(no subject)
Did my first Bleach fic, which is also my first fic in years!! Also, first time entering a contest. This is posted at the ichi_ruki LJ community for their 2007 fanworks contest.
Title: The Reluctant Hero
Author: The Rose Society
Category: Fanfiction
Theme: Tempest and Fury
Warnings: Some spoilers for the Hueco Mundo arc. A bit existential and long winded.
Rating: PG, one curse word.
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. Bleach is the property of Kubo Tite. Also, the quote is from the Maximum7 scanslation of Chapter 286 of the Bleach manga. It is used without permission.
Kurosaki Ichigo had been told since childhood that he was meant to be a protector.
He first heard the story after the first time (of many) he was teased by older neighborhood bullies for his orange hair. Sobbing, the three year old had run to the warm arms of his mother, who asked him in a gentle voice what was wrong. Ichigo recalled that his father had come in from the clinic at that time, having heard his firstborn’s cries. When his parents heard what had happened and made sure that he was unharmed, Isshin and Masaki sat with their young son on the sofa and told him the true meaning of his name: “one who protects.”
At first, as a young boy, he had dedicated his life to protecting his mother, whose smiles were the center of his young universe. Then, when he found out that he was going to be a big brother, he gently put his ear to his mother’s swollen tummy and vowed to the little sisters inside that he would protect them as well. Unbeknownst to Ichigo, Masaki and Isshin had shared a loving smile over their son’s fervent words.
As he grew older and stronger (after all, he was a manly nine year old boy), he had enrolled in the local dojo to become a better protector. Despite the dark-haired monster masquerading as a local neighborhood girl and her fearsome punches, Ichigo returned day after day, learning as much as he could. After every day, when class was over, Ichigo would greet his wonderful mother with a huge grin and tell her how he was becoming a better protector for both her and his sisters. She would smile her beautiful smile, ruffle his orange hair, and praise him.
Those were carefree days.
But then came June 17th. It wasn’t a mistake, a lapse in duty or an error in judgment. No, it could only be called a completely and utter failure. Kurosaki Ichigo, the one who protects, had instead killed his mother, taking her prematurely from her own life and the lives of her husband and children.
After that particular day, Ichigo grew to hate his name. If only he were indeed named “strawberry” instead of the name he was given. After all, he was a failure. Oh, of course, it did appear that he was quite capable of protecting himself and others. He taught the neighborhood punks that his little sisters were off limits to any sort of bullying. He pounded into them the lesson that his hair was NOT dyed and therefore not the target of any sort of derision. He fought alongside his friend Sado (Chad) Yasutora against the gangsters. When rowdy idiots knocked over the impromptu shrine for a young dead girl, Ichigo was the first to educate the skateboarders on manners. But Ichigo knew that this was all a façade. He was a failure, the murderer of his own mother.
That night, when a short, irritating Shinigami named Kuchiki Rukia stepped onto his desk and into his life, Ichigo died a little inside. It wasn’t because he had failed to protect his family from the Hollow. Despite seeing spirits for years, he had never seen or heard of such creatures until the samurai-reject had come into his room. He had done his best against a powerful enemy but had failed, once again. And Ichigo was perfectly resigned to that fact just like he was resigned to being eaten. Sure, he did not want his family to die. But Ichigo was ok with the possibility of his own death. In his heart of hearts, he hadn’t really expected anything different. He was prepared to die as a failure. He was quite at peace with that thought. But then, Rukia informed him there was one last hope for his family. Despite the danger, Ichigo had taken that chance and become a temporary Shinigami because he owed it to his family to protect them, even if it meant his own death. And they all lived. He was genuinely grateful that his family was safe and that his family and Rukia had survived the Hollow.
No, the reason why he felt such pain in the depths of his soul was because he was once again called to protect others.
When the crazy bitch, er, Rukia, showed up in his classroom, Ichigo felt his heart sinking. When she demanded that he help others, Ichigo wanted to refuse. In fact, he did refuse. He did not want to be responsible for the lives of others. He had already failed; what made her think that he would be any good at protecting? But Rukia persuaded him (beat him, to be honest) into performing her Shinigami duties. And Ichigo was ok as a temporary Shinigami.
When Ichigo learned that a Hollow had been responsible for the physical act of killing his mother (Ichigo was still responsible but that Hollow shared some of that responsibility), Ichigo had felt, for the first time in six years, the actual desire to protect. Not to protect out of a sense of guilt or responsibility but a true NEED for the ability to protect. He wanted to protect the memory of a woman that Grand Fisher had perverted. He wanted to protect the precious lives of his family, huddled together, as they were, from the rain. And he wanted to protect Rukia, the girl who had brought him back to life. It sparked something within him, something small, like an ember in a cold, vast hearth.
Over time, that ember grew into a cozy fire that fueled his many (reckless, according to the midget shinigami) adventures. He had fought and defeated, or at least fought to a draw, many powerful enemies: Abarai Renji, Zaraki Kenpachi, and Kuchiki Byakuya, just to name a few. He had ripped his way through Hollows in Karakura, through the barrier separating worlds and into Soul Society, into the heart of Seireitei, and back. He had lost the placid existence bought with ignorance and gained a life that was made more precious because death was always a constant companion. He threw away the tedium of exams and high school gossip; he had gained an inner (crazy, blood thirsty) Hollow and power beyond his wildest imagination.
He never stopped to really sort out his emotions; after all, what 15 year old male, mortal or shinigami, would do so? He never examined why he had battled all those crazy shinigami to save the little shin-kicking, harpy-like, horrible actress known as Kuchiki Rukia. He never knew why he continued to risk life and limb to defeat (BUTCHER, cried his inner Hollow) Grimmjow, never understood why during the battle, images of a hand violating the tiny body he had often piggybacked as he raced through the sky flashed through his mind. He never realized when that ember had become a raging tempest in his soul, imbuing him with power greater than any Fury from Greek mythology.
He did realize, however, as he hefted Inoue Orihime over his shoulder, that there was something different about this rescue mission. True, there was a damsel in distress in both missions, both who had ended up in their respective messes by trying to save him. There were unimaginable enemies in both Soul Society and Hueco Mundo with devastating powers. There was always the quiet but fierce loyalty of his nakama. So why did this feel different? Normally, such a thought would disappear behind the endless walls of his unconscious, tightly belted with an unhealthy dose of Denial. But Nell, the little imp, had to yell force the subject back into consciousness.
Rescuing Inoue Orihime was different from Kuchiki Rukia. Why? As he had lifted Inoue, he had felt no rush of happiness as he had when he had saved Rukia from Soukyouku. Instead, Inoue was merely his goal, his burden to carry. Nell had been completely correct when pointing out (punching a rather delicate male area, rather) that Ichigo carried Inoue as if she weighed a great deal.
In contrast, with Rukia, Ichigo had been so relieved, embarrassed, happy, and all sorts of other emotions that his customary frown had been replaced by a dopey smile. What was so different?
She wasn’t a burden.
The realization so seared his mind that he almost brushed it off as an insane rambling of his inner Hollow. But the crazy negative of himself had been silent. Ichigo rolled the conclusion around his mind, almost as a child rolls a marble around, testing the edges and determine that it felt quite true. Rukia had not been a burden. She had given up, felt that the punishment of death was the only thing she deserved because of her myriad of sins. Kurosaki Ichigo, age 15, substitute shinigami, understood completely what Rukia felt. He had never really voiced it but after his mother’s death, he had hated being the protector. He had blamed himself and called himself a failure. On his darkest days, he believed that death was his just reward, the inevitable end that awaited him.
But meeting Rukia had changed his life. She had taken him out of his stupor and with a painful kick to his ass, given him a life filled with purpose. And rescuing her had been his way of expressing his gratitude.
True, Inoue had tried to save both he and his friends by complying with Aizen’s commands. But Ichigo felt, deep down, that Inoue wanted him to save her, wanted him to be the heroic savior that she believed him to be in her imagination. She feared his Hollow mask. She did not understand the darkness inside his soul. And so, she had forced the mantle of protector back onto his shoulders and he donned it only out of a sense of duty.
Rukia didn’t ask Ichigo to be something he was not. She hadn’t asked him to be her savior. She had no illusions about him. She knew his darkness because it was so like her own. Ichigo was terrified of his inner Hollow, feared that it would consume him, but Rukia held no such fear. She trusted Ichigo. Period. No doubts, no worries. Her trust in him was absolute. She did not force the mantle of protector onto Ichigo’s shoulders; to be quite honest, she tried to wrestle the damn thing from his hands to wear on her own petite frame.
He had been grateful to others in his life. The reason why Tatsuki and Chad were so close to him was because they never asked him to rescue them, never put a burden upon him. However, Rukia was the first to truly break through his walls and make him actually want to protect. Kuchiki Rukia had made Kurosaki Ichigo’s suicidal wishes disappear. She had awakened a new Kurosaki Ichigo, tempestuous and strong, with a firm grip on life. His power roared within him, ferocious and strong. Tempest and fury. He truly was Ichigo, the protector. And Rukia would always be his most precious person among those he protected.
“Now I’ve gotta go rescue Chad and-Rukia.”
Title: The Reluctant Hero
Author: The Rose Society
Category: Fanfiction
Theme: Tempest and Fury
Warnings: Some spoilers for the Hueco Mundo arc. A bit existential and long winded.
Rating: PG, one curse word.
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. Bleach is the property of Kubo Tite. Also, the quote is from the Maximum7 scanslation of Chapter 286 of the Bleach manga. It is used without permission.
Kurosaki Ichigo had been told since childhood that he was meant to be a protector.
He first heard the story after the first time (of many) he was teased by older neighborhood bullies for his orange hair. Sobbing, the three year old had run to the warm arms of his mother, who asked him in a gentle voice what was wrong. Ichigo recalled that his father had come in from the clinic at that time, having heard his firstborn’s cries. When his parents heard what had happened and made sure that he was unharmed, Isshin and Masaki sat with their young son on the sofa and told him the true meaning of his name: “one who protects.”
At first, as a young boy, he had dedicated his life to protecting his mother, whose smiles were the center of his young universe. Then, when he found out that he was going to be a big brother, he gently put his ear to his mother’s swollen tummy and vowed to the little sisters inside that he would protect them as well. Unbeknownst to Ichigo, Masaki and Isshin had shared a loving smile over their son’s fervent words.
As he grew older and stronger (after all, he was a manly nine year old boy), he had enrolled in the local dojo to become a better protector. Despite the dark-haired monster masquerading as a local neighborhood girl and her fearsome punches, Ichigo returned day after day, learning as much as he could. After every day, when class was over, Ichigo would greet his wonderful mother with a huge grin and tell her how he was becoming a better protector for both her and his sisters. She would smile her beautiful smile, ruffle his orange hair, and praise him.
Those were carefree days.
But then came June 17th. It wasn’t a mistake, a lapse in duty or an error in judgment. No, it could only be called a completely and utter failure. Kurosaki Ichigo, the one who protects, had instead killed his mother, taking her prematurely from her own life and the lives of her husband and children.
After that particular day, Ichigo grew to hate his name. If only he were indeed named “strawberry” instead of the name he was given. After all, he was a failure. Oh, of course, it did appear that he was quite capable of protecting himself and others. He taught the neighborhood punks that his little sisters were off limits to any sort of bullying. He pounded into them the lesson that his hair was NOT dyed and therefore not the target of any sort of derision. He fought alongside his friend Sado (Chad) Yasutora against the gangsters. When rowdy idiots knocked over the impromptu shrine for a young dead girl, Ichigo was the first to educate the skateboarders on manners. But Ichigo knew that this was all a façade. He was a failure, the murderer of his own mother.
That night, when a short, irritating Shinigami named Kuchiki Rukia stepped onto his desk and into his life, Ichigo died a little inside. It wasn’t because he had failed to protect his family from the Hollow. Despite seeing spirits for years, he had never seen or heard of such creatures until the samurai-reject had come into his room. He had done his best against a powerful enemy but had failed, once again. And Ichigo was perfectly resigned to that fact just like he was resigned to being eaten. Sure, he did not want his family to die. But Ichigo was ok with the possibility of his own death. In his heart of hearts, he hadn’t really expected anything different. He was prepared to die as a failure. He was quite at peace with that thought. But then, Rukia informed him there was one last hope for his family. Despite the danger, Ichigo had taken that chance and become a temporary Shinigami because he owed it to his family to protect them, even if it meant his own death. And they all lived. He was genuinely grateful that his family was safe and that his family and Rukia had survived the Hollow.
No, the reason why he felt such pain in the depths of his soul was because he was once again called to protect others.
When the crazy bitch, er, Rukia, showed up in his classroom, Ichigo felt his heart sinking. When she demanded that he help others, Ichigo wanted to refuse. In fact, he did refuse. He did not want to be responsible for the lives of others. He had already failed; what made her think that he would be any good at protecting? But Rukia persuaded him (beat him, to be honest) into performing her Shinigami duties. And Ichigo was ok as a temporary Shinigami.
When Ichigo learned that a Hollow had been responsible for the physical act of killing his mother (Ichigo was still responsible but that Hollow shared some of that responsibility), Ichigo had felt, for the first time in six years, the actual desire to protect. Not to protect out of a sense of guilt or responsibility but a true NEED for the ability to protect. He wanted to protect the memory of a woman that Grand Fisher had perverted. He wanted to protect the precious lives of his family, huddled together, as they were, from the rain. And he wanted to protect Rukia, the girl who had brought him back to life. It sparked something within him, something small, like an ember in a cold, vast hearth.
Over time, that ember grew into a cozy fire that fueled his many (reckless, according to the midget shinigami) adventures. He had fought and defeated, or at least fought to a draw, many powerful enemies: Abarai Renji, Zaraki Kenpachi, and Kuchiki Byakuya, just to name a few. He had ripped his way through Hollows in Karakura, through the barrier separating worlds and into Soul Society, into the heart of Seireitei, and back. He had lost the placid existence bought with ignorance and gained a life that was made more precious because death was always a constant companion. He threw away the tedium of exams and high school gossip; he had gained an inner (crazy, blood thirsty) Hollow and power beyond his wildest imagination.
He never stopped to really sort out his emotions; after all, what 15 year old male, mortal or shinigami, would do so? He never examined why he had battled all those crazy shinigami to save the little shin-kicking, harpy-like, horrible actress known as Kuchiki Rukia. He never knew why he continued to risk life and limb to defeat (BUTCHER, cried his inner Hollow) Grimmjow, never understood why during the battle, images of a hand violating the tiny body he had often piggybacked as he raced through the sky flashed through his mind. He never realized when that ember had become a raging tempest in his soul, imbuing him with power greater than any Fury from Greek mythology.
He did realize, however, as he hefted Inoue Orihime over his shoulder, that there was something different about this rescue mission. True, there was a damsel in distress in both missions, both who had ended up in their respective messes by trying to save him. There were unimaginable enemies in both Soul Society and Hueco Mundo with devastating powers. There was always the quiet but fierce loyalty of his nakama. So why did this feel different? Normally, such a thought would disappear behind the endless walls of his unconscious, tightly belted with an unhealthy dose of Denial. But Nell, the little imp, had to yell force the subject back into consciousness.
Rescuing Inoue Orihime was different from Kuchiki Rukia. Why? As he had lifted Inoue, he had felt no rush of happiness as he had when he had saved Rukia from Soukyouku. Instead, Inoue was merely his goal, his burden to carry. Nell had been completely correct when pointing out (punching a rather delicate male area, rather) that Ichigo carried Inoue as if she weighed a great deal.
In contrast, with Rukia, Ichigo had been so relieved, embarrassed, happy, and all sorts of other emotions that his customary frown had been replaced by a dopey smile. What was so different?
She wasn’t a burden.
The realization so seared his mind that he almost brushed it off as an insane rambling of his inner Hollow. But the crazy negative of himself had been silent. Ichigo rolled the conclusion around his mind, almost as a child rolls a marble around, testing the edges and determine that it felt quite true. Rukia had not been a burden. She had given up, felt that the punishment of death was the only thing she deserved because of her myriad of sins. Kurosaki Ichigo, age 15, substitute shinigami, understood completely what Rukia felt. He had never really voiced it but after his mother’s death, he had hated being the protector. He had blamed himself and called himself a failure. On his darkest days, he believed that death was his just reward, the inevitable end that awaited him.
But meeting Rukia had changed his life. She had taken him out of his stupor and with a painful kick to his ass, given him a life filled with purpose. And rescuing her had been his way of expressing his gratitude.
True, Inoue had tried to save both he and his friends by complying with Aizen’s commands. But Ichigo felt, deep down, that Inoue wanted him to save her, wanted him to be the heroic savior that she believed him to be in her imagination. She feared his Hollow mask. She did not understand the darkness inside his soul. And so, she had forced the mantle of protector back onto his shoulders and he donned it only out of a sense of duty.
Rukia didn’t ask Ichigo to be something he was not. She hadn’t asked him to be her savior. She had no illusions about him. She knew his darkness because it was so like her own. Ichigo was terrified of his inner Hollow, feared that it would consume him, but Rukia held no such fear. She trusted Ichigo. Period. No doubts, no worries. Her trust in him was absolute. She did not force the mantle of protector onto Ichigo’s shoulders; to be quite honest, she tried to wrestle the damn thing from his hands to wear on her own petite frame.
He had been grateful to others in his life. The reason why Tatsuki and Chad were so close to him was because they never asked him to rescue them, never put a burden upon him. However, Rukia was the first to truly break through his walls and make him actually want to protect. Kuchiki Rukia had made Kurosaki Ichigo’s suicidal wishes disappear. She had awakened a new Kurosaki Ichigo, tempestuous and strong, with a firm grip on life. His power roared within him, ferocious and strong. Tempest and fury. He truly was Ichigo, the protector. And Rukia would always be his most precious person among those he protected.
“Now I’ve gotta go rescue Chad and-Rukia.”