanatarou's face was illuminated in the light of a healing kidou, the feel of the healer's reiatsu foreign and strange as it poured into his chest and chased away some of the remnant pain. "Don't try to speak too much, Hitsugaya-taichou. Unohana-taichou will be by soon to check on you, and she can answer any questions you might have then." Hanatarou's voice stayed low, his eyes fixed on his own hands as he spoke, brow furrowed in concentration.  

“Matsu…Matsumoto?” Hitsugaya asked suddenly – she had been there, hadn't she? If she had been there, then who was looking after their detail in the Living World? He tried sitting up, but Hanatarou pressed harder on his sore chest.   

“Matsumoto is resting, Hitsugaya-taichou,” Hanatarou replied with a stern glare. “Please, don't strain yourself. You need to rest.”

Hanatarou's orders were probably sound - if Hanatarou's strength was enough to hold him down, he was likely very weak. Embarrassing as it was, he felt too exhausted to even care about his pride at this point. A sleeping Hinamori wouldn't care, and so far she was the only witness aside from Hanatarou.

He closed his eyes again, trying to piece together what had happened. It made sense that he would be here in the Fourth Division, but the details were fuzzy. He felt mildly disoriented - some time had passed since he last recalled anything clearly, and even then he couldn't quite recall what it was that had brought him back to Seireitei aside from the fact that it had been important - but now that he knew where he was, it didn't cause him any sort of panic. Matsumoto was there with him, and if she was resting, it was likely that he had been unconscious for some time now and that she had been there with him for much of it. It did cross his mind that he had questions for Hanatarou, but when he opened his eyes to ask them, Hanatarou was gone.

So was Hinamori. In her place, there sat a small stuffed dragon next to the makura, visible seams and button eyes giving away its handmade nature. Frowning, he wondered who had made it, and when it had been placed there.

He had drifted off again, and hadn't even realized it. Swallowing painfully - his mouth felt as though it had been stuffed with cotton - he noticed that the sun was out; its rays peeked through the cracks of the shoji on the far side of the room, but he couldn't tell what time of day it was at this angle. His head felt like a weighted metal ball, and his eyes stung with grit from sleep and exhaustion. Simply laying still made him feel mildly dizzy and extremely light-headed. Even when he had been badly wounded, he hadn't felt quite this--

Hanatarou had put him under on purpose, the bastard.

"Glad to see you awake again, Hitsugaya." Hitsugaya flinched in surprise when he heard Unohana's gentle voice from above his head, but calmed quickly when he realized who was in the room with him. "Hanatarou told me that you had regained consciousness yesterday before dawn, but had to put you back to sleep. Were you misbehaving, young one?"

Hitsugaya hadn't expected to be teased upon waking up again, but it was oddly comforting. He grunted in reply, eyes meeting Unohana's as she approached his futon.

"We were all worried about you," Unohana continued, kneeling beside him. "When you're ready, there are already several people who wish to come see you."

Hitsugaya looked away as Unohana folded the covers away from his chest. He wasn't sure he was prepared to allow any more people to be party to his weakness; there had been more than enough witnesses to the fact that he nearly been killed - again - by something he couldn't see. Ah, now he remembered why he was here.

Karura. That's what Hyourinmaru called that bird-creature. How many captains had been in that room with him when Yamamoto questioned him? How many of them had seen him in that losing battle? Hitsugaya stiffened when he felt Unohana's soft hands moving aside the bandages wrapping his torso.

"How is the pain?" Unohana asked, and Hitsugaya relaxed; she had misread the gesture, thankfully.

Hitsugaya didn't have to think on it for long to take stock; he still felt a dull, resounding ache in his lungs with every breath, his body heavy and sore. But truthfully, it wasn't as bad as he expected it to be. The Fourth Division truly had skilled healers.

"Still there, but dull," he replied hoarsely. Coughing to clear his throat, he winced as the pain in his chest flared briefly before it faded again. Whatever they were doing for the pain, it was working rather well.

Unohana nodded in response, hands now glowing over his chest. “It will continue to fade, but don’t get frustrated if it takes a little more time than you’d like. You were badly wounded, Hitsugaya-taichou, so let the pain be a reminder not to push yourself too hard.”

Hitsugaya frowned, but he nodded regardless. He didn’t dare look down to see the damage himself; from the feel of it, Karura had torn him open like a vulture would a carcass. He had thought the wounds were only in his mind at first, that reality had blended back with the dream in order to torment him further, but now it was obvious that the last nightmare he recalled before finding himself back in the safe haven of his subconscious had been real.

“How–” He shifted uncomfortably, and Unohana paused in her ministrations, waiting patiently for him to speak. “How bad…?”

Unohana sighed. “Perhaps it is best not to ask now.”

Hitsugaya resisted the urge to grab her hands and insist that she explain, but the serious look in her eyes make him think better of that idea. Instead, he looked away, and saw button eyes staring back at him. The handmade dragon – who the hell was trying to tell him how much of a child they thought he was–

“Matsumoto brought that in for you, Hitsugaya-taichou,” Unohana explained; she must have seen him scowling at it. “The dragon is a symbol of good health; she was hoping it would lift your spirits some.”

Oh. Hitsugaya felt almost sheepish for the earlier mental outburst, and silently apologized to the dragon. It simply stared back at him with its button eyes, as much a sign of forgiveness as he’d ever get.

Gods. I must be really out of it if I’m talking to a toy dragon.

Unohana’s hands stopped glowing, and she suddenly slipped her hands beneath Hitsugaya’s back and wound bandages back around his chest. He finally caught a glimpse of what Karura’s claws had done to him, and he swallowed back bile – red, ragged lines coursed his chest from hip to shoulder. They looked terrible, even though they were clearly on the mend. He wouldn’t be surprised if they left scars.

“Yamamoto will want to speak with you as soon as I deem you well enough to sit up on your own.” Unohana explained once she drew the covers back up to Hitsugaya’s shoulders. “For now, you need rest. I will have Koutetsu-san come by later to bring you something to eat that will be gentle on your stomach; you may sit up then, but please let her help you.” She turned, preparing to leave the room.

He still had questions. “Unohana-san…”

“Rest, Hitsugaya.” Before he could protest, she placed a gentle hand to his forehead, and the room swirled to black. Just before he faded entirely, however, he heard Unohana’s voice whisper, “You made it, young dragon. Thank you.”

--