Lonely Dusk (Bleach, Ichimaru/Hitsugaya, #6 - The Space Between Dream and Reality)
Title: Prodigal Son
Chapter: Lonely Dusk
Author/Artist: azardarkstar
Pairing: Ichimaru Gin/Hitsugaya Toushirou
Fandom: Bleach
Theme: #6 (The Space Between Dream and Reality)
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. That honor belongs to Tite Kubo. All characters are depicted as legal age.
Spoilers: Soul Society Arc and Beyond
Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five
Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two
He followed the blood drops like little fox footprints in the snow. Only there wasn't any snow. It wasn't even cold. It was nearly October, and it felt like he'd stepped into an oven that morning when he'd left the shouten.
It was dusk now, but sweat still collected along his brow as he paced the scattered specks of reddish brown. Shunpo would've been faster, but there was too much of a chance that he'd overstep and miss some important clue. That the trail would divert along the way, and he'd lose it entirely.
Nonetheless, Toushirou went faster as the number of drops grew. They now came in twos and threes for every step he took, and soon enough, they seemed more like streaks across the pavement than individual spots. Staggering back and forth erratically as though the originator had become confused. As if he didn't know where he'd been or where he was going much less how to get there.
His heart thrummed inside of him as he sped up even more. He was as close to shunpo as possible without actually doing it, but haste was more important than accuracy now. Particularly since he could taste the stray tendrils of reiatsu in the air and knew that he was near. Close. So damn close. As that reiatsu grew both paradoxically stronger and weaker. As he rolled it on his tongue and realized just how stale it'd become. As he turned the corner and froze for a split second.
Toushirou didn't say his name. The word was caught in his suddenly too dry throat. He didn't remember running to Gin's side. Or even kneeling beside him. All he knew next was the weight of Gin's head in his arms and the chill of skin long gone cold. He didn't even feel the sopping hardness of congealed blood on his knees or the scrape along his knuckles where his fingers had kissed the street in his haste.
There was only Toushirou, alive and heaving in breath like a drowning man. And Gin, who was not.
There weren't words for his horror. For the sound he made or the impossible heaviness in his chest. For the coldness in his soul as it frosted over and his heart broke into a million pieces.
He didn't know how long he knelt. How much time passed before his hand fell nervelessly from Gin's shoulder, but instead of landing on harsh pavement, his skin hit metal. Toushirou jumped as something bit into his flesh. He blinked and dazedly lifted his arm to see that a line of his own blood was forming on his palm. Then, he glanced down.
It was Shinsou. It was Shinsou, and she was still there. Still present. Not just physically. Not just as a sword. But Toushirou could actually feel her. She hadn't faded yet. She was still there. Still solid. Still stirring beneath the surface. Still screaming to get his attention.
Screaming.
Not crying. Not mourning. But actual screams. She was afraid. Terrified even. She was trying to warn him. She and Hyourinmaru both were trying to warn him now that he actually listened.
If anything, Toushirou went even colder. His blood was ice in his veins as he looked at Gin again, really looked at him, and realized that something felt off. The body looked like Gin, its lingering reiatsu felt like Gin, but it wasn't him.
There was no new scar above his left eyebrow from failing to duck during a spar against Hirako, and his hands lacked the recent calluses from so many hours training with Kurosaki. Nor did his fingernails bare evidence of Inoue and Matsumoto's handiwork that still refused to wash off, and his hair was too long, especially since Unohana-san had just cut it. His clothes were wrong, too. His shirt didn't look anything like the new one Ishida had made that he'd worn just that morning.
This was wrong. This wasn't the Gin he knew so well. This wasn't the Gin who'd shared his room and his bed for the last few months.
It was wrong. All wrong. All fake.
Hyourinmaru shook in the sheath on his back just then, and Shinsou trembled even harder in his hand. Both of them shrieked at him. Two voices that coiled inside of his soul and then suddenly snapped apart. Fell quiet so quickly that the silence bled out before him.
Toushirou swallowed, but his throat was still so dry. He didn't want to look up, but there was now a pair of feet at the corner of his sight. And despite the darkness of twilight settling in, he could see all of that white burning in the deepening shadows.
Gin's body shimmered in front of him even as he watched and then shattered. It floated away like a stray wisp of smoke. But strangely Shinsou remained in his grasp. Still warm. Still alive. Still real.
He didn't need to see to know; he could feel it in his very bones. Could taste the deceit in the air. But that was probably all an illusion, too. All a lie. Nothing about this man had ever been the truth. Except for perhaps that damn smile.
He didn't need to see, but Toushirou looked up anyway. He really wished he hadn't. Wished that he didn't see the man before him dressed in white with sash of red.
His eyes were a soft brown, not hidden behind glasses as they'd once been, and his stance was open. Welcoming even. His hands folded behind his back as he waited for Toushirou to rise to his feet, and his face was pleasant, softened by the strand of hair falling across his nose. His voice was warm as he spoke. Warm but completely empty.
"Hello, Hitsugaya-kun. It's been a while."
Chapter: Lonely Dusk
Author/Artist: azardarkstar
Pairing: Ichimaru Gin/Hitsugaya Toushirou
Fandom: Bleach
Theme: #6 (The Space Between Dream and Reality)
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. That honor belongs to Tite Kubo. All characters are depicted as legal age.
Spoilers: Soul Society Arc and Beyond
Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five
Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two
He followed the blood drops like little fox footprints in the snow. Only there wasn't any snow. It wasn't even cold. It was nearly October, and it felt like he'd stepped into an oven that morning when he'd left the shouten.
It was dusk now, but sweat still collected along his brow as he paced the scattered specks of reddish brown. Shunpo would've been faster, but there was too much of a chance that he'd overstep and miss some important clue. That the trail would divert along the way, and he'd lose it entirely.
Nonetheless, Toushirou went faster as the number of drops grew. They now came in twos and threes for every step he took, and soon enough, they seemed more like streaks across the pavement than individual spots. Staggering back and forth erratically as though the originator had become confused. As if he didn't know where he'd been or where he was going much less how to get there.
His heart thrummed inside of him as he sped up even more. He was as close to shunpo as possible without actually doing it, but haste was more important than accuracy now. Particularly since he could taste the stray tendrils of reiatsu in the air and knew that he was near. Close. So damn close. As that reiatsu grew both paradoxically stronger and weaker. As he rolled it on his tongue and realized just how stale it'd become. As he turned the corner and froze for a split second.
Toushirou didn't say his name. The word was caught in his suddenly too dry throat. He didn't remember running to Gin's side. Or even kneeling beside him. All he knew next was the weight of Gin's head in his arms and the chill of skin long gone cold. He didn't even feel the sopping hardness of congealed blood on his knees or the scrape along his knuckles where his fingers had kissed the street in his haste.
There was only Toushirou, alive and heaving in breath like a drowning man. And Gin, who was not.
There weren't words for his horror. For the sound he made or the impossible heaviness in his chest. For the coldness in his soul as it frosted over and his heart broke into a million pieces.
He didn't know how long he knelt. How much time passed before his hand fell nervelessly from Gin's shoulder, but instead of landing on harsh pavement, his skin hit metal. Toushirou jumped as something bit into his flesh. He blinked and dazedly lifted his arm to see that a line of his own blood was forming on his palm. Then, he glanced down.
It was Shinsou. It was Shinsou, and she was still there. Still present. Not just physically. Not just as a sword. But Toushirou could actually feel her. She hadn't faded yet. She was still there. Still solid. Still stirring beneath the surface. Still screaming to get his attention.
Screaming.
Not crying. Not mourning. But actual screams. She was afraid. Terrified even. She was trying to warn him. She and Hyourinmaru both were trying to warn him now that he actually listened.
If anything, Toushirou went even colder. His blood was ice in his veins as he looked at Gin again, really looked at him, and realized that something felt off. The body looked like Gin, its lingering reiatsu felt like Gin, but it wasn't him.
There was no new scar above his left eyebrow from failing to duck during a spar against Hirako, and his hands lacked the recent calluses from so many hours training with Kurosaki. Nor did his fingernails bare evidence of Inoue and Matsumoto's handiwork that still refused to wash off, and his hair was too long, especially since Unohana-san had just cut it. His clothes were wrong, too. His shirt didn't look anything like the new one Ishida had made that he'd worn just that morning.
This was wrong. This wasn't the Gin he knew so well. This wasn't the Gin who'd shared his room and his bed for the last few months.
It was wrong. All wrong. All fake.
Hyourinmaru shook in the sheath on his back just then, and Shinsou trembled even harder in his hand. Both of them shrieked at him. Two voices that coiled inside of his soul and then suddenly snapped apart. Fell quiet so quickly that the silence bled out before him.
Toushirou swallowed, but his throat was still so dry. He didn't want to look up, but there was now a pair of feet at the corner of his sight. And despite the darkness of twilight settling in, he could see all of that white burning in the deepening shadows.
Gin's body shimmered in front of him even as he watched and then shattered. It floated away like a stray wisp of smoke. But strangely Shinsou remained in his grasp. Still warm. Still alive. Still real.
He didn't need to see to know; he could feel it in his very bones. Could taste the deceit in the air. But that was probably all an illusion, too. All a lie. Nothing about this man had ever been the truth. Except for perhaps that damn smile.
He didn't need to see, but Toushirou looked up anyway. He really wished he hadn't. Wished that he didn't see the man before him dressed in white with sash of red.
His eyes were a soft brown, not hidden behind glasses as they'd once been, and his stance was open. Welcoming even. His hands folded behind his back as he waited for Toushirou to rise to his feet, and his face was pleasant, softened by the strand of hair falling across his nose. His voice was warm as he spoke. Warm but completely empty.
"Hello, Hitsugaya-kun. It's been a while."