[fic] Limit {Part III: Guilt and Aftershock}
Title: Limit
Author: alstair
Pairing: Ichigo x Ishida Uryuu; Hollow Ichigo x Ichigo
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Angst, swearing, boysex, masturbation
Status: Incomplete
Summary: Ichigo and Ishida grapple with issues
Disclaimer: Kubo Tite owns Bleach and the characters of Bleach
Beta:
fishingforboots
So here's the next installment of Limit (after a rather long break from me due to work). Enjoy!
Part I: Escapism and Denial
Part II: Consummation
Part III: Guilt and Aftershock
Life is a perpetual instruction in cause and effect.
- Ralph Waldo Emerson
Guilt 0.01 - Ichigo
Tuesday, 2:10am
Oh God. Tell me, are you still alive? Tell me, why? Why is it that whatever I hold in my hands I break? Tell me...
...all I wanted was to protect everyone I've ever loved.
~
Fuck. Ichigo pounded the wall of the shower as the cold water mingled with his hot tears. Each drop was ice on his skin while the warmth of his tears mocked him. He pressed his forehead against the cold tile as his body slid down. Why couldn't it have been just him who got hurt? Why?
Let the cold freeze him. Let him drown, let him...
He held onto his arms, his nails biting into his flesh drawing blood. He grasped his shoulders as his body rocked and shuddered, the weight that had lodged in his chest seeking some form of release. He wanted someone, anyone, to hold him, to take him as he was and mend the tattered edges of his soul even if it meant destroying his body. But he refused to be held, refused to seek someone, anyone, to mend the fraying of his soul. Not when he knew the warped existence that was claiming him while he fought in vain to regain dominance cared not for place or time, age or gender, so long as It could continue to satisfy Its craving and bloodlust.
Except he wasn't really alone.
He felt that Other's touch as It stroked his cheek. He shivered as the colder-than-ice fingers traced the edge of his jaw, pressed against his jugular. He cringed as Its tongue made circles around his navel, teased his still rock hard cock as though It refused to let the proof of his complicity and guilt fade with the water splashing over both their bodies.
And he felt ashamed that he desired the release his Other could give him, gave him.
Just as he'd desired Ishida. Just as he still desired him.
Shame on him who, despite the hatred that burned in his heart for this being that was both him and not him, felt pleasure at every skin-on-skin contact, arched at every lap on his manhood. Shame on him who willingly now allowed this creature before him to nurse him if only to break him again.
Shame. Was there any end to a seemingly bottomless pit? Was there any limit to how much a man could endure until he broke?
Or was he already broken?
Oh God. Tell me, can you still hear me? Or have you shut yourself up in some high tower I cannot reach? Tell me, can I still be saved? Or am I forever damned?
Tuesday, 5:20am
Ichigo picked himself up from the bathroom floor. His feet had gone numb, his fingers and toes slightly blued from the cold. The eyes that stared back at him from the mirror were blank and dead, their whites almost entirely black. He closed his eyes to block out the sight of the malicious yellow eyes that showed no mercy, to block the memory of fearful blue eyes that beseeched him.
He didn't bother to comb the hair that matted his forehead, didn't bother to dry his skin as he pulled on a jacket over the scratch wounds that peppered his skin. He needed to get away, far away. He wanted no one close when that happened--when the hollow inside him once more chose to rear its shit-filled ugly head and bring some greater misfortune to some other soul. He wanted no one to see the blood-red hickeys that dotted his neck, torso, and lower body, visible signs of his own depravity. He wanted no one to ask why his voice had died sometime in the night, unable to bear the burdens of arousal, guilt, and hate.
The world slept, oblivious.
Like the sleep of death.
He made his way down without attracting the attention of Isshin, Yuzu, or Karin. Of all people he wanted no one in his family to know, to find out that the monster had lived under the same roof, breathed the same air as they had for the past months. He wanted no one in his family to see in that monster not the paper-white skin of the hollow but his own flesh and blood. He wanted no one in his family to feel the pain of being violated by the very person they'd trusted to protect them. Just as Ishida was.
He opened the door of the clinic and stepped out to find himself in the middle of driving rain. He didn't care. He wanted the rain. Maybe the rain might cleanse the red and white stains on his hands and on his heart. Maybe the rain might wash away the leaden stone that seemed stuck in the pit of his stomach, wash away the sin.
He ran.
~
He ran as he had never before run. If only for a brief span of time, if only for a breath, he wanted to let go of everything--past, present, future. To let go so that all there would be was the sensation of water cascading down his already rain-soaked body, the splashing sound his feet made as they hit pavement and puddle.
Shit. Was there no way to return to how it used to be. Before his Other. Before all this shit happened that made him wonder if deep down, despite his own statements to the contrary, he enjoyed the pain and the bloodshed. Before the silent longings of his heart were wretched from his innermost core and made into that mockery he refused to think of, refused to dwell on lest his own unfulfilled desire propel him to seek the Quincy and once more violate and hurt the boy's body and soul.
He ran to forget but in the end there was no forgetting. Because whatever little peace he found in the exercise was only that, a fleeting excuse, a temporary respite. When the memories came flooding back they did so with the sharpness of a broken bottle gouging at his innards.
He wondered if it would be so even in death.
Guilt 0.02 - Ishida
Tuesday, 8:10am
They talked. They whispered--and wondered. The look on their faces said everything. Their confusion, curiosity, and dumbfound amazement. Ishida could read them like an open book, read the thoughts that flitted across their wide-open and staring eyes.
"Look at his hands! It can't possibly be due to a fall, can it? Just like last time."
"There's no question now, is there? Mr. Top Student was fighting!"
...Just like last time.
He ignored the way their eyes followed him back to his seat. He ignored the elbows that poked at their seatmate's sides as if to say "Hey, take a look at that" even though everyone could perfectly well see the white bandages that were wrapped around his wrists, his fingers; plastered across his nose.
He had no obligation to try to explain to these idiots and certainly he had no need for their sympathy. Besides, what would he say? "I got fucked bound and blindfolded and, since my rapist left me no other choice, I had to use a piece of broken glass to cut the ropes binding my wrists" wasn't exactly the sort of statement he relished delivering. And that was excluding the fact that it wasn't just anybody who'd crept into his room in the middle of the night.
The empty seat to his left and diagonally behind him felt conspicuously empty.
~
He knew, as his eyes briefly met hers, that she understood, that she knew his pain and though she could heal his wounds it wasn't her he wanted, wasn't her who could ease the hemorrhaging of his heart. She likewise knew better than to ask "Why?"
Why couldn't he have just truly fallen in love with Inoue instead? Why did he still love that idiot of a Shinigami despite last night, despite everything?
Why couldn't he just admit it? Why did he know that he never would be able to?
He'd lain in the middle of his bed, battered and his hard-on undiminished despite the cold air chilling him to the bone. Unable to see, he had only his own internal time telling him that at least an hour had passed since he'd been left alone in his apartment. He'd fucked himself with the mattress, alternating relaxing and contracting his lower body as he had lain belly flat against the white linen. He'd felt the roughness of the cloth stimulating his cock into much needed orgasm, much needed release. But it had not been enough. His desire had still remained as engorged as his throbbing cock.
Another hour had been spent trying to break free of the ropes that bound him, the glass shard he'd managed to grasp in one hand lacerating the flesh of his fingers, slicing his wrists. He'd felt the warmth of his blood dripping down onto his back and thighs and prayed he hadn't cut any arteries or veins. He wasn't suicidal and he had no plans of being mistaken as such if he had to rush himself to the hospital.
And when he'd gotten himself free he'd quickly hunched up and fisted his cock. He could still remember each touch, each thrust into him. He'd fingered himself down there--there where that stupid stupid Shinigami had rammed himself and connected with Ishida and made Ishida desire the boy even more. He'd nursed himself, there in the middle of a semen and blood-spattered bed, wanting so desperately to forget yet unwilling to let go of the sensations, unwilling to stop remembering when he knew that things would never be the same; they would never be the same. There would always be this between them, always this night that would stop their laughter, their banter and bickering and fights.
They would never speak of what had happened, that he knew. It would lie dark and festering between them. He had too much pride to admit to the Shinigami he desired the boy--even in this manner. Ichigo had too much of a sense of duty and responsibility to ever face him squarely. There would only be the every present sorry that would be stamped on his face in every look, in every gesture that he would never be able to say even if that single word could unravel the hurts and allow them both to nurse each other's wounds.
Guilt 0.03 - Urahara
Tuesday, 9:57am
Urahara watched the young boy. He knew better than to ask. Ichigo would talk of his own accord and if the substitute Shinigami refused, then he had no right to pry into what certainly looked like a very personal matter.
He had his hypotheses. There were relatively few reasons why someone would run--and he knew the orange-haired boy had ran--in the middle of rain for so long that the skin on the boy's fingers had already wrinkled in the way skin would if one placed them in a basin of water for a long time. The boy had likewise not gone directly to him. The mud entrenched in the ridges of the soles of the boy's sneakers clearly indicated Ichigo had first made his way to the park which was on the opposite side of town.
He had waited for the boy in the front room of the store. He'd had a warm bath prepared and ready when he'd felt Ichigo's reiatsu approaching and immediately ushered the boy to the baths even before he'd had a chance to issue a greeting. Not that he expected any. The look on the boy's face told him enough of the consternation--and guilt, the boy felt even without the irregular rise and fall as well as the jagged almost torn edge of his reiatsu alerting Urahara to the boy's state of mind.
In fact, he was almost certain he knew what the substitute Shinigami's problem was.
There was only so much hollow any boy of his age and experience could handle when the demon in question lived within the boy's very self.
Oh he knew. He knew about that Other Ichigo. He'd guessed it when the boy had emerged from his training session with the mask on his face whole. He became sure of it when Yoruichi had come back with the kids after their foray into Soul Society carrying that very same mask and a story of how it had reappeared to protect the orange-haired Shinigami from fatal wounds. He'd seen the symptoms before, and knew the dangers. Sarugaki Hiyori had been his underling when the existence of such intermingling of Shinigami and hollow became known and immediately buried and forgotten except by a few like him. Maybe Aizen had gotten his ideas back at that time too. He wouldn't be surprised.
Vizard. The difference between Ichigo and Sarugaki was control. Unlike those former Shinigami, Ichigo's inner hollow continued to rampage, continued to wrestle for control. But even if he knew that, without learning how to tame the beast, ultimate destruction of self was inevitable. He could no more help the Shinigami than the next person on the street. Only his former underling and her comrades had any idea of what it took to master their demons and unleash the power that they had the potential to command.
The orange-haired Shinigami placed the hot tea he'd been nursing in his hands onto the table. It seemed that the time had come to finally talk.
"I want to leave Urahara-san."
The boy's voice was soft, lacking the usual brash and insolent edge it wore--at least when the boy addressed him. He's at the end of the line...or nearly at least...for him to be like this. He would test the boy and his resolve.
"Well it's true that many couples this time of year break up and look for their own ways. Maybe it's because of the onset of colder weather and the dreary rains, no?"
Ichigo looked at him straight in the eye. He was serious.
"I want to leave Karakura, Urahara-san."
He wanted the boy to weigh his words. There was finality in such decisions. It wasn't just a matter of a change in address. It meant a cutting off of ties. He understood the logic behind the request well enough; unable to handle the power that was consuming him the boy thought that at the very least he could distance himself from the people he loved, or even people in general. He wouldn't be surprised if Ichigo asked to be relocated to a mountaintop to live a hermit life until his Other overtook him or somehow by some miracle he managed to hold that Other at bay.
If they were not careful, isolation could only speed up the process of demise.
Yet the decision was not his to make but Ichigo's.
"Are you absolutely certain, Kurosaki-kun? It's like marriage, you know. Once you say yes, there's no turning back."
Ichigo looked at a spot on the floor somewhere to his right. Urahara knew the options that played themselves out in the substitute Shinigami's mind. He guessed at the one that had dwelt uppermost in the boy's thoughts. It would be a waste if he chose that path but at the rate things were going it might well be the sole solution. In the end, just as it had been on the day he'd regained his Shinigami powers back, it might well be Urahara himself who would do the graces.
"I--I am. ...But I won't abandon my post or anything," Ichigo said finally.
Urahara nodded. The boy had his heart in the right place at least, if not his mind. There was only so much a guy who was afraid of total possession could do. In fact it might even be better to take Ichigo out of the picture for a while, at least until the substitute Shinigami had his problem under better control.
"Of course not. It wouldn't be noble of you wouldn't it, if you simply left and never again bothered with the war and all," he said
"So...will you inform me if...when...something happens?" Ichigo asked.
"And you need my help to 'spirit you away', right?"
Ichigo nodded.
Urahara looked at Ichigo through one eye. "And what will you have me say to your friends when they ask?"
The boy thought. Hard. But in the end, as Urahara knew, he wouldn't be able to come up with the words.
"I--I leave that to you, Urahara-san."
Urahara stood up and, waving a hand towards the inner room, called on his young assistants. He instructed them to go to the storeroom and take the small black box on the top shelf. This time he was sure neither would make a mistake. There was only one such box in the entire store. It had been there for so long he'd almost forgotten it existed. After all the time that he'd spent in hiding, something that he'd managed to get out of Soul Society as he'd fled and hadn't had the opportunity to sell or make use of ever since was likely so dusty they'd have to scrape the dust off just to open it.
Turning back to Ichigo, he addressed the boy once more.
"I'll inform your father that you'll be staying at my place for a while."
Pause. "That would be best."
The sound of a screen sliding alerted him that his assistants were back. He took a metallic collar from the box Ururu handed him. It looked similar to the one Seiretei used on convicted criminals, like the one Kuchiki Rukia had worn while she'd been detained. The only difference was that this was completely black and a hair's breadth narrower. Jagged lines crisscrossed the inner circle. Once worn the band could only be released by the very specific reiatsu that had attached the collar to the wearer. He handed the device to Ichigo while saying,
"Also, since I would presume you'd rather no one else knew where you were, I'll sell you a spirit-controller. Artificially keeps your reiatsu hidden. Of course you can't transform to Shinigami form with it. That'll be ten thousand yen. I suppose I'll have to bill your father for that too. Or do you have a credit card with you? I accept Visa, you know."
Ichigo looked at the black collar in his hands. The solid weight of the device was like a reminder of the finality of what he'd begun. "Thank you, Urahara-san," he said, quietly while continuing to look.
"I'll accept your thanks later Kurosaki-kun. I haven't done anything yet. Now get yourself down to the basement and behave. I'll have quite a few transactions to do before I attend to you further."
Urahara watched Ichigo leave the room. He had a feeling Sarugaki would come for the substitute Shinigami sometime soon. The time was ripe. When that time came he would lead them straight to where the Shinigami was holed in. He had an inkling that despite the Vizard's dislike and distrust of Shinigami in general they'd nonetheless tolerate a former Captain if they could be led to their prize. And prize Ichigo certainly would be. The kid was strong, always had been else he wouldn't have bothered training the boy. Stronger than any of the Vizard if he managed to completely master his hollow self.
And when that time did happen, would the boy become their enemy as well?
Guilt 0.04 - Ichigo
Tuesday, 10:20am
This was right. This was the right thing to do. He needed to get as far away from everyone as he could. He wanted to endanger no one anymore. He wanted no one to be hurt anymore. Ichigo knew, if he stayed, that Other within him would only lash out with even more vindictiveness and brutality against the people Ichigo had any connection with.
Even now he felt that Other grumble. But at least It had quieted down somewhat under the threat he'd made in the park to kill himself.
Yes, he'd actually considered that. He'd considered ending his life if it meant that he could spare everyone the pain he would inevitably cause if his inner hollow took possession of him. It was an unfortunately attractive solution at this point. The back of his mind couldn't help but note that, if he did kill himself, maybe...somehow...Ishida would come to know how utterly sorry he was. But when he'd tried to turn the broken edge of a razor to his throat, ready to plunge it, the devil inside him gripped his hands until they nearly broke. With a hiss that Other had declared he would not let Ichigo die. If Ichigo attempted suicide again he would take over in a flash of light because see, he could if he wanted take over right now, right there in the middle of the park, and wreck havoc on the unsuspecting population of Karakura. They wouldn't even need Aizen and his band of goons to level the place. Only he, Shirosaki, was enough.
And the twisted heart his Other had would love every minute of it.
Author: alstair
Pairing: Ichigo x Ishida Uryuu; Hollow Ichigo x Ichigo
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Angst, swearing, boysex, masturbation
Status: Incomplete
Summary: Ichigo and Ishida grapple with issues
Disclaimer: Kubo Tite owns Bleach and the characters of Bleach
Beta:
fishingforboots
So here's the next installment of Limit (after a rather long break from me due to work). Enjoy!
Part I: Escapism and Denial
Part II: Consummation
Part III: Guilt and Aftershock
Life is a perpetual instruction in cause and effect.
- Ralph Waldo Emerson
Guilt 0.01 - Ichigo
Tuesday, 2:10am
Oh God. Tell me, are you still alive? Tell me, why? Why is it that whatever I hold in my hands I break? Tell me...
...all I wanted was to protect everyone I've ever loved.
~
Fuck. Ichigo pounded the wall of the shower as the cold water mingled with his hot tears. Each drop was ice on his skin while the warmth of his tears mocked him. He pressed his forehead against the cold tile as his body slid down. Why couldn't it have been just him who got hurt? Why?
Let the cold freeze him. Let him drown, let him...
He held onto his arms, his nails biting into his flesh drawing blood. He grasped his shoulders as his body rocked and shuddered, the weight that had lodged in his chest seeking some form of release. He wanted someone, anyone, to hold him, to take him as he was and mend the tattered edges of his soul even if it meant destroying his body. But he refused to be held, refused to seek someone, anyone, to mend the fraying of his soul. Not when he knew the warped existence that was claiming him while he fought in vain to regain dominance cared not for place or time, age or gender, so long as It could continue to satisfy Its craving and bloodlust.
Except he wasn't really alone.
He felt that Other's touch as It stroked his cheek. He shivered as the colder-than-ice fingers traced the edge of his jaw, pressed against his jugular. He cringed as Its tongue made circles around his navel, teased his still rock hard cock as though It refused to let the proof of his complicity and guilt fade with the water splashing over both their bodies.
And he felt ashamed that he desired the release his Other could give him, gave him.
Just as he'd desired Ishida. Just as he still desired him.
Shame on him who, despite the hatred that burned in his heart for this being that was both him and not him, felt pleasure at every skin-on-skin contact, arched at every lap on his manhood. Shame on him who willingly now allowed this creature before him to nurse him if only to break him again.
Shame. Was there any end to a seemingly bottomless pit? Was there any limit to how much a man could endure until he broke?
Or was he already broken?
Oh God. Tell me, can you still hear me? Or have you shut yourself up in some high tower I cannot reach? Tell me, can I still be saved? Or am I forever damned?
Tuesday, 5:20am
Ichigo picked himself up from the bathroom floor. His feet had gone numb, his fingers and toes slightly blued from the cold. The eyes that stared back at him from the mirror were blank and dead, their whites almost entirely black. He closed his eyes to block out the sight of the malicious yellow eyes that showed no mercy, to block the memory of fearful blue eyes that beseeched him.
He didn't bother to comb the hair that matted his forehead, didn't bother to dry his skin as he pulled on a jacket over the scratch wounds that peppered his skin. He needed to get away, far away. He wanted no one close when that happened--when the hollow inside him once more chose to rear its shit-filled ugly head and bring some greater misfortune to some other soul. He wanted no one to see the blood-red hickeys that dotted his neck, torso, and lower body, visible signs of his own depravity. He wanted no one to ask why his voice had died sometime in the night, unable to bear the burdens of arousal, guilt, and hate.
The world slept, oblivious.
Like the sleep of death.
He made his way down without attracting the attention of Isshin, Yuzu, or Karin. Of all people he wanted no one in his family to know, to find out that the monster had lived under the same roof, breathed the same air as they had for the past months. He wanted no one in his family to see in that monster not the paper-white skin of the hollow but his own flesh and blood. He wanted no one in his family to feel the pain of being violated by the very person they'd trusted to protect them. Just as Ishida was.
He opened the door of the clinic and stepped out to find himself in the middle of driving rain. He didn't care. He wanted the rain. Maybe the rain might cleanse the red and white stains on his hands and on his heart. Maybe the rain might wash away the leaden stone that seemed stuck in the pit of his stomach, wash away the sin.
He ran.
~
He ran as he had never before run. If only for a brief span of time, if only for a breath, he wanted to let go of everything--past, present, future. To let go so that all there would be was the sensation of water cascading down his already rain-soaked body, the splashing sound his feet made as they hit pavement and puddle.
Shit. Was there no way to return to how it used to be. Before his Other. Before all this shit happened that made him wonder if deep down, despite his own statements to the contrary, he enjoyed the pain and the bloodshed. Before the silent longings of his heart were wretched from his innermost core and made into that mockery he refused to think of, refused to dwell on lest his own unfulfilled desire propel him to seek the Quincy and once more violate and hurt the boy's body and soul.
He ran to forget but in the end there was no forgetting. Because whatever little peace he found in the exercise was only that, a fleeting excuse, a temporary respite. When the memories came flooding back they did so with the sharpness of a broken bottle gouging at his innards.
He wondered if it would be so even in death.
Guilt 0.02 - Ishida
Tuesday, 8:10am
They talked. They whispered--and wondered. The look on their faces said everything. Their confusion, curiosity, and dumbfound amazement. Ishida could read them like an open book, read the thoughts that flitted across their wide-open and staring eyes.
"Look at his hands! It can't possibly be due to a fall, can it? Just like last time."
"There's no question now, is there? Mr. Top Student was fighting!"
...Just like last time.
He ignored the way their eyes followed him back to his seat. He ignored the elbows that poked at their seatmate's sides as if to say "Hey, take a look at that" even though everyone could perfectly well see the white bandages that were wrapped around his wrists, his fingers; plastered across his nose.
He had no obligation to try to explain to these idiots and certainly he had no need for their sympathy. Besides, what would he say? "I got fucked bound and blindfolded and, since my rapist left me no other choice, I had to use a piece of broken glass to cut the ropes binding my wrists" wasn't exactly the sort of statement he relished delivering. And that was excluding the fact that it wasn't just anybody who'd crept into his room in the middle of the night.
The empty seat to his left and diagonally behind him felt conspicuously empty.
~
He knew, as his eyes briefly met hers, that she understood, that she knew his pain and though she could heal his wounds it wasn't her he wanted, wasn't her who could ease the hemorrhaging of his heart. She likewise knew better than to ask "Why?"
Why couldn't he have just truly fallen in love with Inoue instead? Why did he still love that idiot of a Shinigami despite last night, despite everything?
Why couldn't he just admit it? Why did he know that he never would be able to?
He'd lain in the middle of his bed, battered and his hard-on undiminished despite the cold air chilling him to the bone. Unable to see, he had only his own internal time telling him that at least an hour had passed since he'd been left alone in his apartment. He'd fucked himself with the mattress, alternating relaxing and contracting his lower body as he had lain belly flat against the white linen. He'd felt the roughness of the cloth stimulating his cock into much needed orgasm, much needed release. But it had not been enough. His desire had still remained as engorged as his throbbing cock.
Another hour had been spent trying to break free of the ropes that bound him, the glass shard he'd managed to grasp in one hand lacerating the flesh of his fingers, slicing his wrists. He'd felt the warmth of his blood dripping down onto his back and thighs and prayed he hadn't cut any arteries or veins. He wasn't suicidal and he had no plans of being mistaken as such if he had to rush himself to the hospital.
And when he'd gotten himself free he'd quickly hunched up and fisted his cock. He could still remember each touch, each thrust into him. He'd fingered himself down there--there where that stupid stupid Shinigami had rammed himself and connected with Ishida and made Ishida desire the boy even more. He'd nursed himself, there in the middle of a semen and blood-spattered bed, wanting so desperately to forget yet unwilling to let go of the sensations, unwilling to stop remembering when he knew that things would never be the same; they would never be the same. There would always be this between them, always this night that would stop their laughter, their banter and bickering and fights.
They would never speak of what had happened, that he knew. It would lie dark and festering between them. He had too much pride to admit to the Shinigami he desired the boy--even in this manner. Ichigo had too much of a sense of duty and responsibility to ever face him squarely. There would only be the every present sorry that would be stamped on his face in every look, in every gesture that he would never be able to say even if that single word could unravel the hurts and allow them both to nurse each other's wounds.
Guilt 0.03 - Urahara
Tuesday, 9:57am
Urahara watched the young boy. He knew better than to ask. Ichigo would talk of his own accord and if the substitute Shinigami refused, then he had no right to pry into what certainly looked like a very personal matter.
He had his hypotheses. There were relatively few reasons why someone would run--and he knew the orange-haired boy had ran--in the middle of rain for so long that the skin on the boy's fingers had already wrinkled in the way skin would if one placed them in a basin of water for a long time. The boy had likewise not gone directly to him. The mud entrenched in the ridges of the soles of the boy's sneakers clearly indicated Ichigo had first made his way to the park which was on the opposite side of town.
He had waited for the boy in the front room of the store. He'd had a warm bath prepared and ready when he'd felt Ichigo's reiatsu approaching and immediately ushered the boy to the baths even before he'd had a chance to issue a greeting. Not that he expected any. The look on the boy's face told him enough of the consternation--and guilt, the boy felt even without the irregular rise and fall as well as the jagged almost torn edge of his reiatsu alerting Urahara to the boy's state of mind.
In fact, he was almost certain he knew what the substitute Shinigami's problem was.
There was only so much hollow any boy of his age and experience could handle when the demon in question lived within the boy's very self.
Oh he knew. He knew about that Other Ichigo. He'd guessed it when the boy had emerged from his training session with the mask on his face whole. He became sure of it when Yoruichi had come back with the kids after their foray into Soul Society carrying that very same mask and a story of how it had reappeared to protect the orange-haired Shinigami from fatal wounds. He'd seen the symptoms before, and knew the dangers. Sarugaki Hiyori had been his underling when the existence of such intermingling of Shinigami and hollow became known and immediately buried and forgotten except by a few like him. Maybe Aizen had gotten his ideas back at that time too. He wouldn't be surprised.
Vizard. The difference between Ichigo and Sarugaki was control. Unlike those former Shinigami, Ichigo's inner hollow continued to rampage, continued to wrestle for control. But even if he knew that, without learning how to tame the beast, ultimate destruction of self was inevitable. He could no more help the Shinigami than the next person on the street. Only his former underling and her comrades had any idea of what it took to master their demons and unleash the power that they had the potential to command.
The orange-haired Shinigami placed the hot tea he'd been nursing in his hands onto the table. It seemed that the time had come to finally talk.
"I want to leave Urahara-san."
The boy's voice was soft, lacking the usual brash and insolent edge it wore--at least when the boy addressed him. He's at the end of the line...or nearly at least...for him to be like this. He would test the boy and his resolve.
"Well it's true that many couples this time of year break up and look for their own ways. Maybe it's because of the onset of colder weather and the dreary rains, no?"
Ichigo looked at him straight in the eye. He was serious.
"I want to leave Karakura, Urahara-san."
He wanted the boy to weigh his words. There was finality in such decisions. It wasn't just a matter of a change in address. It meant a cutting off of ties. He understood the logic behind the request well enough; unable to handle the power that was consuming him the boy thought that at the very least he could distance himself from the people he loved, or even people in general. He wouldn't be surprised if Ichigo asked to be relocated to a mountaintop to live a hermit life until his Other overtook him or somehow by some miracle he managed to hold that Other at bay.
If they were not careful, isolation could only speed up the process of demise.
Yet the decision was not his to make but Ichigo's.
"Are you absolutely certain, Kurosaki-kun? It's like marriage, you know. Once you say yes, there's no turning back."
Ichigo looked at a spot on the floor somewhere to his right. Urahara knew the options that played themselves out in the substitute Shinigami's mind. He guessed at the one that had dwelt uppermost in the boy's thoughts. It would be a waste if he chose that path but at the rate things were going it might well be the sole solution. In the end, just as it had been on the day he'd regained his Shinigami powers back, it might well be Urahara himself who would do the graces.
"I--I am. ...But I won't abandon my post or anything," Ichigo said finally.
Urahara nodded. The boy had his heart in the right place at least, if not his mind. There was only so much a guy who was afraid of total possession could do. In fact it might even be better to take Ichigo out of the picture for a while, at least until the substitute Shinigami had his problem under better control.
"Of course not. It wouldn't be noble of you wouldn't it, if you simply left and never again bothered with the war and all," he said
"So...will you inform me if...when...something happens?" Ichigo asked.
"And you need my help to 'spirit you away', right?"
Ichigo nodded.
Urahara looked at Ichigo through one eye. "And what will you have me say to your friends when they ask?"
The boy thought. Hard. But in the end, as Urahara knew, he wouldn't be able to come up with the words.
"I--I leave that to you, Urahara-san."
Urahara stood up and, waving a hand towards the inner room, called on his young assistants. He instructed them to go to the storeroom and take the small black box on the top shelf. This time he was sure neither would make a mistake. There was only one such box in the entire store. It had been there for so long he'd almost forgotten it existed. After all the time that he'd spent in hiding, something that he'd managed to get out of Soul Society as he'd fled and hadn't had the opportunity to sell or make use of ever since was likely so dusty they'd have to scrape the dust off just to open it.
Turning back to Ichigo, he addressed the boy once more.
"I'll inform your father that you'll be staying at my place for a while."
Pause. "That would be best."
The sound of a screen sliding alerted him that his assistants were back. He took a metallic collar from the box Ururu handed him. It looked similar to the one Seiretei used on convicted criminals, like the one Kuchiki Rukia had worn while she'd been detained. The only difference was that this was completely black and a hair's breadth narrower. Jagged lines crisscrossed the inner circle. Once worn the band could only be released by the very specific reiatsu that had attached the collar to the wearer. He handed the device to Ichigo while saying,
"Also, since I would presume you'd rather no one else knew where you were, I'll sell you a spirit-controller. Artificially keeps your reiatsu hidden. Of course you can't transform to Shinigami form with it. That'll be ten thousand yen. I suppose I'll have to bill your father for that too. Or do you have a credit card with you? I accept Visa, you know."
Ichigo looked at the black collar in his hands. The solid weight of the device was like a reminder of the finality of what he'd begun. "Thank you, Urahara-san," he said, quietly while continuing to look.
"I'll accept your thanks later Kurosaki-kun. I haven't done anything yet. Now get yourself down to the basement and behave. I'll have quite a few transactions to do before I attend to you further."
Urahara watched Ichigo leave the room. He had a feeling Sarugaki would come for the substitute Shinigami sometime soon. The time was ripe. When that time came he would lead them straight to where the Shinigami was holed in. He had an inkling that despite the Vizard's dislike and distrust of Shinigami in general they'd nonetheless tolerate a former Captain if they could be led to their prize. And prize Ichigo certainly would be. The kid was strong, always had been else he wouldn't have bothered training the boy. Stronger than any of the Vizard if he managed to completely master his hollow self.
And when that time did happen, would the boy become their enemy as well?
Guilt 0.04 - Ichigo
Tuesday, 10:20am
This was right. This was the right thing to do. He needed to get as far away from everyone as he could. He wanted to endanger no one anymore. He wanted no one to be hurt anymore. Ichigo knew, if he stayed, that Other within him would only lash out with even more vindictiveness and brutality against the people Ichigo had any connection with.
Even now he felt that Other grumble. But at least It had quieted down somewhat under the threat he'd made in the park to kill himself.
Yes, he'd actually considered that. He'd considered ending his life if it meant that he could spare everyone the pain he would inevitably cause if his inner hollow took possession of him. It was an unfortunately attractive solution at this point. The back of his mind couldn't help but note that, if he did kill himself, maybe...somehow...Ishida would come to know how utterly sorry he was. But when he'd tried to turn the broken edge of a razor to his throat, ready to plunge it, the devil inside him gripped his hands until they nearly broke. With a hiss that Other had declared he would not let Ichigo die. If Ichigo attempted suicide again he would take over in a flash of light because see, he could if he wanted take over right now, right there in the middle of the park, and wreck havoc on the unsuspecting population of Karakura. They wouldn't even need Aizen and his band of goons to level the place. Only he, Shirosaki, was enough.
And the twisted heart his Other had would love every minute of it.