Fanfic: Divergences (Once Upon a Time), One-shot
I am suffering from a lack of Bleach this week. There have been no spoilers since Christmas.
Written for bemoan1000 at the Thanksgiving fic exchange at ginran. Prompt: Gin and Ran as children: A bucket of water and someone or something gets wet.
Title: Divergences (Once Upon a Time)
Rating: PG
Words: 803
Thanks to paperclipchains and fenikkusuken for beta reading.
When he first found her, she was skinny and timid and fearful. Gin asked most of the questions and did most of the talking. Saving her had seemed like the most natural thing in the world: she was another kid with spiritual powers, just like him.
Gin had never met anyone like him, and he was keenly aware that most other children considered him different.
It was too cold to venture far from the shelter of their rundown shed, so they passed most of the short winter days alone, eating the pilfered fruit and rice that Gin had squirreled away. As she grew healthier she became moodier. Her confidence increased. She started to contradict him, fight with him, brush him off when he was being too much of a nuisance. She got lazier. There were mornings Gin had to drag her out of bed by her ankles. She complained when she was hungry, when she was cold, and soon-to his bafflement-if Gin failed to mention how attractive she looked each morning.
In many ways, living with Rangiku Matsumoto was like living with a pampered house cat. That suited Gin fine-he was fond of cats. The more independent and willful she became, the more delightfully interesting he found her. They took turns chasing one another both inside and outside their meager lodgings; he devised new games, she made up rules, and together they broke them.
Gin had survived in the Rugonkai long enough to know that the world was a cruel, thin, and hardscrabble place, and yet in Rangiku he had discovered a real friend, a true companion, and all he had to was feed her and keep a general eye out for her. It was a deal that seemed too unbelievably good to be true. Around Rangiku, Gin wasn’t different. They were united by the gift and curse of spiritual power, and someday that power would turn to their advantage.
Spring broke the ice crusting the district’s waterways and birds returned to the Rugonkai. One afternoon, Rangiku found Gin a few yards from the riverbank, squatting over four shivering, exhausted ducklings.
"Where’s their mother?" she asked.
"Behind the shed under a basket. Can’t you hear her quacking?" Gin threw back his head and laughed. One of the ducklings tried to escape and he prodded it gently back into the downy huddle.
Rangiku's mouth hanging open and her step backward was somehow worse than anything she could have said. Without another word, Gin scooped the ducklings into his hands then ran behind the shed. The loud quacking abruptly ceased, and Rangiku silently watched the indignant mother bird hustle her babies towards the water.
Gin couldn't have cared less about the ducklings, but Rangiku's reaction confused and worried him. He wasn’t a hard worker by nature, but he knew how to focus when he wanted something, and for the next week he worked hard to win back Rangiku's goodwill. He made jokes, he humored her, he apologized profusely, he kept his wanderlust in check and didn’t disappear.
She gradually forgave him, as she always did.
Summer heat drove the children of the Rukongai together, raggedy castoffs and urchins milling around the wharfs and riverbanks like feral kittens, and for the first time, Gin realized it wasn’t just spiritual power that made him different in others' eyes.
He watched the children with Rangiku. She was stronger (and bossier) than most of them, but it was clear that despite those social drawbacks, Rangiku was popular. Other kids liked her. The girls liked her enthusiasm and energy; the boys melted beneath her flattery and attention. It didn’t seem to matter that she pulsed with faint but distinct spiritual pressure-they didn’t fear her or find her odd, the way they found him.
Gin had long sensed the other children's cautious discomfort around him and covered his amusement with a thick veneer of false politeness. He was learning quickly that fear was as effective a tool as charm, and sometimes it was entertaining to watch others squirm, to force conversations where people pretended to be at ease when they really weren’t.
"Freaky kid," growled an older boy, seizing Gin’s kimono with two ham-sized fists. Gin's eyes cracked open in alarm and surprise; he had miscalculated this time, but before he could extricate himself, the crowd of spectators scattered.
"Hey, you! Leave him alone!"
A cascade of scummy river water poured over the boy's head, followed by a loud crack as a wooden bucket connected with his skull. Gin peered past his wet and stunned attacker to his glowering avenging angel.
There was even better way in which Rangiku Matsumoto was different from other kids. Gin beamed with pride; his grin of thanks wide and genuine.
As popular as she was, Rangiku preferred his company best.
X-posted to kurosaki_clinic.
Written for bemoan1000 at the Thanksgiving fic exchange at ginran. Prompt: Gin and Ran as children: A bucket of water and someone or something gets wet.
Title: Divergences (Once Upon a Time)
Rating: PG
Words: 803
Thanks to paperclipchains and fenikkusuken for beta reading.
When he first found her, she was skinny and timid and fearful. Gin asked most of the questions and did most of the talking. Saving her had seemed like the most natural thing in the world: she was another kid with spiritual powers, just like him.
Gin had never met anyone like him, and he was keenly aware that most other children considered him different.
It was too cold to venture far from the shelter of their rundown shed, so they passed most of the short winter days alone, eating the pilfered fruit and rice that Gin had squirreled away. As she grew healthier she became moodier. Her confidence increased. She started to contradict him, fight with him, brush him off when he was being too much of a nuisance. She got lazier. There were mornings Gin had to drag her out of bed by her ankles. She complained when she was hungry, when she was cold, and soon-to his bafflement-if Gin failed to mention how attractive she looked each morning.
In many ways, living with Rangiku Matsumoto was like living with a pampered house cat. That suited Gin fine-he was fond of cats. The more independent and willful she became, the more delightfully interesting he found her. They took turns chasing one another both inside and outside their meager lodgings; he devised new games, she made up rules, and together they broke them.
Gin had survived in the Rugonkai long enough to know that the world was a cruel, thin, and hardscrabble place, and yet in Rangiku he had discovered a real friend, a true companion, and all he had to was feed her and keep a general eye out for her. It was a deal that seemed too unbelievably good to be true. Around Rangiku, Gin wasn’t different. They were united by the gift and curse of spiritual power, and someday that power would turn to their advantage.
Spring broke the ice crusting the district’s waterways and birds returned to the Rugonkai. One afternoon, Rangiku found Gin a few yards from the riverbank, squatting over four shivering, exhausted ducklings.
"Where’s their mother?" she asked.
"Behind the shed under a basket. Can’t you hear her quacking?" Gin threw back his head and laughed. One of the ducklings tried to escape and he prodded it gently back into the downy huddle.
Rangiku's mouth hanging open and her step backward was somehow worse than anything she could have said. Without another word, Gin scooped the ducklings into his hands then ran behind the shed. The loud quacking abruptly ceased, and Rangiku silently watched the indignant mother bird hustle her babies towards the water.
Gin couldn't have cared less about the ducklings, but Rangiku's reaction confused and worried him. He wasn’t a hard worker by nature, but he knew how to focus when he wanted something, and for the next week he worked hard to win back Rangiku's goodwill. He made jokes, he humored her, he apologized profusely, he kept his wanderlust in check and didn’t disappear.
She gradually forgave him, as she always did.
Summer heat drove the children of the Rukongai together, raggedy castoffs and urchins milling around the wharfs and riverbanks like feral kittens, and for the first time, Gin realized it wasn’t just spiritual power that made him different in others' eyes.
He watched the children with Rangiku. She was stronger (and bossier) than most of them, but it was clear that despite those social drawbacks, Rangiku was popular. Other kids liked her. The girls liked her enthusiasm and energy; the boys melted beneath her flattery and attention. It didn’t seem to matter that she pulsed with faint but distinct spiritual pressure-they didn’t fear her or find her odd, the way they found him.
Gin had long sensed the other children's cautious discomfort around him and covered his amusement with a thick veneer of false politeness. He was learning quickly that fear was as effective a tool as charm, and sometimes it was entertaining to watch others squirm, to force conversations where people pretended to be at ease when they really weren’t.
"Freaky kid," growled an older boy, seizing Gin’s kimono with two ham-sized fists. Gin's eyes cracked open in alarm and surprise; he had miscalculated this time, but before he could extricate himself, the crowd of spectators scattered.
"Hey, you! Leave him alone!"
A cascade of scummy river water poured over the boy's head, followed by a loud crack as a wooden bucket connected with his skull. Gin peered past his wet and stunned attacker to his glowering avenging angel.
There was even better way in which Rangiku Matsumoto was different from other kids. Gin beamed with pride; his grin of thanks wide and genuine.
As popular as she was, Rangiku preferred his company best.
X-posted to kurosaki_clinic.