Chapter Text
Between one heartbeat and the next, the child’s spirit seemed to understand that Ichigo could see him. It wasn’t hard; he’d made quite a spectacle of himself with the way he was standing and staring in abject horror. Yuuichi’s expression softened, gaze fragile and fearful, and his lips trembled.
“Can you. . . see me?” He asked, but Ichigo was far too focused on how both the bird and boy spoke at the same time, or how when the ghost tilted its head so did the bird, or how even when the child was crying his feathered flesh suit stayed silent—
The throbbing behind his brow, which had started some time ago, turned sharp and agonizing, and the confused mutters of his friends began to fade as a sickening ringing began to swell in his ears.
Still, he heard the child’s chain rattling.
‘This isn’t then.’ He tried to tell himself, ‘It can’t be.’
It was hard to listen to logic when life was trying so damn hard to prove him wrong.
“Ichigo!”
A small hand grabbed his elbow, yanking him away from his staring match with the deceased, and Rukia’s hissed words finally managed to wrestle his attention from Yuuichi. He took the distraction with a fervent sort of need, tracing every detail of her expression down to the furrow of her eyebrows, and the tight corners of her mouth pinching downwards in apprehension. Anything to not think about—
Her nails were short, but still stabbing decently into his skin.
“What’s wrong with you!”
‘What’s wrong with me?’
His thoughts flew by him at a million miles a seconds, and his eyes ached, and for every breath that he drew in it felt like three more had escaped; he couldn’t fathom why anything would be wrong with him, unless—
He forced himself to face Yuuichi, who was still staring at him with a type of terror that Ichigo felt betrayed by. He was used to the dead and forgotten being thankful that he could see them, that he could save them; but Yuuichi was afraid, and Rukia was concerned, and the hold on his elbow should’ve felt grounding, but the burning beneath the skin of his face made it a little hard to think—
“Nothing is wrong with me.”
He wasn’t even sure how he’d spoken, but that was definitely his voice trying to dissuade the small Soul Reaper.
“Ichigo, you’re crying.” She whispered, the disbelief in her words hissed between teeth, and she was right; warm tears were trailing down his face, but not from his abrupt fit. His skull felt too small for his brain and the ensuing aching forced more salt water down his cheeks as it became nearly all encompassing.
Even that wasn’t louder than the reality of his current situation.
‘She can’t see him.’
Every time she glanced over in the boy’s direction, she looked to the bird, her eyes only ever tracing sightlessly in the air above his cage as she tried to see what he was seeing. He didn’t remember raising his hand, but suddenly he was holding hers. He pried her fingers away and, somehow, seeing those red, smarting crescents decorate his skin made him feel more real than seconds before.
“I’m fine.” He assured her, the words sounding hollow even to him, and the incredulousness which folded her expression let him know he was just as horrible at lying as he’d ever been, and so he pushed a little harder, “I’ve got a migraine. Just gotta go to the nurses’ office.”
It wasn’t completely wrong. His head really felt as if it were about to burst open. A half truth to half cover his ass as he made a hasty escape; it worked as well as any other excuse. The furrow of her brow lightened, but not in the way he’d wanted it to. Everyone else seemed to believe him, and he vaguely heard Chad’s voice warble in and out of focus, asking him if he’d like to be carried down, which was ridiculous, but even that failed to take Ichigo’s mind off of the bird boy who was still etching holes into the side of his grey matter.
“I’m taking you.” She demanded, not asked, and whisked her hand out of his grip in order to grab him by the sleeve. The marks in his skin seethed, and the sting of them was nearly absent compared to the throbbing in his skull, but it was another reminder that he was alive— that Ichigo was alive, and Allen was dead, and seeing a possessed bird didn’t change anything—
He was jolted physically and mentally as she pulled him towards the door to the roof. He’d have stopped her had he not been searching for an easy way out anyways; his mind elsewhere, he allowed himself to be dragged away, barely conscious of the weak rebuttals he spewed on habit. He figured, since she didn’t stop walking, she also wasn’t paying attention to them.
Yuuichi’s gaze followed him the entire time, until the door finally slammed in between them. Ichigo couldn’t recall ever feeling more relieved.
The flight downwards passed in a blur, hallways like out of focus smears, and each time he blinked, all he saw was Yuuichi, and Rukia’s befuddlement, and his friends confoundment, and the area between his eyes pulsed painfully in time. It had begun to subside since he’d left the roof, but the worst of it still lingered. At some point, a cold compress had been pushed into his hand by a very perturbed nurse, who must have been quite annoyed to be seeing him for the third time in three days.
It was only after he was laid down, said ice pack strewn over his face to block out the light, did Rukia begin speaking.
“What really happened up there?”
He thought about lying to her.
As if she sensed this, she gave him no time to respond, her false body dipping the side of his cot as she sat down beside him.
“Your eyes were bloodshot.” She commented, and he heard her legs begin to swing idly back and forth, “You looked like you’d just lost someone.”
‘Something. My peace.’ He wanted to retort, but as the ache pulsed into obscurity, his mind scrambled and left him too fatigued for sass.
He really could’ve just said nothing, honestly. Rukia stopped pushing, and her question hung in the air quite heavily, and it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d ignored an inquiry to avoid it, but—
Hadn’t he just told his father something along the lines of them needing to be more truthful? Hadn’t he said that the adult thing to do is to just say you’re not willing to talk about it? He’d be a hypocrite if he said anything less.
“What would you say if I said I don’t want to talk about it?”
His voice was loud in the silence, and more suffocating than her question from before. The bed stopped moving and he just knew she was staring him through, but he needed to know; would she respect him enough to leave this alone?
Rukia from back when they had first met would have tied him up and forced it out of him, and a week wasn’t long enough for most people to change, but there was this small voice at the back of his head that sounded like Lenalee, that said that sometimes, like calls to like.
“I would say, you are stubborn and rude, and as your teacher I should know this.” She replied curtly, and her fist smacked the pillow next to his face, making him jolt at the unexpected violence, “Then I would probably hit you, and call you stupid for thinking so lowly of me, to assume I would genuinely say something like that.”
Rukia and him must’ve been cut from the same bolt; despite himself, he found her words refreshing, and just a little calming. She understood him more than he thought she had. He felt the pillow give as she pulled away slowly, softly; she was being considerate, he thought, of his supposed migraine.
He wanted to tell her.
Specifically, he wanted to tell anyone, his family or his friends, but his family would freak out, and his friends just wouldn’t understand. But Rukia had probably seen just as much as Ichigo had, even if their worlds were so vastly different; she just might get why he felt so uneasy.
But not right now. Their partnership was too new, and he couldn’t risk that she may one day leave him and tell Soul Society about that one human freak she met on earth. He could trust her with his life, had done it before and would do it again. But not with this. Not now.
“Make it light, otherwise I might cry again.” He joked cynically, and the lengthy space between his sentences emphasized the fact that she’d stopped breathing, obviously unsatisfied but trying, for his sake, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Alright.” She acquiesced through pursed lips, and slightly tapped the top of his head with her knuckles, “You will have to tell me someday, and I will keep asking you until you do.”
It was relief that made him unclench the fists he’d pressed into his ribs unconsciously, and he couldn’t recall crossing his arms, yet he had and now he wondered if that’s why he’d been having trouble breathing.
“You can ask me every fucking day if you want, just don’t hit me every time.”
“Do not think of me as above that, Kurosaki.”
Her leivity, even forced, helped bring some oxygen back into his lungs. He huffed cautiously, and turned his head to the side in case she did decide to hit him.
“You’re not above most things, Rukia.”
His double edged insult had her inhaling sharply, and he tried to put on an even more pitiful air to make himself seem small, and vulnerable. It wasn’t hard, given how awful he still felt, and his act must have worked wonders on her conscience as she simply seethed wordless through her teeth.
“I really will ask you every day.”
“I know.”
“Are you prepared to deal with this?”
“As I’ll ever be.” He bemoaned sardonically, as his mind finally began to make sense of itself again; if he just didn’t think about Yuuichi for now, the boy’s nature would fade from mind. Not for long, but just long enough that he might be able to make it through the school day before he questioned his reality once more.
Normally, pets were very obviously not allowed on school grounds, let alone a possessed parakeet in a bird cage. Normally, Chad was a reasonable person, and easily relented if called out by a teacher or a peer for a mistake. Today was no normal day, as evidenced by the small, bound, brunette phantom drilling holes into Ichigo’s face, as Chad continued his argument with their maths teacher.
“Yasutora-san, please, I understand that this morning has been an ordeal for you, but this does not justify—.”
“Yuuichi has been through a lot.”
“The bird—.”
“Yuuichi.”
“Yes, the bird—.”
“Yuuichi.”
This was not something Ichigo had expected to walk in on after coming back to the classroom once the bell rang, and yet it had been going on for a good five minutes already with no signs of stopping. Ichigo could’ve watched this for hours had his migraine not been ever present and ever painful. As it was, any time he so much as caught a glimpse of the ghost chained above the bird, his ears would start squealing. It made following the ongoing battle a chore, but it was too damn funny to simply ignore. If Ichigo cocked his head just right, he could keep Ito-sensei’s exasperated face in partial view as Chad and his feathered friend faded into his periphery.
“Yasutora-san—!”
“He’s my emotional support animal.”
Ichigo barely withheld the snort that wanted to escape at his friend’s deadpanned response. Chad, despite all his seeming aloofness, was more stubborn and sassy than his eleven year old sisters.
“Yasutora-san, please don’t make me have to resort to disciplinary measures. Just, I beg of you, take the bird— Yuuichi-san— home.”
“I need him for my anxiety.”
The sharp edge on a folded piece of paper jabbed into Ichigo’s arm, jolting him from his free entertainment with a startle. He bit his tongue in his effort to stay quiet, not wanting his teacher’s ire to suddenly fall on him, and spun in the direction the note had come from, prepared to glare his seat companion into submission— only to pause as he remembered who it was who sat on his left. Orihime stared at him with hesitant expectancy, her grey gaze sparkling with a vulnerability that ate at all the hidden soft spots Ichigo had for small things that reminded him of his sisters.
Ichigo glanced down at the paper, taking a second to himself to quell those formerly murderous thoughts, and grabbed it cautiously. It was the first time someone had ever passed him a note in class— well, the first time without the express intent to get him in trouble. Middle schoolers had a knack for creativity when it came to bullying, and his had-been tormentors had understood that teacher biases could get them so much further than if they tried to fist fight him. Ichigo just couldn’t see Orihime attempting to sabotage him, even to draw the attention away from Chad, and so he was left confused and mildly bewildered. Why else would anyone want to pass him notes?
Ichigo decided that staring at the note wouldn’t help him, and glanced back at Orihime in question. Ever unhelpful, the girl just mimed him opening the note, and gave him a double thumbs up.
‘How insightful.’, he thought.
He figured there was nothing to lose, and did as she gestured. Inside the note was just a few lines written in the prettiest script Ichigo had ever seen, but that wasn’t what caught his attention. What grabbed his attention was the words scrawled on the page.
‘Just tell Chad-kun about your fear of birds! I’m sure once you tell him, he’ll understand!’
He had the feeling this was meant to be motivational, however, Ichigo wasn’t afraid of birds. He eyed the note for a moment, wondering if perhaps Orihime simply wanted the arguing to stop, but after peeking back up and seeing the encouraging stare she was sharing, he realized that she had somehow gotten very confused— it wasn’t an unusual thing for her, but it was still the first time it had happened with him. Mustering all the restraint left in his body, he scribbled a simple answer, fighting off the instinctual barbs he’d really wanted to write with much effort. Once done, he handed the note back, not bothering to refold it.
‘I’m not afraid of birds.’
It was Orihime’s turn to study the paper, and then him with disbelief. He couldn’t tell whether he should feel insulted or not. His seatmate bent over the scrap again, each letter she penned lasting a second longer than the last as he waited impatiently for whatever insane response she came up with. When she was done, she took care to do what he hadn’t, and folded it up before handing it to him. He was almost afraid to read it. He pulled the creased paper open.
‘It’s okay to have fears, and birds sure are scary Kurosaki-kun! You don’t have to worry, because I won’t tell anyone and I won’t judge you!’
The sigh that came out of him was completely involuntary as his head dropped to the desk in vexation, and the cool table top helped him tune out the gentle, comforting pat on his arm which most definitely meant Orihime was convinced she was right, and Ichigo didn’t have the energy to argue with her any further.
“—-just—ugh, fine. Keep the bird—Yuuichi-san. But if I hear so much as a tweet, I will send you out to the hall, and the bird will be going out the window—!”
“Ito-sensei, that’s animal abuse.”
“It’s a bird! The sky is where it belongs!”
There were two people losing debates in this room, and of them, Ichigo felt he was losing the most.
‘Fuck it. I guess I’m afraid of birds now.’ He felt his pride withering away as he picked up his pencil and scratched out a reply. His pencil lead broke. His hand uncontrollably scrunched up the paper, and saved him the trouble of having to fold it to play nice. He handed the note to Orihime. She smiled at him, completely unaware of his fading sense of self.
‘Please don’t tell anyone.’
Orihime’s grin became touched with happiness, and she looked ready to cry from how proud she was. Ichigo tried not to show how irritated that made him. When the note made its way back into hands, however, he found it difficult to contain himself, and his pencil snapped in half.
‘I won’t! But you should probably warn Keigo— he didn’t come back to class after lunch, and I heard Kanako-chan from 3-A say she saw him grabbing a net from the toolshed—.’
Ichigo wasn’t able to finish reading what she wrote, as a grey splash of color outside the window behind her wrangled him away from it, at the same time his teacher’s voice rose several octaves.
“Keigo Asano, what the hell do you think you’re doing!” Ito-sensei screeched, and Ichigo agreed, because what the actual fuck was his friend doing climbing a tree with a bug net?! As if able to hear his thoughts, Keigo’s gaze found him, and his friend gave him a confident smile, as through the window, he shouted loudly for the class to hear.
“FOR ICHIGO!”
The arguably most clinical of his friend group was standing shakily on a branch, his knees wobbling, and after his proclamation, he jumped forward and his net came down on a bird’s nest that nobody would’ve noticed otherwise. As for Keigo himself, he did not stick the landing, one leg slipping to either side of the branch as his forward momentum sent him tumbling. In the end, all he got for his troubles was a couple of cracked eggs and a net full of broken sticks. Ichigo would have winced in solidarity had the classroom not gotten horrifically silent. Turning away from the scene, he found a room full of students staring at him, and a teacher irately making his way towards Ichigo’s desk.
‘Keigo, you son of a—!’
His thoughts were interrupted by Ito-sensei's growl.
“Kurosaki-san. I need to speak with you in the hall. Now.”
At this point, Ichigo was faced with two options; stay and get verbally thrashed, or make a break for it and hope everything blows over by the time he returns tomorrow. Ito-sensei’s face was pinched in a way that emphasized his balding head, and Ichigo had never really been afraid to face the consequences of his own actions. However, these were not his actions, and not his consequences. He maintained his best poker face as he stood silently, as if to accept punishment.
“Ito-sensei! Don’t blame Kurosaki-kun! It was my idea!” A hand slammed onto his seat mate’s table, and in an uncharacteristic show of bravado, Orihime stood up and lied straight to their teacher’s face. Ito-sensei spluttered, disbelieving, and Ichigo couldn’t fault him— who would believe that sweet and shy Orihime could be capable of such a stunt? As if to deny him his reality, Orihime opened her mouth and continued to speak.
“I’d wanted to capture that bird for a while now, but I haven’t had the time to do it myself, and I heard Kuro— a person I know mention his fear of birds earlier, and Keigo was nearby and I knew he would do anything to help because we’re such great friends! Well I figured I could kill two birds with one stone so to say, and—!”
She sure could ramble. Ito-sensei seemed just about as lost as the rest of the class, if his steadily reddening face gave anything away, and after finally seeming to tire of it, he raised his hand.
“Why did you also want a bird Orihime-san, and why that one specifically?” He grumbled, which made Orihime’s expression lighten, and she smiled in the most disarming way that had even Ichigo feeling inclined to trust her every word.
“Because it’s so close to school, and Ito-sensei’s wife likes the Eurasian Tree Sparrow, doesn’t she?”
‘Ito-sensei’s. . . wife?’ Ichigo was beginning to believe he had never survived the fight with Sora last night. Maybe he’d really died three days ago to an actual truck hitting his house, and this was all a hallucination before he went brain dead. It was the only thing that seemed to make sense anymore.
While the rest of the class appeared to have the same thoughts as Ichigo, Ito-sensei’s face went startlingly blank.
“Ooh— I know that face! The Poppy Flower of Karakura High strikes again!” Someone viciously whispered at the front of the room, and concerningly, Ichigo heard some answering hums of agreement.
‘Poppy flower? Am I just stupid? What the fuck is going on?’ Ichigo really wanted to just pass on already if he was meant to live out his last moment in this illusory nightmare.
“Ito-sensei should really apologize to Ito-chan, but Ito-sensei is emotionally unavailable and unable to do it, so I thought I could help!”
“Orihime-san, please.”
“It’s okay, Ito-sensei— small arguments are expected in a new marriage, and as long as you learn to grow together, everything will turn out fine, but the first step is to always—!”
“Kurosaki-san is no longer in trouble—just—please sit down Orihime-san.”
It worked like a charm. As soon as Orihime learned Ichigo’s educational wellbeing was no longer in jeopardy, she sat down with that same, genial expression on her face. Ichigo looked at Ito-sensei, not entirely trusting that he’d been let off the hook, but Ito-sensei gave Ichigo a haunted glance in return, and a solemn nod that confirmed he wouldn’t push the subject any further. Ichigo sat down, and their teacher slumped back to the front of class, defeated.
‘What the hell was that?’ Ichigo was unconvinced that this wasn’t all a fever dream, even as another folded up note landed on his desk. This one had no finesse and no stealth, so Ichigo watched Ito-sensei’s gaze track the note, and unsurprisingly, nothing was said. Ichigo felt abruptly and inexplicably sad for the man, but that didn’t stop him from reading Orihime’s newest form of torture.
‘Meet me after school?’
Ichigo wanted nothing more than to say no. But the grim change in their teacher’s attitude reminded him that some bears were better left unprovoked.
‘Sure.’
The final school bell rang with an echo similar to funeral bells, and Ichigo found himself dragging his feet when it came to grabbing his shoes from the cubbies. He had tried doing some subtle inquiries to his classmates about whatever the hell the ‘Poppy Flower’ of Karakura High was, but all it got him in return were guarded looks and the occasional shiver of discomfort.
It was the furthest thing from reassuring he could’ve imagined. But Orihime was his friend, or acquaintance, and he owed her this much for getting him out of the problems his other friend, possible enemy at this point, had gotten him into.
“Kurosaki-kun! There you are!” An airy voice alighted the cubby room with laughter, but nobody was smiling. Orihime had found him. He turned slowly, reluctantly, to face her.
“Inoue.”
If she was bothered by his brief response, she didn’t show it. Instead, her face flushed and she ducked her head to hide her expression, stopping a good three feet from him. Was this really the same Orihime as earlier?
“S-sorry, I didn’t mean to seem impatient, but I’ve got plans to meet with Tatsuki-chan for dinner— she’s letting me make her my super special beef-onion-banana curry tonight!” She waved her hands, not seemingly knowing what to do with them, and Ichigo had never wanted to not have ears as much as he did right now. He sent a silent, useless, prayer to God for Tatsuki and then moved on.
“What’s up?” He grunted and Orihime giggled, her gaze glittering before she caught herself, and let her face fall into something a little less puppyish. As if Ichigo didn’t already know of her huge crush on him. He felt his face heating at the reminder, and he pinched his brows together and turned to shield his own reaction behind his cubby door.
“Kurosaki-kun is always to the point. It’s a very nice trait to have!” She whispered encouragingly, and Ichigo’s frown grew as he realized that she had an uncanny knack of always knowing what to say.
“Inoue.” His next enunciation of her name was more gravely, each syllable a fight to get out in a polite manner.
“Ah, sorry! I’ll be brief like Kurosaki-kun then!” She didn’t sound apologetic at all, “I want Kurosaki-kun to teach me how to fight!”
Those were not words Ichigo had been expecting. He hadn’t really known why the normally timid redhead had been so forward as to ask him to wait for her, although he’d feared a confession, or somehow something worse. It made Ichigo pause. Fighting was something he understood well; fighting was an easy topic; this felt like a trap. Pulling away from his empty cubby, he raised an eyebrow in confusion.
“Me?” He inquired, and Orihime began to nod rapidly, “Wouldn’t it be easier to ask Tatsuki? You guys are a similar size and weight, and she teaches classes as an assistant all the time.”
At that, Orihime shied away, a small pout wilting her facade.
“I’ve asked her, but Tatsuki-chan says I shouldn’t ever have to worry, because if a big strong man won’t protect me, she’ll always be by my side.” She mumbled, and Ichigo wondered when his childhood friend had become so soft for her only female friend. The Tatsuki he knew would never say that. He closed his cubby door and faced her, giving her his full attention, arms crossed casually.
“So, you’re looking to learn self defense? Or are you looking to learn a specific type of defense?” He asked, and it was her turn to drop her brow. She tapped her bottom lip with an index finger, and started to think.
“Self defense, for the most part— but I’d also like to learn how to safely escape from larger attackers, if I can. N-no weapons, or offensive— I don’t really like fighting, but after that sumo wrestler broke down my wall yesterday, I’ve really just wanted to not feel so—.” Her hands grabbed at the air frantically, her words lost in her thoughts, and Ichigo decided to save her some trouble.
“I get it. You don’t want to feel helpless.” She clapped her hands to show him he’d got it in one, and his head cocked pensively, “You know you will have to learn to fight back eventually, even if you start by learning how to escape. No situation is perfect, and you can’t guarantee you’ll always have a way to run away. Can you handle that?”
Was he actually considering this? When it came down to it, to Ichigo, it was a no brainer— everyone should know how to fight back, even a little bit. The world was an unpredictable place, and people were just as varied, and while Ichigo would love to always be the one to protect his friends and his family, his memories as Allen whispered with an ache that that couldn’t always be the case.
Seeing Orihime’s determination settled it for him; her lips wobbled in disquiet, but her gaze was steady. Ichigo sighed, knowing his days were about to get a little busier from now on. He scrubbed a hand through his hair and shrugged, Orihime’s joyful fist pump making it feel worth it.
“Alright, I’ll try. I haven’t really had any formal lessons in years, but I’ll do what I can.” He accepted, and Orihime bowed low in gratitude. Startled, he waved her off, telling her it was unnecessary, and in return, she grabbed his hand before bowing again.
“I will make you proud, Kurosaki-sensei!”
“Call me Ichigo.”
“Ichigo-sensei!”
“No— just—just Ichigo is okay.”
She didn’t seem to hear him at all; in fact, as she muttered to herself about using his Kurosaki Death Chop to kill the evil Prime Minister of Octopi Land, he wondered if she was even still in the realm of the sane.
At the very least, while deep in her own head, Ichigo was able to extract his hands and make a hasty escape. Plans could be made tomorrow when he wasn’t exhausted, coming off a migraine, and having an existential crisis.
When Ichigo got home, he was greeted by chaos, and told to sit in a corner and not get in his family’s way as they carted patient after patient inside from a big car accident at the intersection. With the day he’d had, he wasn’t arguing with anyone on that front, and so he stayed quietly against the wall, his head nestled in his knees as he tuned out the screams and medical jargon by habit.
He saw it before he heard it. A brown haired, emaciated boy in patchwork chains was staring at him, floating through the wall, the other end to his unnatural leash tethered on the other side. The unearthly rattle of metal rang like a death knell. Ichigo’s eyes began to burn.
“A big one’s arrived! Ichigo, we’ve got a job for you!” Yuzu called out, but Ichigo was frozen. He’d been able to ignore the bird child all day, but now, as his sister struggled with Chad on the other end of the wall, the two were alone. Yuuichi didn’t give him the chance to leave.
“You see me.” His tone was clipped, as if Ichigo had done something wrong, taboo; as if Ichigo were the human child possessing a bird. Ichigo thought of not answering, but the parts of him that were Allen screamed a refusal. Despite his reservations, this was a child.
“I do.” His voice was even more short, and Yuuichi’s face went through an array of expressions. Denial, anger, disbelief, fear— it was baffling. The instinctive feeling that the spirit should need to talk to him left Ichigo feeling haughty for a second; he’d never met a spirit who was happy to be ignored, but Yuuichi betrayed those expectations.
“Why you?” Yuuichi settled on fury, and Isshin yelled for Ichigo to hurry it up, and he knew he didn’t have much time, not if he didn’t want his family finding out. It was still an awful question, one Allen had constantly asked himself.
‘Why me?’
“I don’t know.” The words were hollow, but he truly didn’t know, because why would a curse from another life follow him through the barriers of death and rebirth, and was Mana’s hatred for him that strong—?
“Why are you haunting Chad?” Allen blurted out the first question on his mind, anything to not think of Mana, and was startled when Yuuichi flinched. A moment of clarity sparked through his conscience. That wasn’t an innocent reaction. Yuuichi’s gaze shifted, and suddenly, he found the floor very interesting.
“I don’t know. Guess he likes birds.” The parakeet parroted, and everything in Allen was screaming—.
‘Lies, lies, lies, lieslieslieslies—!’
“Why do you even care? He’s your friend and you’re not even trying to help him.” Yuuichi’s confidence came back in the way a child’s would, with whiplash and defensiveness and petty stares, and Allen knew something was wrong, and he opened his mouth to continue pushing—.
“Ichigo!” He’d run out of time. Karin rounded the corner and stomped his way. Unfortunately, she paused right about where Yuuichi’s ghost was. Her head phased in and out of Yuuichi’s face, and Ichigo shuddered at the sight of his sister with such angry, helpless, hateful eyes.
“Get up you bum!” Even her sharp tongue brought him no sense of relief. The only thing that pushed him into motion was knowing that Yuuichi’s presence preceded one that was far more important, and currently in need of aid.
“Sorry, I didn’t hear you guys.” He muttered his excuse as he stood, head dropping to avoid the infuriated daggers being thrown his way, and Karin slapped his arm.
“I don’t care— get in there!”
He didn’t have to be told twice.
On the other side, Chad was being half hoisted in the air by Isshin, his form limp and his shirt wet with blood. From Isshin’s free hand hung a parakeet in a cage that Ichigo found easy to ignore. Pulling up to Chad’s other side, Ichigo was hit first with the smell of burnt flesh, and second by the same souring feeling he’d felt at seeing Orihime’s injury the day prior.
‘Lieslieslieslies—!’ Whispered his subconscious, and a stone dropped from his stomach to his toes.
As he pulled Chad’s other arm around his shoulder, he tried to forget the creeping doubt that this was all Yuuichi’s fault. His friend needed medical help, and that was more important.
Isshin and him struggled to pull Chad over to a bed, his giant form fumbling and dragging. Chad’s eyes kept rolling, but every so often, they focused on Ichigo.
“Ichigo. . . ?” Chad slurred, and his dad sent him a curious look from Chad’s other side, but he just shook his head. Now was not the time to be explaining how he knew him. Once they managed to get Chad up onto the mattress, Ichigo continued to prop him up with his arms under Chad’s. Said giant’s head lolled onto Ichigo’s shoulder and he released a pained grunt.
“We got you, big guy. Goat-chin’ll take care of you.” Ichigo wasn’t the most well known for his bedside manners, but even he could manage a few words of comfort as Chad began to twitch. Behind him, Isshin started to cut away Chad’s shirt with the fabric shears, carefully pulling at the parts that seemed partially melted into Chad wounds. Each time he did, Chad let out another noise and made to move, as if trying to stop him. Each time, Ichigo halted him with a few curt words.
Once it had all been removed, Ichigo just barely made out the top of the biggest burn edging over the crest of Chad’s spine. He had to keep himself from wincing; it certainly looked painful. Yuzu, who had been helping Isshin, let out a gasp and Ichigo imagined it must look worse from the opposite end.
“Looks second degree— some blistering and redness— it's bleeding quite a lot— hey!” Isshin was muttering to himself until Chad tried standing. Ichigo used his hold to wrap his arms around his friends’ shoulders and keep him in place, even as Chad scrabbled at his back in an attempt to put distance between them. Chad, however, was still strong while only half conscious, and Ichigo found himself having a hard time.
“M’ fine.” Chad grumbled, but the way he swayed spoke volumes. Ichigo fought to maintain their balance.
“Come on— do you really expect me to believe that?” Ichigo huffed, Chad’s shoves getting weaker, “Just sit down and let my old man fix you up.”
“Yeah, especially with all the blood you’ve lost! If you move so much as a muscle, I’m knocking you out!” Isshin threatened, and that finally quelled the fight in Chad. Once more, he rested silently against Ichigo, chest heaving with exertion. Isshin and Yuzu immediately went back to work, carefully disinfecting the area around the wound, while Karin ran around between the other four injured.
“Son, I think he’s capable of sitting up on his own for now. I need you to go call Karakura Gen and tell them to get four beds ready.” Isshin ordered, and Ichigo wanted to disagree, but Isshin shot him a glare that reminded him that his dad was the doctor, and Ichigo was the uncertified helper. Ichigo let Chad go, and the other teen tettered, but didn’t fall. It was fine, he told himself, Isshin knew what he was doing.
Hurrying to the phone, he quickly dialed the number Isshin had written on a faded post-it taped to the wall. A droning voice picked up.
“You’ve reached the office of Ishida Ryuken. Unfortunately, I’m not available right now, so please leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you when I can. If this is Doctor Kurosaki calling, please enter the seven digit code I had faxed to you eight years ago after the beep.” The man’s dull tone sounded a little too enthusiastic, but Ichigo didn’t have time to ponder it.
“Dad! What’s the code?” He called over his shoulder, and he heard cursing.
“Shit—don’t repeat that Yuzu— Uh, try 3825968!”
Keying it in, Ichigo heard the line click, and that same overly cheerful voice reappeared.
“Kurosaki-san, I’ve told you to stop calling me.” He drawled, “But since you’ve deigned to continue wasting both my time and yours, I’ve set up a special voicemail specifically for you. Don’t you feel special?”
‘This is a little weird.’
“If this is a real emergency and you need beds for patients you can’t take care of, please call the Emergency Room Director, as I’ve made clear in my previous conversations with you. If you’re calling to pour your drunken heart out again, feel free to continue blubbering into the phone. If you’re calling for any other ungodly reason, please seek a therapist. Either way, I will not be checking this voicemail. Goodbye.” Then the line faded to dial tone.
Ichigo felt he’d learned more about his father in the last thirty seconds than was necessary.
“Uh— the voicemail said to call the ER Director?” He decidedly did not mention the odd mailbox.
“It’s the number on the Hello Kitty post-it— Karin, put that man in cuffs! If I see him move again, let him know I will be force feeding him horse tranquilizers!— Ma’am, I understand you’re in pain, we’re getting an IV started right now—!”
Ichigo stopped paying attention and instead found the number on said childish stationary. He dialed, and the line picked up on the first ring.
“Karakura General Emergency, how may I assist you?”
From that moment on, everything was a flurry of motion. The receptionist tried to argue with him, in that they didn’t have any open beds, but after repeating everything his father prompted him to, including a threat to the Hospital Director herself, suddenly they found room, and two ambulances would be coming to transport the patients in ten minutes. The victim Karin had been working on had been bound tightly to the bed with safe, leather cuffs, and appeared inebriated. More than likely he was the cause of the accident. The other three patients were in varying degrees of pain and shock, but were at least stable for now. His father had finally moved back over to Chad, having a free moment to wrap his injury at last.
Ichigo sucked in a sharp breath.
A few days prior, and Ichigo wouldn’t have had a word to describe it— it was blistered and bleeding, in an odd starburst pattern that took up most of Chad’s upper back. Now, however, it looked as if a hollow had slammed its hand on Chad’s spine and detonated itself; the wound oozed not only physically, but spiritually. It just looked and felt bad. He continued staring until an absorbent, non-stick sheet of gauze was softly applied, and it was covered completely.
Ichigo had questions, and three people he could ask. Chad was borderline comatose as he was laid on his side to rest, so that was one down, and Yuuichi was neither friendly nor forthcoming. That left one person, and he knew she would more than willingly offer up any explanation she had. When the ambulances came, he took time to sneak off upstairs.
Rukia was waiting for him on his bed. At his entrance, her head popped up, and she stood. They let the silence sit for a minute, before Ichigo grew impatient.
“Yuuichi’s a hollow, isn’t he?” He asked softly, and Rukia thought for a second, before shaking her head. Ichigo’s face pinched in disbelief.
“Yes, and no. The bird is something else entirely. A rare phenomenon, so rare that I only know about it because of my brother.” She shifted on her feet, pacing to stand even with his window, looking out for something he couldn’t see, “Possession isn’t common, there are only a few people that can cause the forceful blending of spirit chains, and of them, they all work within Soul Society. But this stinks of hollow, which tells me somehow, and in some way, a hollow was involved in this.”
Ichigo snorted.
“You’re telling me a hollow did this?” It was ridiculous to him. Rukia seemed to think the same.
“I know. It is ludicrous. But it is the only explanation that sounds plausible. No one from Soul Society is permitted to experiment in the World of the Living.” She grumbled, unsatisfied and unsure. Ichigo understood; if it wasn’t a hollow doing this, that meant it was someone in Soul Society, the supposed protectors of the balance between life and death. If it wasn’t either, that meant it was someone Ichigo was sure was dead.
It was better if it was a hollow.
“So, what do we do?”
“For now? We wait. You’re too new to this to track a Hollow that’s hiding, and if it’s between worlds, I won’t be able to find it.” She spun back around to face him, and her amethyst gaze caught the light of the setting sun, and in them Ichigo found that same resolve that had him trusting her to put a sword through his chest when they first met, “Your friend seems to be attracting it, so we’ll keep him here until the Hollow comes out to play. Then, we’ll find it, and we’ll kill it!”
A decent plan, except for one thing.
“How do we know it won’t catch my family in the crossfire?” Ichigo probed, and Rukia rolled her eyes.
“With nearly five centuries under my belt of sensing for Hollows before they appear, I think you should have a little more faith in my capabilities.” She bragged, and then paused, “However, just in case, I will patrol the area all night. To avoid my senses being overrun by—well, to avoid any mistakes.”
Both of them definitely remembered her being unable to sense Hollows while in vicinity of Ichigo, but this plan was acceptable.
“Alright, and if you find anything, wake me up.” He cemented, and she nodded.
“Of course.”
And so, with their plan set, Ichigo resigned himself to yet another sleepless night.