theme 32: counting stars: ichi.ruki
Happy New Year’s everyone. I greet with a plot bunny gone mad…apologies.
Rating: PG-13 at most
Warnings: spoilers? Maybe? It’s AU beyond a certain point since no one knows what will happen but Tite, and frankly this is all very much a fan’s artistic license…so yeah, that’s the warning. Oh, and death, but not in the way you might think.
Genre: some romance, drama, angst, and hope-though I guess hope isn’t a genre
Theme number 32
#32 - counting stars
Next to Me
I started out with one, two, three
Counting stars on New Year’s Eve
But fell asleep every single night
Before I had you burning in my eyes
His family is insane and if Kurosaki Ichigo has ever had any uncertainties on this notion before, they have now been effectively bulldozed into oblivion.
Isshin has made three more ode-to-Masaki banners that border the one he already had-one above it, and one apiece to the left and right. He alternates between crooning-or something horrendously similar-to the images and trying to show fatherly affection to Karin and Yuzu. Never mind that both of the girls are now 18, and never mind that Karin is more than ready to, as she puts it: “straighten out the world”, which Ichigo takes to mean “rule the world”, which worries him only a little. Never mind that Yuzu, though still a sweet girl with honey-brown eyes, has gained more of a sense of reserve, something almost elegant that seems out of place in her eyes. Yes, never mind. Isshin doesn’t anyway. Later he will explain to his son that whatever changes the beloved offspring undergo-example, incidentally becoming a substitute soul reaper-in the eyes of the ones who loved them most, they remain the same as the day they were born.
His best friend Tatsuki has already had a similar talk with him, telling him that it must be true that from the moment you meet a person, something comes alive, and it doesn’t have to be love and doesn’t have to even be like, but there’s something. One soul contacting another, two pairs of eyes connecting, these are the foundations of lifelong bonds, she has told him, in perhaps, less eloquent terms. He has always admired his best friend who stands tall-or as tall as she can-and has the strength to look behind her, no matter how painful it might be. It might be why she is his best friend in the first place, providing for him a window into himself, a window for he who can rarely manage to look over his shoulder, much less turn around and face the empty space behind him.
Crossing his arms, he sighs, doing his very best to maintain a sense of calm while blocking the random attacks his father throws his way. To this day, Ichigo cannot begin to understand what, if anything, is going on in that man’s debatable brain but he doesn’t dwell too much on it. It is, as far as he is concerned, mostly a lost cause. Karin teases him for being a drag and hurls a popcorn ball at him, some curious western confection that involves the popped kernels of corn and caramel syrup to stick them together. Eyeing it dubiously, still wrapped in its little plastic wrap, he holds onto it. He knows someone who will appreciate this more than he does.
“Going out, Ichi-nii?” his sisters ask in unison. They have reached a similar level of thinking whenever Ichigo leaves the house and tonight their shared tone cannot be mistaken. They are teasing him, dragging out the ‘nii’ in a telltale manner. He twitches, predictably so. Yuzu giggles. Karin snickers. Isshin is about to make a comment about youth, New Year’s eve, and grandchildren.
And Ichigo is so very out the door.
A deep breath reminds him of how cold it is and he wraps his scarf around him more effectively, adjusting his headphones so as not to disturb the delicate balance of things he insists on wearing-jacket, shirt over another shirt, scarf, goggles-what are you, an aviator? Karin wants to know-pants with a chain, shoes, and headphones with an unnecessarily long cord. This kind of style has always suited him, and maybe that’s why he doesn’t even have to think about what he wears. He just wears it and that in itself is very much a part of his natural being. His exhales hang in the air in front of him as he walks, idly tossing the popcorn ball…up and down, up and down…and as if by accident, his eyes find the stars and he pauses in his long strides.
They’re not as bright as he would like them to be but beggars can’t be choosers…well, not that he believes that for a second, but that’s what they say, he recalls.
Maneuvering through the city is quite the feat with all of the merry citizens roving about with no particular purposes, just floundering in laughter and jokes and general wintry cheer, which should be a contradiction, but it isn’t. Out of his peripheral vision, he catches news broadcast, international, coming from that place, Time Square in the city of New York. They are, as with every year, waiting for that stupid disco ball-this is what it looks like to him-to drop. Ichigo has never understood nor shared in the enthusiasm concerning said disco ball and thinks blandly: probably never will…whatever.
He’s half way through the busiest part of town when a gentle tug on his sleeve makes him stop again.
“Kurosaki-kun,” she smiles and he offers the same kind of smile he always has for her: well-meaning, and always with that slight question of “Am I missing something?”
“Inoue,” he nods and blinking dumbly at her for a moment, shifts like a child. “What…ah…are you doing?” he asks at last, and to Orihime, he remains as endearingly awkward as the day she met him. In all these years his people skills have yet to show even a spark of improvement, but she has the feeling she’d be sad if one day she woke up and Ichigo was a perfect gentleman. Actually, she’s sure of it.
After all, she has always loved him just the way he is.
“Not really much,” she shakes her head and her hair swings like a model’s must. Ichigo isn’t a total moron, and he isn’t blind. He knows she’s beautiful, just like he knows she’s kind, just like he knows she would move the earth and its heavens for the ones she cares about…he knows. She cut her hair at the end of that last, long, awful war…
His eyes close involuntarily. He hates that stinging sensation behind them and wills it away.
“Tatsuki-chan will be coming over,” Inoue says softly and reads his face like a neon sign. Almost, she dares to think she knows what he is thinking, but here she is selfish and her heart aches and she cannot begin to guess. It hurts too much when she already knows. “Would…” she stops, and banishes those feelings from high school, those insecurities that will do her absolutely no good now, and rushes, “…would Kurosaki-kun like to join us?” She wonders if the cold weather can possibly be a good excuse for the blush that stains her cheeks and she gets the feeling it is a little too similar to a stop-light to be overlooked. Luckily for her-or unluckily as it might be-Ichigo has never really picked up on those sorts of things, not back then…and not now.
“Ah…I…can’t…but, thanks Inoue,” he says and he looks up at the sky again, squinting slightly. She follows his vision.
“The town is so lit up, it is hard to see them here,” she says and fiddles with the ends of her lavender scarf, the fringe multiplying beneath her fingers.
“Mm,” he nods absently and she sighs but makes no sound. The only evidence is the tiny mist the heat of her breath leaves in front of her face. They stand like that, two still figures amidst many more rambunctiously moving ones, two people looking in the same direction.
Inoue Orihime knows they are not looking at the same thing.
She, as she has always been, is watching him. Her face is directed toward the bursts of light above them, but her eyes, her focus, they have long since been claimed by this young man with hair the color of oranges and eyes that burn right through you.
That’s why she stays, beside him, just a moment longer…for any moment is to be appreciated, she muses gently, even though…even if…that moment is irreversibly one-sided.
He cares for her, she knows. She knows when he tears his eyes from the stars, turns to her and asks her: “Are you cold?” Shaking her head she forces a soft laugh.
“Mm,” she shakes her head again and adds, “But, Kurosaki-kun, I will…I have to meet with Tatsuki-chan soon so…” she trails off, pushes a few strands of hair behind her ear. He nods at her. She does not move, and then very, very quietly tilts her head and asks, “…will you be okay?” How stupid, she admonishes herself, because how can he be? But she has to ask. She wants to know…that maybe there is hope.
Hope has always been the center of her world.
Even now, she holds it in both of her hands, but not for herself.
He takes a long time to answer, but for once, his gaze stays with her, firm and considerate, and she realizes, heart warming, he will give her his most honest answer. She will not ask for more than that.
“It always seems to end up that way,” he says at last and she finds that she very much wants to break down in tears. Right there, on the sidewalk, in front of all of those people, the strangers, in front of him…in front of everything…she wants to cry deeply and long. The way he answers her, she is so grateful for his truth, and yet…the sadness in him, it is cold…like the first pale snow of winter.
“Like the stars,” she notes to herself under her breath.
“Hm?” he asks and she shakes her head furiously, making her smile be real, because she needs it to be.
“Well…um, happy New Year’s Eve, Kurosaki-kun,” she says and bows slightly. He returns the gesture, and as she turns he grabs her shoulder without thinking. Her eyes widen as she faces him woodenly. He holds out the popcorn ball.
“Ah, figure you’ll like this more than I would,” he says and she accepts it like she might accept anything much finer: gold, jewels, a love letter.
“Thank you,” she bows again and to her surprise she hears him chuckle softly. Dumbfounded, she glances up at him, almost suspicious as if to say: who are you and where have you hidden Kurosaki-kun?
“You don’t have to do that,” he explains with a wave of his hands and adds, “We’re beyond that, don’t you think?” And he’s right.
She smiles and begins to back away.
“Okay,” she says and then, “Be…safe Kurosaki-kun.” And she is gone, disappearing into the increasingly large crowd.
As she walks away she knows where his eyes are.
Out of the corner of her eyes she can see him…watching the stars.
Impromptu gift delivered, New Year’s wishes exchanged, he thinks a little guiltily that maybe he should have gone with Inoue, at least to say hello to Tatsuki, but then, she’s never been any more for formalities than he has. So he lets it go. She won’t hold it against him.
Instead his feet carry him to the graveyard, to his mother’s place of rest. He kneels.
Alone felt fine in the sunlight
But counting stars not so kind
You were someone else to me
And I was stuck counting: one, two, three
From his jacket he takes a fragile gathering of statice, yellow and purple, which seem to suit his mother who was always so bright and beautiful. They look just right, he thinks, a little pleased with himself, perhaps.
“Happy New Year,” he says, and his hands are stiff on his knees. The quiet here can not contrast more with the bustle of the main streets. In a way, it is unnatural, he feels, for it to be as quiet as it is but at least it’s peaceful for the spirits.
And then he hears it, a scream and then an otherworldly roar.
So much for peaceful, he scowls and leaps up past the graves to stand behind a tree…the same tree she stood by once…watching him make that promise…
The scream is louder this time. He flinches and curses his need to be nostalgic tonight and sits down, back against the tree, quickly leaving his human body behind, his zanpakutou in hand. Rushing through the trees, toward the familiar sounds of hollow and victim, he swallows hard. The memories do not seem to want to leave him alone…
So he remembers.
It was the end of the world, and to be fair, there have been others to state the same thing and theirs would have been the exaggerations, while his stood as truth. The sky was lit with a thousand kinds of fire except the kind that one would expect and people were dying…so many people. Soul Society smelled of ash, blood, and burnt skin, looked like a hole in the universe for unsightly things like trash and other things no one wanted anymore. It was hell. They had been fighting for such a long time that no one knew exactly how long it had been. Their injuries were many more than their enemies and their casualties far worse. Squads had been obliterated, assistant captains finished in three frighteningly simple onslaughts…captains cut down by the hands of two men who saw everyone as their collective target.
All they had left was one final rush. Of the mentionable few remaining there was himself, Urahara, Inoue, Renji, Yoruichi, Byakuya, Matsumoto, and, as fate would have it, Rukia. All the others, save a few newly graduated soul reapers…all of them were gone…memories. Most had died honorably, trying to protect others. Some…some had simply been victims.
And so, there they stood, on the edge of a great flat land, the type on which vast armies might amass and do their best to do more damage to the other ten thousand while defending their own. But they did not have ten thousand. They did not even have ten.
Fire leaked down from the sky and at that time Ichigo had already had a notion of what it would be like to die. He just had not expected it in the manner that it greeted him.
They had a plan. It wasn’t a very good plan and all of them knew it but they had no more choices, none. Renji had volunteered to lead a distraction consisting of a triangle attack involving himself, Yoruichi-for speed had always been her specialty-and Urahara-who had always seemed to have a frightening sort of death wish for himself to begin with. Byakuya would follow up, attempt to finish at least one of their targets: Ichimaru Gin or Sousuke Aizen. At the beginning of the war they had focused on the various arrancar, attempting to work their way to the main bodies, but when that lost them more than it assisted, they finally started to go straight after the traitors of old. But that was easier planned and said than done and their poor remains were testaments to that fact. Byakuya stated vacantly that Ichigo had better plan on getting the other one and if he had felt like joking at the time, Ichigo would have remarked that it must be the end of the world if he was going to take orders from the likes of him. But it was, and so he held his tongue, for once. Inoue was to shield anyone and everyone from a distance and Matsumoto and Rukia were to defend her, since healing and other defenses were critically significant, especially now. Ichigo, as Byakuya had more or less ordered, was to go with him.
The sky was burning and it made his eyes water, acidic waves pounding down against them, erasing the heavens.
They waited as long as possible and when a moment presented itself Renji took it with the look of one who cannot afford to fear death and leapt into the air. On his heels were Yoruichi and Urahara. Several swings were deftly avoided by the psychotic ex-captain known as Aizen. His mouth twisted until he was leering at the red-haired man until he decided he’d had enough fun and blocked Zabimaru with one of his hands. He bled a little but not as much as he should have. Yoruichi took this time to deliver a slash to his head, which he evaded mostly, somehow. The blood dripping from a deep cut along his cheek was the only proof she had been to his side however, because a flash step later she attacked at Gin, who was already dealing with Urahara.
Maybe it was because this was the end-all and be-all of the war, but their movements came more quickly and their attacks were stronger. It still wasn’t enough, not enough to escape alive, but in the split second it took Ichigo to get behind Ichimaru Gin and dispassionately behead him, in that time, he managed to pierce one of the two. More frightened than she had ever been, had ever deigned to show, Yoruichi was at Orihime’s side in one step, Urahara in her arms. Was he dead? Ichigo had no time to think about this.
Byakuya was head to head with Aizen who didn’t bat an eye at the loss of his so-called partner, and Renji…Renji…?
Renji was below them, an unmoving heap of skin and bones on the unforgiving ground. Eyes narrowing, Ichigo flash-stepped behind Aizen only to have the bastard turn to meet his stare and to his horror and fury, the man laughed.
The captain of the 6th division decided that would be a good time to use his bankai. Had he consulted the teenager fighting with him, he would have agreed. Neither could predict that the bankai would reverse both where it came from and where it went. Neither could guess that Aizen had somehow manipulated Byakuya’s own zanpakutou from its spiritual insides.
Empty, Ichigo was aware of Rukia’s scream as her brother fell.
And then it was just him…him and…he didn’t have a name for what he faced.
Below, Orihime had just managed to bring Urahara back from death’s tumultuous edge when the elder Kuchiki fell to the ground. Rukia looked at her, a pleading look, the look of someone who blamed herself and couldn’t be bothered with details because her brother needed help and please, please, would she do this, please? Orihime would have gone even if she was unasked but as they ran she took Rukia’s hand in her own and squeezed it. She would save her friend’s brother. She could not save her own. But this…this she could do.
“Aizen!” Ichigo met him clash for clash and his anger increased as he realized how much of this fight was not him getting close enough to hit Aizen, but Aizen letting him get close enough…a play thing. Inside him he felt that dark presence…the hollow, but to let it out would mean the loss of everything. He couldn’t allow that.
“You think, truly, Kurosaki Ichigo, no…you believe you can defeat a god?” he asked and Ichigo gritted his teeth and swung again. “You think you can protect all of these…friends of yours?” his tone was so damn languid…sadistic bastard. “You think…” he paused and forced Ichigo to a standstill, neither blade moving. “You think you know what you’re up against.” He pushed the younger man back with terrible ease, sending Ichigo spiraling backward. “But the truth is,” his voice was a loud whisper as he made it clear he had lost interest in their game of swords, closed in. “You know nothing.” Ichigo couldn’t move, not even a centimeter. He couldn’t get out of the way. The most he could try to do was block. Willing his arms to move he prayed to zangetsu silently.
“Bankai,” a familiar voice said, a lot closer than he thought was reasonable, considering she was supposed to be on the ground with the others…safe.
Exactly why this stopped Sousuke Aizen, Ichigo could not begin to think…a sick decision on destiny’s part, probably. But the god stopped, stopped cold in the middle of what would have been the fatal strike to Ichigo as human and spirit.
Since when, both men wanted to know, could she do that?
Below them, all the others wondered the same thing…except for her brother. It was, sadly, the only thing she had ever asked of him. He wished, even more so in this moment, that she had asked him for worldly goods, for a more comfortable room, flowers, food, anything but things that dealt with becoming stronger as a soul reaper…because stronger meant more risks. He did not want her to have those. But she had never asked him for anything else. How could he refuse her this one thing and on the precipice, at the time, of the war to end all wars? He could not. So Kuchiki Byakuya had trained his adopted sister, who looked so much like his late beloved. He taught her with the patience of a true older brother, helped her hone other skills as well, because why do half-a-job she had pointed out rather stubbornly. She couldn’t reach the level she desired if it was only fifty percent, she argued, not as fast as she needed to learn…which still wasn’t as fast as some, she had noted dryly. At that he had had nothing left to refuse her with and they had gone through their own pioneering experiment, testing waters on how one could find the final release in a capped amount of time. It never seemed quite enough, Byakuya remembered, as she would fall slightly short of that spiritual power necessary for the tenfold type of power bankai rendered. It wasn’t surprising. Not many people were supposed to be able to do it in the ten years much less six days.
Somehow as he lay on the ground, unable to protect her, he knew she had achieved this on her own…he had never seen it until now but he had had a feeling, an intuition about her sudden change, though he never put a name to it.
Now she did that for him.
“Saishuu no mai... tsugomori.”
At first there was nothing and that in itself was enough to confound everyone around her as Rukia seemed to chant something under her breath. A kidou, Ichigo wondered…along with bankai? He didn’t understand. He had seen kidou-based shikai, heard of such bankai, but combining separate forms of bankai and kidou? What was she doing? He didn’t know then any better than he knew years later. Aizen had perhaps been right to that effect of knowing nothing.
And then it was cold…all the fire…all the smoke and cinder…seemed to roll away under a blanket of snow that whirled around them like so many arms, fingers trailing along their skin, leaving the burn of ice wherever they touched. All this was directed at Aizen who seemed discouragingly unaffected and began to walk toward her, the air as steady as any earth to him as he did so.
And Ichigo could not move.
…kidou.
He remembered this binding, but he had escaped it once when he was nothing but a convenient accident. He remembered and thought that it couldn’t be any different. He could escape. He had to.
But Aizen moved closer and he couldn’t.
She did not tremble, not even a little.
“Why such a waste, Kuchiki Rukia?” he asked her and his words slithered around like poison.
“I waste nothing,” she replied, all the nobility she had been raised with and some that she had learned on her own…for herself.
What happened next is anyone’s guess but Ichigo, maybe because he was closest, maybe because it was her…Ichigo saw…and heard the last whispers of the two before him.
“Ah I see,” from Aizen, looking like one who knew he had lost but would not admit it, eyes fixated on the one flaw in his plan that shouldn’t have made any difference…but somehow had.
“Sorry,” from Rukia, looking like one who did not understand forgiveness, eyes locked on the boy whose life she had changed…the boy who had changed her life…no…the young man, now, the young man who…foolish as it was…she…
Two swords. Two bodies. And pure, white snow.
Sousuke Aizen was nothing but a skeleton when they found him on the ground. Any trace of blood or organs had been…frozen away…from the inside out…and at his side lay Shirayuki…pale, dull, and lifeless.
Ichigo knew the moment it was over…even if he didn’t want to admit it. Finding movement, he ran to catch her and wasn’t even fast enough to do that well. He tumbled with her in his arms, rolling until he came to a natural stop, slowly sitting up with her hugged to his chest like a small child. Strange how they would end like this, all her power gone once again, her blood on the white of her robe…on him…on his hands and he framed her face with one hand, tilting it anxiously, gently, waiting to see a response, any response. When her fragile hand clutched at his own he had mixed feelings: heartbreak and the last drop of hope.
“Sorry,” she said again and he wanted…he wanted…
“What’s ‘sorry’?” he demanded fiercely and barreled on, “Don’t say ‘sorry’ like you did something wrong you idiot,” his breath came too quickly and he couldn’t stop to regain it. He risked hearing the inevitable then. “I…you…you’re stupid, you’re stupid, you’re the stupidest person I’ve ever met. Don’t say you’re sorry! Look at me!”
Open your eyes.
She couldn’t. He could feel her slipping beneath the snow…away.
And suddenly Byakuya was at his side, and Inoue and…and…and even Renji…everyone…Urahara…Matsumoto…
“Kuchiki-san!” the terrified voice of Inoue broke his thoughts and he looked up at the girl who loved him, looked at her and pleaded without words. She knelt beside him and held out her hands, the warm glow flowing around not only the limp body in his arms, but himself. He meant to tell her not to use any energy on him when a hand grasped Inoue’s wrist and the glow…stopped.
“Byakuya!” he raged, anger dripping off of everything: his tone, his look, his presence. “What are you-” he stopped short. Byakuya shook his head and looked away. This was too much like a scene he had already witnessed. He could not handle a second time.
Forcing his gaze down he almost cried out, but there was no sound that escaped him.
She was…disappearing.
“What…what is this?” he asked and Urahara stepped forward.
“It is…I have heard of it but…” he paused.
“What is it?” Ichigo asked murderously.
“When a soul of Soul Society gives all of their spirit there is no third life, Kurosaki-kun, you know this. But when a soul reaper gives all of…of her spirit and her zanpakutou…the spirits both…well, you see.” Urahara looked away even as he said this.
“But she can’t…she…she can be healed,” Ichigo insisted. His knuckles were white, clasping the dying girl to him.
“No,” Yoruichi said quietly and he knew it was true. Inoue shook her head and held out her hands again, placing them this time on Rukia, even as she became completely transparent. Her hands shook, though from fear or exertion, it was anyone’s guess. Maybe it did help a little.
She opened her eyes, very, very slowly.
“So serious,” she looked up at them and Byakuya did turn to her now, eyes more open than they had been since…since before Hisana died.
“Shut up,” Ichigo said and she smiled at him.
It was such a soft smile.
“Don’t tell me,” she whispered and her gaze went to the sky. “Oi, Renji,” she called and the stray pulled himself into view, ashen with the reality of the situation that faced them all.
“What?” he asked roughly and wanted terribly to reach out to her, to brush the hair behind her ear…something he had often thought of over their many years together. But even now something placed itself clearly between them.
Ichigo threaded his fingers with hers and Renji let his hand fall to his side.
“Glad you’re…okay,” she said and he nodded with a grunt that was mostly suppressing a yell, or tears, or both.
Silence covered them until she spoke again and it was: “They’re there again.” And she pointed up.
One by one stars began to wink back into the sky, as if they were rekindling, one burst of brilliant light after the other and the snow, falling all around them, seemed to burst with that light, a silver quality to everything in eyesight.
“How many?” she asked.
“Thousands,” Matsumoto said quietly.
“Millions,” countered Urahara with a tip of his hat.
“One,” said Inoue and they all looked at her. She had her own gaze fixed upward still. “One for…for every soul,” she said very quietly and let her gaze meet her dying friend.
“Yes,” was the smiling whisper and she stared at her hand sadly. She was now almost invisible. And Ichigo…he could barely feel her there…at all.
“Don’t…” he said and when she turned to see him, only him, he repeated, “Don’t.”
“Oi Ichigo, make a happier face,” she had the traces of a smirk, but it was the type of someone who was too tired to achieve a real one, and he saw much of the sadness lurking beneath it.
“Like I…like I’d ever listen to you,” he forced out and tried not to pay attention to how choked it sounded. “…Rukia?” her name came out even worse. “Rukia!”
I never knew what to do
Not with the falling stars and not with you
Not until counting those falling stars
Was all we had left, was all that was ours
His arms were empty.
And he was cold…colder than he could ever remember being.
Inoue laid a tentative hand on his shoulder, which he carelessly shrugged off. He missed the pained look the girl wore at his reaction but Matsumoto gently took her by the shoulders, leading her away. They left until it was only Renji, Byakuya and Ichigo, the first standing as if on an eternal guard, the second with eyes closed, and the third kneeling in the snow, hands held before him like hated things.
“…come on…Ichigo,” Renji said at last. He didn’t move.
“She didn’t die so that you could follow her, Kurosaki,” Byakuya reprimanded shortly and left swiftly. Renji followed soon after, casting one unsure glance over his shoulder at the unmoving human. But he was inconsolable…he had not had nearly half the time that Renji and Byakuya had had with her…no, a mere fraction…not even.
He yelled, screamed, many things, none of them words. They were too distorted to be mistaken for actual words. Instead it was anguish and confusion, some betrayal too perhaps-how could she leave him like that?
He had never even had the chance to tell her.
It was hours before he moved, all his physical body protesting at it, almost a walking statue of ice…so cold he didn’t even feel it. A step toward where he thought he was supposed to go was harder than he’d anticipated. He stumbled, fell, and his face landed in the snow. It was unusually soft, he thought vaguely and then his ear warmed, his right ear…just a bit…and he blinked, coming back to himself a little more. Warmth…?
“Nee…Ichigo…next time…” came the slightly self-righteous and always secretly kind voice he longed for.
The next time he dragged himself to his feet he managed to make his way to the nearest household-the Kuchiki one, as it were-and politely collapse on the threshold.
Later he woke to Inoue’s sleeping face beside him. He was told she stayed with him every moment and he didn’t disbelieve. All his wounds were healed…well, most of them. When he went home there was a clear change though no one but Tatsuki and Karin might have a real guess as to what and why.
One thing was certain though, Ichigo had lost part of himself…a part he could never replace, never regain.
He spent strangely long hours on the roof from then on as well, Karin noted without saying so. Often he would skip dinner and just go straight up there and…well, do what? At last she became fed up and followed him one night. She was startled to see her older brother as she found him…very still…very silent…arms behind his head and eyes glued to the heavens…but it was how his eyes looked that concerned her. They were glassy as she had never seen them before…as if…as if her older brother, her invincible, strong, Ichi-nii…what happened? She wanted to know. When she asked him it came out more like: what’re you doing up here, Ichi-nii, trying to catch a cold? It was the middle of winter at this point after all. He shook his head and grunted, pointing above him. She followed his direction.
“Counting…” he said.
“The snowflakes?” she asked.
“No,” he said.
“Well?” she snapped.
“…the stars,” he said and it was the way he said it that made her sit beside him, snatch his hand and hold it. At first he tried to take it back but eventually, when it became quite clear she would not relinquish it, he relaxed and then she squeezed it just so. She wasn’t any better than Ichigo himself at comforting words or gestures but she would do what she could for him. She would do what she could.
Ichigo spent more nights than his family knew on the roof, in fact, if one were to do a comparative ratio, it would have come out in startling favor of nights spent outside rather than inside. Each night he counted the stars and each night he looked for one that maybe, somehow, belonged to…her.
One for each soul, that’s what the idea had been.
He permitted himself, on every New Year, a few quiet tears in the privacy between him and the stars and the snow. Only human, even the well-trained person he had become could not deny a loss such as this one. This was the kind of loss that you mourned one lifelong, one day at a time. It was unfair, he thought frequently, that she would be taken from him when she had never been his to begin with. Would he have done things differently, he asked himself.
What things would those have been?
Ichigo often wondered.
He runs now, the scream is even louder and he knows he’s practically on top of them.
So why can’t he see them? Not the hollow, nor the spirit…what is going on? A giant force sends him careening into the furthest tree and he swears brilliantly. Gods, they would send a moronic brute on New Year’s, he thinks darkly and now the hollow is very obvious to him, large, as large as the Grand Fisher…maybe larger…with snake-like things coming out where its eyes ought to be and body-long talons on each of its six legs…and strange fur-like stuff that hangs off it like a rug. His lips curl in disgust. Why is it always here, he frowns angrily. This is supposed to be a sacred space for…for those who have passed on, he stumbles over the thought. The spirit has stopped screaming and he still can’t see it…wherever it is and so he lunges at the hollow, striking its right shoulder but doing only the mildest of damage. It swings out at him with two claws and he avoids them like child’s play except that then it comes around with that monstrosity of a tail and he flies through the air a second time, hitting a different tree of course. He groans and rubs his head as he gets to his feet. He must be really off his game, thinks ruefully. Then there’s that scream and he sees that the hollow has the spirit in its hand. The spirit is a she as it turns out, he notices and runs toward enemy and victim until the hollow turns and moves and the clouds roll away, leaving the moon unobstructed, shining down on the spirit…definitely a she…definitely…
But no…she…she is small…so unexpectedly small…and…her hair is longer but…and yet…her eyes are the same…and…and then she looks at him.
She looks at him.
They both hold their breath.
She is no spirit, he thinks.
And suddenly the hollow is nothing more than dust as it is cleansed and sent to Hell because a hollow such as that deserves no better. The girl seems…seems hardly frightened, more so…shocked. She picks herself up off the ground where she fell when the hollow dropped her and dusts off her pale blue dress…short loose sleeves, falls about to her knees…has accents of deeper blues…she faces him.
“Thank you,” she bows and pushes that familiar section of hair in the middle of her face behind her ear. Her eyes, they do not change.
“You…can see me,” he says carefully.
It can’t be, he thinks adamantly. It is an illusion, he tells himself. It will just…disappear too.
“What do you mean, of course I can!” she retorts and he remembers saying a similar thing…to a similar person.
Counting stars I’m starting to
Count three, two, one, one, three, two
This New Year’s Eve I’m counting any which way
‘Til the stars start falling on New Year’s Day
“You should…be…home…on……tonight?” he is struggling in so many ways, gripping the hilt for dear life-or death-and hoping the white of his knuckles is not too dreadfully obvious. He is at a very muddy crossroads and can barely make out the directions he has to choose from.
“Mm, well,” she says in a non-committal tone that translates to: what’s it to you? She then asks, “Do you care?”
Not really.
He once said that.
It seems…a lifetime ago.
“…yes,” he says this time and her eyes widen.
Those eyes…he swears inside.
“Well that’s your problem!” she says and pointedly drops onto her back, staring up…at the stars. He drops down beside her. She does not look at him. Minutes later what he should have known at the beginning becomes clear now: she can’t be her…and wasn’t he thinking that? It can’t be. She…died. He remembers.
He knows.
She died.
No, she didn’t even die but…she disappeared…her soul…her…everything…faded away…in his arms.
He clenches and unclenches his fists and he mutters to himself to such an extent that he gains interest from his accidental company and she pulls herself up on an elbow to stare at him. When he turns to sneak a glance he is caught by her and he can’t help but notice that though her hair falls below her waist and her eyes are much bluer than he remembers…well…he can’t help but notice…it’s that same kind of look she used to give him.
But that’s not her, he reminds himself in vain.
“Counting stars,” she says and he bites hit tongue so hard he tastes the iron of his blood.
“…what?” he mumbles.
“…it’s a game,” she explains and waves a hand at him so airily. He wants to grab that hand. He wants to pull her to him, see if she fits the way she looks like she will…in his arms…and if she does he wants also to never, ever let her go…he wants…he wants her to know him.
Know me, he begs in his mind, zanpakutou laid across his lap, eyes locked onto her slender frame, her soul’s similar presence…the way she turns her head this way or glares at him that way or pretends he’s not there in another way…he can’t look away.
She could be gone then.
It could be hours or seconds but his hand reaches out to her outstretched hand and covers it. She has the grace to look appalled and then the lack of it to look like she’s going to send him packing on a one way trip to the moon…and funny how that reminds him of her too.
“W-what?” she asks and snatches her hand away, holds it to her as if burned.
“…you…don’t…you don’t know me,” he says with difficulty and she snorts as she sits up, pulling her knees to her chest as she rocks back and forth.
“I think I’d remember,” she says dryly and there’s humor there so he lets it be. Maybe if he is quiet she will talk to him, tell him something that so clearly makes this all impossible that he will leave and it will be just like any other job. “What’s your name, huh?”
Maybe not.
“Kuro…” he stops. Does he need another link like this? Does he want it? Is this his second chance? What if he is making believe, some pretty return-to-me fairytale and in the end fails to tell her all those things a second time? Why is this happening?
“Kuro…?” she arches a brow and frowns at him. “You’re kidding,” she insists and he rolls his eyes at her. He cannot help it.
“I am…Kurosaki Ichigo,” he says. “Soul reaper,” he adds with a sigh.
And she nods as if she understands.
Maybe she does.
She offers her hand.
“Tsukishiro Rukia,” she says and he stares stupidly at her hand.
“What?” he asks.
“You got cotton in your ears, strawberry face? I said my name’s Tsukishiro Rukia,” she huffs and adds a little shiftily, “I can see spirits.”
“Ah…hm….nice to...meet you,” he manages a broken sentence. She nods briefly.
“…same,” she says, but no ‘thank-you for saving me’…because she wouldn’t do that, he thinks…not ever. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” she hints, annoyed.
Who wouldn’t be with a complete stranger hanging around?
“It’s not ‘strawberry’,” he says, moody now. She sends him a dubious stare.
“Oh, what’s it for then, how does it read?” she inquires and her eyes waver back to the stars.
“Protector…protector…of one thing,” he says slowly. This actually makes her give a sound of approval and he wonders at that too, though she continues counting the stars.
“And what’s that?” she asks, a dangerously idle sounding question from a girl he must keep telling himself he has never met, a girl who however much she looks like…has the same damn first name…is a different person altogether…because she must be. She…what will he do if…he can’t finish this thought and tries to answer her question when he realizes that recognizing her and answering her are rather strangely…the same thing.
“You,” he coughs. Her head snaps toward him, eyes too wide.
“…excuse me?” she says and it’s a secretive whisper.
“…people….like you,” he amends and thinks her avid expression dims considerably, but then maybe he is making all of this up and will wake in his bed to find nothing has changed at all.
“…that’s good,” she says and then, “But I don’t need you to protect me.” She says it like a woman and a child all at once and he shakes his head as she counts under her breath, floating from star to star.
“Maybe you do,” he dares her. “You’re…just human,” he says awkwardly.
Without moving even the slightest bit, she replies, “…I’ve always been told that.”
Hello cryptic answer.
He cringes. What the hell is he supposed to do with that kind of reply?
“Why are you counting?” he questions and she sighs as if she has explained this too many times.
“…for every soul there is a star,” she says and that can’t just be coincidence he thinks now, desperate but so absolutely terrified that he cannot bring himself to say: is it really you?
“And…?” he prompts.
“I’m looking for mine,” she says gently and now she turns to him. “Maybe you know something about it, Kurosaki I-chi-go?” she separates his name in a sing-song manner.
It’s not her…but maybe it once was…
That’s what he’s thinking as he inches toward her and finds to his most mortal surprise that she is not moving away. That’s what he’s thinking as he stops within her breathing space and peers as closely into those eyes of hers as possible. That’s what he’s thinking as he draws away, hearing her release a soft sigh as he does so.
Maybe it once was…and what once was…may be again.
It is a new year and his world is either falling apart or falling back into place.
He just hasn’t figured out which it is.
And one of these years I think maybe I will find
Under the snow, on a pale moon night
Counting stars, just a private scene
Counting stars with you, right next to me
Rating: PG-13 at most
Warnings: spoilers? Maybe? It’s AU beyond a certain point since no one knows what will happen but Tite, and frankly this is all very much a fan’s artistic license…so yeah, that’s the warning. Oh, and death, but not in the way you might think.
Genre: some romance, drama, angst, and hope-though I guess hope isn’t a genre
Theme number 32
#32 - counting stars
Next to Me
I started out with one, two, three
Counting stars on New Year’s Eve
But fell asleep every single night
Before I had you burning in my eyes
His family is insane and if Kurosaki Ichigo has ever had any uncertainties on this notion before, they have now been effectively bulldozed into oblivion.
Isshin has made three more ode-to-Masaki banners that border the one he already had-one above it, and one apiece to the left and right. He alternates between crooning-or something horrendously similar-to the images and trying to show fatherly affection to Karin and Yuzu. Never mind that both of the girls are now 18, and never mind that Karin is more than ready to, as she puts it: “straighten out the world”, which Ichigo takes to mean “rule the world”, which worries him only a little. Never mind that Yuzu, though still a sweet girl with honey-brown eyes, has gained more of a sense of reserve, something almost elegant that seems out of place in her eyes. Yes, never mind. Isshin doesn’t anyway. Later he will explain to his son that whatever changes the beloved offspring undergo-example, incidentally becoming a substitute soul reaper-in the eyes of the ones who loved them most, they remain the same as the day they were born.
His best friend Tatsuki has already had a similar talk with him, telling him that it must be true that from the moment you meet a person, something comes alive, and it doesn’t have to be love and doesn’t have to even be like, but there’s something. One soul contacting another, two pairs of eyes connecting, these are the foundations of lifelong bonds, she has told him, in perhaps, less eloquent terms. He has always admired his best friend who stands tall-or as tall as she can-and has the strength to look behind her, no matter how painful it might be. It might be why she is his best friend in the first place, providing for him a window into himself, a window for he who can rarely manage to look over his shoulder, much less turn around and face the empty space behind him.
Crossing his arms, he sighs, doing his very best to maintain a sense of calm while blocking the random attacks his father throws his way. To this day, Ichigo cannot begin to understand what, if anything, is going on in that man’s debatable brain but he doesn’t dwell too much on it. It is, as far as he is concerned, mostly a lost cause. Karin teases him for being a drag and hurls a popcorn ball at him, some curious western confection that involves the popped kernels of corn and caramel syrup to stick them together. Eyeing it dubiously, still wrapped in its little plastic wrap, he holds onto it. He knows someone who will appreciate this more than he does.
“Going out, Ichi-nii?” his sisters ask in unison. They have reached a similar level of thinking whenever Ichigo leaves the house and tonight their shared tone cannot be mistaken. They are teasing him, dragging out the ‘nii’ in a telltale manner. He twitches, predictably so. Yuzu giggles. Karin snickers. Isshin is about to make a comment about youth, New Year’s eve, and grandchildren.
And Ichigo is so very out the door.
A deep breath reminds him of how cold it is and he wraps his scarf around him more effectively, adjusting his headphones so as not to disturb the delicate balance of things he insists on wearing-jacket, shirt over another shirt, scarf, goggles-what are you, an aviator? Karin wants to know-pants with a chain, shoes, and headphones with an unnecessarily long cord. This kind of style has always suited him, and maybe that’s why he doesn’t even have to think about what he wears. He just wears it and that in itself is very much a part of his natural being. His exhales hang in the air in front of him as he walks, idly tossing the popcorn ball…up and down, up and down…and as if by accident, his eyes find the stars and he pauses in his long strides.
They’re not as bright as he would like them to be but beggars can’t be choosers…well, not that he believes that for a second, but that’s what they say, he recalls.
Maneuvering through the city is quite the feat with all of the merry citizens roving about with no particular purposes, just floundering in laughter and jokes and general wintry cheer, which should be a contradiction, but it isn’t. Out of his peripheral vision, he catches news broadcast, international, coming from that place, Time Square in the city of New York. They are, as with every year, waiting for that stupid disco ball-this is what it looks like to him-to drop. Ichigo has never understood nor shared in the enthusiasm concerning said disco ball and thinks blandly: probably never will…whatever.
He’s half way through the busiest part of town when a gentle tug on his sleeve makes him stop again.
“Kurosaki-kun,” she smiles and he offers the same kind of smile he always has for her: well-meaning, and always with that slight question of “Am I missing something?”
“Inoue,” he nods and blinking dumbly at her for a moment, shifts like a child. “What…ah…are you doing?” he asks at last, and to Orihime, he remains as endearingly awkward as the day she met him. In all these years his people skills have yet to show even a spark of improvement, but she has the feeling she’d be sad if one day she woke up and Ichigo was a perfect gentleman. Actually, she’s sure of it.
After all, she has always loved him just the way he is.
“Not really much,” she shakes her head and her hair swings like a model’s must. Ichigo isn’t a total moron, and he isn’t blind. He knows she’s beautiful, just like he knows she’s kind, just like he knows she would move the earth and its heavens for the ones she cares about…he knows. She cut her hair at the end of that last, long, awful war…
His eyes close involuntarily. He hates that stinging sensation behind them and wills it away.
“Tatsuki-chan will be coming over,” Inoue says softly and reads his face like a neon sign. Almost, she dares to think she knows what he is thinking, but here she is selfish and her heart aches and she cannot begin to guess. It hurts too much when she already knows. “Would…” she stops, and banishes those feelings from high school, those insecurities that will do her absolutely no good now, and rushes, “…would Kurosaki-kun like to join us?” She wonders if the cold weather can possibly be a good excuse for the blush that stains her cheeks and she gets the feeling it is a little too similar to a stop-light to be overlooked. Luckily for her-or unluckily as it might be-Ichigo has never really picked up on those sorts of things, not back then…and not now.
“Ah…I…can’t…but, thanks Inoue,” he says and he looks up at the sky again, squinting slightly. She follows his vision.
“The town is so lit up, it is hard to see them here,” she says and fiddles with the ends of her lavender scarf, the fringe multiplying beneath her fingers.
“Mm,” he nods absently and she sighs but makes no sound. The only evidence is the tiny mist the heat of her breath leaves in front of her face. They stand like that, two still figures amidst many more rambunctiously moving ones, two people looking in the same direction.
Inoue Orihime knows they are not looking at the same thing.
She, as she has always been, is watching him. Her face is directed toward the bursts of light above them, but her eyes, her focus, they have long since been claimed by this young man with hair the color of oranges and eyes that burn right through you.
That’s why she stays, beside him, just a moment longer…for any moment is to be appreciated, she muses gently, even though…even if…that moment is irreversibly one-sided.
He cares for her, she knows. She knows when he tears his eyes from the stars, turns to her and asks her: “Are you cold?” Shaking her head she forces a soft laugh.
“Mm,” she shakes her head again and adds, “But, Kurosaki-kun, I will…I have to meet with Tatsuki-chan soon so…” she trails off, pushes a few strands of hair behind her ear. He nods at her. She does not move, and then very, very quietly tilts her head and asks, “…will you be okay?” How stupid, she admonishes herself, because how can he be? But she has to ask. She wants to know…that maybe there is hope.
Hope has always been the center of her world.
Even now, she holds it in both of her hands, but not for herself.
He takes a long time to answer, but for once, his gaze stays with her, firm and considerate, and she realizes, heart warming, he will give her his most honest answer. She will not ask for more than that.
“It always seems to end up that way,” he says at last and she finds that she very much wants to break down in tears. Right there, on the sidewalk, in front of all of those people, the strangers, in front of him…in front of everything…she wants to cry deeply and long. The way he answers her, she is so grateful for his truth, and yet…the sadness in him, it is cold…like the first pale snow of winter.
“Like the stars,” she notes to herself under her breath.
“Hm?” he asks and she shakes her head furiously, making her smile be real, because she needs it to be.
“Well…um, happy New Year’s Eve, Kurosaki-kun,” she says and bows slightly. He returns the gesture, and as she turns he grabs her shoulder without thinking. Her eyes widen as she faces him woodenly. He holds out the popcorn ball.
“Ah, figure you’ll like this more than I would,” he says and she accepts it like she might accept anything much finer: gold, jewels, a love letter.
“Thank you,” she bows again and to her surprise she hears him chuckle softly. Dumbfounded, she glances up at him, almost suspicious as if to say: who are you and where have you hidden Kurosaki-kun?
“You don’t have to do that,” he explains with a wave of his hands and adds, “We’re beyond that, don’t you think?” And he’s right.
She smiles and begins to back away.
“Okay,” she says and then, “Be…safe Kurosaki-kun.” And she is gone, disappearing into the increasingly large crowd.
As she walks away she knows where his eyes are.
Out of the corner of her eyes she can see him…watching the stars.
Impromptu gift delivered, New Year’s wishes exchanged, he thinks a little guiltily that maybe he should have gone with Inoue, at least to say hello to Tatsuki, but then, she’s never been any more for formalities than he has. So he lets it go. She won’t hold it against him.
Instead his feet carry him to the graveyard, to his mother’s place of rest. He kneels.
Alone felt fine in the sunlight
But counting stars not so kind
You were someone else to me
And I was stuck counting: one, two, three
From his jacket he takes a fragile gathering of statice, yellow and purple, which seem to suit his mother who was always so bright and beautiful. They look just right, he thinks, a little pleased with himself, perhaps.
“Happy New Year,” he says, and his hands are stiff on his knees. The quiet here can not contrast more with the bustle of the main streets. In a way, it is unnatural, he feels, for it to be as quiet as it is but at least it’s peaceful for the spirits.
And then he hears it, a scream and then an otherworldly roar.
So much for peaceful, he scowls and leaps up past the graves to stand behind a tree…the same tree she stood by once…watching him make that promise…
The scream is louder this time. He flinches and curses his need to be nostalgic tonight and sits down, back against the tree, quickly leaving his human body behind, his zanpakutou in hand. Rushing through the trees, toward the familiar sounds of hollow and victim, he swallows hard. The memories do not seem to want to leave him alone…
So he remembers.
It was the end of the world, and to be fair, there have been others to state the same thing and theirs would have been the exaggerations, while his stood as truth. The sky was lit with a thousand kinds of fire except the kind that one would expect and people were dying…so many people. Soul Society smelled of ash, blood, and burnt skin, looked like a hole in the universe for unsightly things like trash and other things no one wanted anymore. It was hell. They had been fighting for such a long time that no one knew exactly how long it had been. Their injuries were many more than their enemies and their casualties far worse. Squads had been obliterated, assistant captains finished in three frighteningly simple onslaughts…captains cut down by the hands of two men who saw everyone as their collective target.
All they had left was one final rush. Of the mentionable few remaining there was himself, Urahara, Inoue, Renji, Yoruichi, Byakuya, Matsumoto, and, as fate would have it, Rukia. All the others, save a few newly graduated soul reapers…all of them were gone…memories. Most had died honorably, trying to protect others. Some…some had simply been victims.
And so, there they stood, on the edge of a great flat land, the type on which vast armies might amass and do their best to do more damage to the other ten thousand while defending their own. But they did not have ten thousand. They did not even have ten.
Fire leaked down from the sky and at that time Ichigo had already had a notion of what it would be like to die. He just had not expected it in the manner that it greeted him.
They had a plan. It wasn’t a very good plan and all of them knew it but they had no more choices, none. Renji had volunteered to lead a distraction consisting of a triangle attack involving himself, Yoruichi-for speed had always been her specialty-and Urahara-who had always seemed to have a frightening sort of death wish for himself to begin with. Byakuya would follow up, attempt to finish at least one of their targets: Ichimaru Gin or Sousuke Aizen. At the beginning of the war they had focused on the various arrancar, attempting to work their way to the main bodies, but when that lost them more than it assisted, they finally started to go straight after the traitors of old. But that was easier planned and said than done and their poor remains were testaments to that fact. Byakuya stated vacantly that Ichigo had better plan on getting the other one and if he had felt like joking at the time, Ichigo would have remarked that it must be the end of the world if he was going to take orders from the likes of him. But it was, and so he held his tongue, for once. Inoue was to shield anyone and everyone from a distance and Matsumoto and Rukia were to defend her, since healing and other defenses were critically significant, especially now. Ichigo, as Byakuya had more or less ordered, was to go with him.
The sky was burning and it made his eyes water, acidic waves pounding down against them, erasing the heavens.
They waited as long as possible and when a moment presented itself Renji took it with the look of one who cannot afford to fear death and leapt into the air. On his heels were Yoruichi and Urahara. Several swings were deftly avoided by the psychotic ex-captain known as Aizen. His mouth twisted until he was leering at the red-haired man until he decided he’d had enough fun and blocked Zabimaru with one of his hands. He bled a little but not as much as he should have. Yoruichi took this time to deliver a slash to his head, which he evaded mostly, somehow. The blood dripping from a deep cut along his cheek was the only proof she had been to his side however, because a flash step later she attacked at Gin, who was already dealing with Urahara.
Maybe it was because this was the end-all and be-all of the war, but their movements came more quickly and their attacks were stronger. It still wasn’t enough, not enough to escape alive, but in the split second it took Ichigo to get behind Ichimaru Gin and dispassionately behead him, in that time, he managed to pierce one of the two. More frightened than she had ever been, had ever deigned to show, Yoruichi was at Orihime’s side in one step, Urahara in her arms. Was he dead? Ichigo had no time to think about this.
Byakuya was head to head with Aizen who didn’t bat an eye at the loss of his so-called partner, and Renji…Renji…?
Renji was below them, an unmoving heap of skin and bones on the unforgiving ground. Eyes narrowing, Ichigo flash-stepped behind Aizen only to have the bastard turn to meet his stare and to his horror and fury, the man laughed.
The captain of the 6th division decided that would be a good time to use his bankai. Had he consulted the teenager fighting with him, he would have agreed. Neither could predict that the bankai would reverse both where it came from and where it went. Neither could guess that Aizen had somehow manipulated Byakuya’s own zanpakutou from its spiritual insides.
Empty, Ichigo was aware of Rukia’s scream as her brother fell.
And then it was just him…him and…he didn’t have a name for what he faced.
Below, Orihime had just managed to bring Urahara back from death’s tumultuous edge when the elder Kuchiki fell to the ground. Rukia looked at her, a pleading look, the look of someone who blamed herself and couldn’t be bothered with details because her brother needed help and please, please, would she do this, please? Orihime would have gone even if she was unasked but as they ran she took Rukia’s hand in her own and squeezed it. She would save her friend’s brother. She could not save her own. But this…this she could do.
“Aizen!” Ichigo met him clash for clash and his anger increased as he realized how much of this fight was not him getting close enough to hit Aizen, but Aizen letting him get close enough…a play thing. Inside him he felt that dark presence…the hollow, but to let it out would mean the loss of everything. He couldn’t allow that.
“You think, truly, Kurosaki Ichigo, no…you believe you can defeat a god?” he asked and Ichigo gritted his teeth and swung again. “You think you can protect all of these…friends of yours?” his tone was so damn languid…sadistic bastard. “You think…” he paused and forced Ichigo to a standstill, neither blade moving. “You think you know what you’re up against.” He pushed the younger man back with terrible ease, sending Ichigo spiraling backward. “But the truth is,” his voice was a loud whisper as he made it clear he had lost interest in their game of swords, closed in. “You know nothing.” Ichigo couldn’t move, not even a centimeter. He couldn’t get out of the way. The most he could try to do was block. Willing his arms to move he prayed to zangetsu silently.
“Bankai,” a familiar voice said, a lot closer than he thought was reasonable, considering she was supposed to be on the ground with the others…safe.
Exactly why this stopped Sousuke Aizen, Ichigo could not begin to think…a sick decision on destiny’s part, probably. But the god stopped, stopped cold in the middle of what would have been the fatal strike to Ichigo as human and spirit.
Since when, both men wanted to know, could she do that?
Below them, all the others wondered the same thing…except for her brother. It was, sadly, the only thing she had ever asked of him. He wished, even more so in this moment, that she had asked him for worldly goods, for a more comfortable room, flowers, food, anything but things that dealt with becoming stronger as a soul reaper…because stronger meant more risks. He did not want her to have those. But she had never asked him for anything else. How could he refuse her this one thing and on the precipice, at the time, of the war to end all wars? He could not. So Kuchiki Byakuya had trained his adopted sister, who looked so much like his late beloved. He taught her with the patience of a true older brother, helped her hone other skills as well, because why do half-a-job she had pointed out rather stubbornly. She couldn’t reach the level she desired if it was only fifty percent, she argued, not as fast as she needed to learn…which still wasn’t as fast as some, she had noted dryly. At that he had had nothing left to refuse her with and they had gone through their own pioneering experiment, testing waters on how one could find the final release in a capped amount of time. It never seemed quite enough, Byakuya remembered, as she would fall slightly short of that spiritual power necessary for the tenfold type of power bankai rendered. It wasn’t surprising. Not many people were supposed to be able to do it in the ten years much less six days.
Somehow as he lay on the ground, unable to protect her, he knew she had achieved this on her own…he had never seen it until now but he had had a feeling, an intuition about her sudden change, though he never put a name to it.
Now she did that for him.
“Saishuu no mai... tsugomori.”
At first there was nothing and that in itself was enough to confound everyone around her as Rukia seemed to chant something under her breath. A kidou, Ichigo wondered…along with bankai? He didn’t understand. He had seen kidou-based shikai, heard of such bankai, but combining separate forms of bankai and kidou? What was she doing? He didn’t know then any better than he knew years later. Aizen had perhaps been right to that effect of knowing nothing.
And then it was cold…all the fire…all the smoke and cinder…seemed to roll away under a blanket of snow that whirled around them like so many arms, fingers trailing along their skin, leaving the burn of ice wherever they touched. All this was directed at Aizen who seemed discouragingly unaffected and began to walk toward her, the air as steady as any earth to him as he did so.
And Ichigo could not move.
…kidou.
He remembered this binding, but he had escaped it once when he was nothing but a convenient accident. He remembered and thought that it couldn’t be any different. He could escape. He had to.
But Aizen moved closer and he couldn’t.
She did not tremble, not even a little.
“Why such a waste, Kuchiki Rukia?” he asked her and his words slithered around like poison.
“I waste nothing,” she replied, all the nobility she had been raised with and some that she had learned on her own…for herself.
What happened next is anyone’s guess but Ichigo, maybe because he was closest, maybe because it was her…Ichigo saw…and heard the last whispers of the two before him.
“Ah I see,” from Aizen, looking like one who knew he had lost but would not admit it, eyes fixated on the one flaw in his plan that shouldn’t have made any difference…but somehow had.
“Sorry,” from Rukia, looking like one who did not understand forgiveness, eyes locked on the boy whose life she had changed…the boy who had changed her life…no…the young man, now, the young man who…foolish as it was…she…
Two swords. Two bodies. And pure, white snow.
Sousuke Aizen was nothing but a skeleton when they found him on the ground. Any trace of blood or organs had been…frozen away…from the inside out…and at his side lay Shirayuki…pale, dull, and lifeless.
Ichigo knew the moment it was over…even if he didn’t want to admit it. Finding movement, he ran to catch her and wasn’t even fast enough to do that well. He tumbled with her in his arms, rolling until he came to a natural stop, slowly sitting up with her hugged to his chest like a small child. Strange how they would end like this, all her power gone once again, her blood on the white of her robe…on him…on his hands and he framed her face with one hand, tilting it anxiously, gently, waiting to see a response, any response. When her fragile hand clutched at his own he had mixed feelings: heartbreak and the last drop of hope.
“Sorry,” she said again and he wanted…he wanted…
“What’s ‘sorry’?” he demanded fiercely and barreled on, “Don’t say ‘sorry’ like you did something wrong you idiot,” his breath came too quickly and he couldn’t stop to regain it. He risked hearing the inevitable then. “I…you…you’re stupid, you’re stupid, you’re the stupidest person I’ve ever met. Don’t say you’re sorry! Look at me!”
Open your eyes.
She couldn’t. He could feel her slipping beneath the snow…away.
And suddenly Byakuya was at his side, and Inoue and…and…and even Renji…everyone…Urahara…Matsumoto…
“Kuchiki-san!” the terrified voice of Inoue broke his thoughts and he looked up at the girl who loved him, looked at her and pleaded without words. She knelt beside him and held out her hands, the warm glow flowing around not only the limp body in his arms, but himself. He meant to tell her not to use any energy on him when a hand grasped Inoue’s wrist and the glow…stopped.
“Byakuya!” he raged, anger dripping off of everything: his tone, his look, his presence. “What are you-” he stopped short. Byakuya shook his head and looked away. This was too much like a scene he had already witnessed. He could not handle a second time.
Forcing his gaze down he almost cried out, but there was no sound that escaped him.
She was…disappearing.
“What…what is this?” he asked and Urahara stepped forward.
“It is…I have heard of it but…” he paused.
“What is it?” Ichigo asked murderously.
“When a soul of Soul Society gives all of their spirit there is no third life, Kurosaki-kun, you know this. But when a soul reaper gives all of…of her spirit and her zanpakutou…the spirits both…well, you see.” Urahara looked away even as he said this.
“But she can’t…she…she can be healed,” Ichigo insisted. His knuckles were white, clasping the dying girl to him.
“No,” Yoruichi said quietly and he knew it was true. Inoue shook her head and held out her hands again, placing them this time on Rukia, even as she became completely transparent. Her hands shook, though from fear or exertion, it was anyone’s guess. Maybe it did help a little.
She opened her eyes, very, very slowly.
“So serious,” she looked up at them and Byakuya did turn to her now, eyes more open than they had been since…since before Hisana died.
“Shut up,” Ichigo said and she smiled at him.
It was such a soft smile.
“Don’t tell me,” she whispered and her gaze went to the sky. “Oi, Renji,” she called and the stray pulled himself into view, ashen with the reality of the situation that faced them all.
“What?” he asked roughly and wanted terribly to reach out to her, to brush the hair behind her ear…something he had often thought of over their many years together. But even now something placed itself clearly between them.
Ichigo threaded his fingers with hers and Renji let his hand fall to his side.
“Glad you’re…okay,” she said and he nodded with a grunt that was mostly suppressing a yell, or tears, or both.
Silence covered them until she spoke again and it was: “They’re there again.” And she pointed up.
One by one stars began to wink back into the sky, as if they were rekindling, one burst of brilliant light after the other and the snow, falling all around them, seemed to burst with that light, a silver quality to everything in eyesight.
“How many?” she asked.
“Thousands,” Matsumoto said quietly.
“Millions,” countered Urahara with a tip of his hat.
“One,” said Inoue and they all looked at her. She had her own gaze fixed upward still. “One for…for every soul,” she said very quietly and let her gaze meet her dying friend.
“Yes,” was the smiling whisper and she stared at her hand sadly. She was now almost invisible. And Ichigo…he could barely feel her there…at all.
“Don’t…” he said and when she turned to see him, only him, he repeated, “Don’t.”
“Oi Ichigo, make a happier face,” she had the traces of a smirk, but it was the type of someone who was too tired to achieve a real one, and he saw much of the sadness lurking beneath it.
“Like I…like I’d ever listen to you,” he forced out and tried not to pay attention to how choked it sounded. “…Rukia?” her name came out even worse. “Rukia!”
I never knew what to do
Not with the falling stars and not with you
Not until counting those falling stars
Was all we had left, was all that was ours
His arms were empty.
And he was cold…colder than he could ever remember being.
Inoue laid a tentative hand on his shoulder, which he carelessly shrugged off. He missed the pained look the girl wore at his reaction but Matsumoto gently took her by the shoulders, leading her away. They left until it was only Renji, Byakuya and Ichigo, the first standing as if on an eternal guard, the second with eyes closed, and the third kneeling in the snow, hands held before him like hated things.
“…come on…Ichigo,” Renji said at last. He didn’t move.
“She didn’t die so that you could follow her, Kurosaki,” Byakuya reprimanded shortly and left swiftly. Renji followed soon after, casting one unsure glance over his shoulder at the unmoving human. But he was inconsolable…he had not had nearly half the time that Renji and Byakuya had had with her…no, a mere fraction…not even.
He yelled, screamed, many things, none of them words. They were too distorted to be mistaken for actual words. Instead it was anguish and confusion, some betrayal too perhaps-how could she leave him like that?
He had never even had the chance to tell her.
It was hours before he moved, all his physical body protesting at it, almost a walking statue of ice…so cold he didn’t even feel it. A step toward where he thought he was supposed to go was harder than he’d anticipated. He stumbled, fell, and his face landed in the snow. It was unusually soft, he thought vaguely and then his ear warmed, his right ear…just a bit…and he blinked, coming back to himself a little more. Warmth…?
“Nee…Ichigo…next time…” came the slightly self-righteous and always secretly kind voice he longed for.
The next time he dragged himself to his feet he managed to make his way to the nearest household-the Kuchiki one, as it were-and politely collapse on the threshold.
Later he woke to Inoue’s sleeping face beside him. He was told she stayed with him every moment and he didn’t disbelieve. All his wounds were healed…well, most of them. When he went home there was a clear change though no one but Tatsuki and Karin might have a real guess as to what and why.
One thing was certain though, Ichigo had lost part of himself…a part he could never replace, never regain.
He spent strangely long hours on the roof from then on as well, Karin noted without saying so. Often he would skip dinner and just go straight up there and…well, do what? At last she became fed up and followed him one night. She was startled to see her older brother as she found him…very still…very silent…arms behind his head and eyes glued to the heavens…but it was how his eyes looked that concerned her. They were glassy as she had never seen them before…as if…as if her older brother, her invincible, strong, Ichi-nii…what happened? She wanted to know. When she asked him it came out more like: what’re you doing up here, Ichi-nii, trying to catch a cold? It was the middle of winter at this point after all. He shook his head and grunted, pointing above him. She followed his direction.
“Counting…” he said.
“The snowflakes?” she asked.
“No,” he said.
“Well?” she snapped.
“…the stars,” he said and it was the way he said it that made her sit beside him, snatch his hand and hold it. At first he tried to take it back but eventually, when it became quite clear she would not relinquish it, he relaxed and then she squeezed it just so. She wasn’t any better than Ichigo himself at comforting words or gestures but she would do what she could for him. She would do what she could.
Ichigo spent more nights than his family knew on the roof, in fact, if one were to do a comparative ratio, it would have come out in startling favor of nights spent outside rather than inside. Each night he counted the stars and each night he looked for one that maybe, somehow, belonged to…her.
One for each soul, that’s what the idea had been.
He permitted himself, on every New Year, a few quiet tears in the privacy between him and the stars and the snow. Only human, even the well-trained person he had become could not deny a loss such as this one. This was the kind of loss that you mourned one lifelong, one day at a time. It was unfair, he thought frequently, that she would be taken from him when she had never been his to begin with. Would he have done things differently, he asked himself.
What things would those have been?
Ichigo often wondered.
He runs now, the scream is even louder and he knows he’s practically on top of them.
So why can’t he see them? Not the hollow, nor the spirit…what is going on? A giant force sends him careening into the furthest tree and he swears brilliantly. Gods, they would send a moronic brute on New Year’s, he thinks darkly and now the hollow is very obvious to him, large, as large as the Grand Fisher…maybe larger…with snake-like things coming out where its eyes ought to be and body-long talons on each of its six legs…and strange fur-like stuff that hangs off it like a rug. His lips curl in disgust. Why is it always here, he frowns angrily. This is supposed to be a sacred space for…for those who have passed on, he stumbles over the thought. The spirit has stopped screaming and he still can’t see it…wherever it is and so he lunges at the hollow, striking its right shoulder but doing only the mildest of damage. It swings out at him with two claws and he avoids them like child’s play except that then it comes around with that monstrosity of a tail and he flies through the air a second time, hitting a different tree of course. He groans and rubs his head as he gets to his feet. He must be really off his game, thinks ruefully. Then there’s that scream and he sees that the hollow has the spirit in its hand. The spirit is a she as it turns out, he notices and runs toward enemy and victim until the hollow turns and moves and the clouds roll away, leaving the moon unobstructed, shining down on the spirit…definitely a she…definitely…
But no…she…she is small…so unexpectedly small…and…her hair is longer but…and yet…her eyes are the same…and…and then she looks at him.
She looks at him.
They both hold their breath.
She is no spirit, he thinks.
And suddenly the hollow is nothing more than dust as it is cleansed and sent to Hell because a hollow such as that deserves no better. The girl seems…seems hardly frightened, more so…shocked. She picks herself up off the ground where she fell when the hollow dropped her and dusts off her pale blue dress…short loose sleeves, falls about to her knees…has accents of deeper blues…she faces him.
“Thank you,” she bows and pushes that familiar section of hair in the middle of her face behind her ear. Her eyes, they do not change.
“You…can see me,” he says carefully.
It can’t be, he thinks adamantly. It is an illusion, he tells himself. It will just…disappear too.
“What do you mean, of course I can!” she retorts and he remembers saying a similar thing…to a similar person.
Counting stars I’m starting to
Count three, two, one, one, three, two
This New Year’s Eve I’m counting any which way
‘Til the stars start falling on New Year’s Day
“You should…be…home…on……tonight?” he is struggling in so many ways, gripping the hilt for dear life-or death-and hoping the white of his knuckles is not too dreadfully obvious. He is at a very muddy crossroads and can barely make out the directions he has to choose from.
“Mm, well,” she says in a non-committal tone that translates to: what’s it to you? She then asks, “Do you care?”
Not really.
He once said that.
It seems…a lifetime ago.
“…yes,” he says this time and her eyes widen.
Those eyes…he swears inside.
“Well that’s your problem!” she says and pointedly drops onto her back, staring up…at the stars. He drops down beside her. She does not look at him. Minutes later what he should have known at the beginning becomes clear now: she can’t be her…and wasn’t he thinking that? It can’t be. She…died. He remembers.
He knows.
She died.
No, she didn’t even die but…she disappeared…her soul…her…everything…faded away…in his arms.
He clenches and unclenches his fists and he mutters to himself to such an extent that he gains interest from his accidental company and she pulls herself up on an elbow to stare at him. When he turns to sneak a glance he is caught by her and he can’t help but notice that though her hair falls below her waist and her eyes are much bluer than he remembers…well…he can’t help but notice…it’s that same kind of look she used to give him.
But that’s not her, he reminds himself in vain.
“Counting stars,” she says and he bites hit tongue so hard he tastes the iron of his blood.
“…what?” he mumbles.
“…it’s a game,” she explains and waves a hand at him so airily. He wants to grab that hand. He wants to pull her to him, see if she fits the way she looks like she will…in his arms…and if she does he wants also to never, ever let her go…he wants…he wants her to know him.
Know me, he begs in his mind, zanpakutou laid across his lap, eyes locked onto her slender frame, her soul’s similar presence…the way she turns her head this way or glares at him that way or pretends he’s not there in another way…he can’t look away.
She could be gone then.
It could be hours or seconds but his hand reaches out to her outstretched hand and covers it. She has the grace to look appalled and then the lack of it to look like she’s going to send him packing on a one way trip to the moon…and funny how that reminds him of her too.
“W-what?” she asks and snatches her hand away, holds it to her as if burned.
“…you…don’t…you don’t know me,” he says with difficulty and she snorts as she sits up, pulling her knees to her chest as she rocks back and forth.
“I think I’d remember,” she says dryly and there’s humor there so he lets it be. Maybe if he is quiet she will talk to him, tell him something that so clearly makes this all impossible that he will leave and it will be just like any other job. “What’s your name, huh?”
Maybe not.
“Kuro…” he stops. Does he need another link like this? Does he want it? Is this his second chance? What if he is making believe, some pretty return-to-me fairytale and in the end fails to tell her all those things a second time? Why is this happening?
“Kuro…?” she arches a brow and frowns at him. “You’re kidding,” she insists and he rolls his eyes at her. He cannot help it.
“I am…Kurosaki Ichigo,” he says. “Soul reaper,” he adds with a sigh.
And she nods as if she understands.
Maybe she does.
She offers her hand.
“Tsukishiro Rukia,” she says and he stares stupidly at her hand.
“What?” he asks.
“You got cotton in your ears, strawberry face? I said my name’s Tsukishiro Rukia,” she huffs and adds a little shiftily, “I can see spirits.”
“Ah…hm….nice to...meet you,” he manages a broken sentence. She nods briefly.
“…same,” she says, but no ‘thank-you for saving me’…because she wouldn’t do that, he thinks…not ever. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” she hints, annoyed.
Who wouldn’t be with a complete stranger hanging around?
“It’s not ‘strawberry’,” he says, moody now. She sends him a dubious stare.
“Oh, what’s it for then, how does it read?” she inquires and her eyes waver back to the stars.
“Protector…protector…of one thing,” he says slowly. This actually makes her give a sound of approval and he wonders at that too, though she continues counting the stars.
“And what’s that?” she asks, a dangerously idle sounding question from a girl he must keep telling himself he has never met, a girl who however much she looks like…has the same damn first name…is a different person altogether…because she must be. She…what will he do if…he can’t finish this thought and tries to answer her question when he realizes that recognizing her and answering her are rather strangely…the same thing.
“You,” he coughs. Her head snaps toward him, eyes too wide.
“…excuse me?” she says and it’s a secretive whisper.
“…people….like you,” he amends and thinks her avid expression dims considerably, but then maybe he is making all of this up and will wake in his bed to find nothing has changed at all.
“…that’s good,” she says and then, “But I don’t need you to protect me.” She says it like a woman and a child all at once and he shakes his head as she counts under her breath, floating from star to star.
“Maybe you do,” he dares her. “You’re…just human,” he says awkwardly.
Without moving even the slightest bit, she replies, “…I’ve always been told that.”
Hello cryptic answer.
He cringes. What the hell is he supposed to do with that kind of reply?
“Why are you counting?” he questions and she sighs as if she has explained this too many times.
“…for every soul there is a star,” she says and that can’t just be coincidence he thinks now, desperate but so absolutely terrified that he cannot bring himself to say: is it really you?
“And…?” he prompts.
“I’m looking for mine,” she says gently and now she turns to him. “Maybe you know something about it, Kurosaki I-chi-go?” she separates his name in a sing-song manner.
It’s not her…but maybe it once was…
That’s what he’s thinking as he inches toward her and finds to his most mortal surprise that she is not moving away. That’s what he’s thinking as he stops within her breathing space and peers as closely into those eyes of hers as possible. That’s what he’s thinking as he draws away, hearing her release a soft sigh as he does so.
Maybe it once was…and what once was…may be again.
It is a new year and his world is either falling apart or falling back into place.
He just hasn’t figured out which it is.
And one of these years I think maybe I will find
Under the snow, on a pale moon night
Counting stars, just a private scene
Counting stars with you, right next to me