ruyu
in
wax_rabbit
You Are My Sunshine Chapter 7
Title: You Are My Sunshine Chapter 7
Fandom: Bleach
Rating: PG-13 (higher for later chapters)
Word Count: 1627
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Ichigo/Shiro, Isshin, Grimmjow, OC
Summary: An AU story in which Ichigo works at the local hospital and comes across a coma patient that seems to be his twin. Who is this man and how did he get in a coma?
Disclaimer: Don't own Bleach or it's characters.
A/N: LOOONG ass time since this was updated. I'm slightly ashamed, but that's life.
All previous chapters can be found HERE on fanfiction.net.
Chapter 7
"I want everything you've got."
The tip of the gun was cold and piercing as it was horrifying. All of his equipment was still spread out - prints, pencils, markers, computer up and running, a work lamp casting a warm light on his designs. Was this really happening?
Shiro's heart pounded painfully against his ribs and he nearly fainted from the shock and fear he felt. The muzzle of the gun moved against his neck until it was pushing into the back of his skull; the tip growing warm from his body heat.
"Please don't do this," Shiro pleaded, feeling even more helpless as his voice broke, the syllables falling apart in his throat. He had been leaning over his work table, pencil held loosely in his hand, making notes and sketching new ideas into his sketchbook. He hadn't heard the door click open, hadn't heard the man's boots cross the titled floor, but Shiro had heard him cock the gun behind him. It was arguably one of the loudest sounds he could ever recall hearing. Click! Like the ticking of clock, marking the time - saying this is right now, this is the present.
Shiro thought of several things all at once. He remembered that he'd left some paperwork in the taxi he'd taken that morning. His boss would be expecting the files for their current project (which he'd probably never get now). Sara was out of cat food and he'd never get the chance to buy her more, or watch her slurp messily at her milk bowl.
He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all.
Most of all, he wanted to cry because if he was shot, no one would really even miss him, save Sara, his playful white tabby cat.
"I said to give me all you've got. I want your wallet, your keys, anything! And if you're a good boy you'll help me take all this fancy equipment down."
Shiro nearly did laugh at that. A burglar asking him to help move stolen equipment downstairs. How utterly pathetic.
In the space of only a few seconds, since the man placed a cold gun at his neck, Shiro had come to the conclusion that if he was going to die or be robbed, this was not how he wanted it to happen. This guy would not boss him around, gun or not. Shiro would not be bullied or forced. He would not be told what to do.
A staple gun gleamed on the desk, its heavy black metallic sheen catching Shiro's eye from the desk. Heart pounding, mouth sticky dry, palms sweating, Shiro grabbed the staple gun and ducked from beneath the gun, bringing his arm around as hard as he could. The metal object connected with the man's rib and he gave a breathy grunt, gun lifting and firing into the ceiling, leaving Shiro's ear ringing.
Shiro made for the door of the office, turning to dash for the exit when a boot entered his vision. The kick was hard and heavy into his shoulder and Shiro knew something horrible was about to happen because the window was...
Glass. Shards of the city falling with him. Down. Plummeting.
*~~~~~~~~*
Don't wish for things you can't have
Save for dreaming, if you even can.
I'd say don't tell me, those dreams.
But perhaps I want to know,
Maybe I can make them come true.
Like most times Shiro had ever woken up, he was awake before he actually knew that he was. It was hard to think about much else other than how heavy he felt or how he didn't quite remember how to move, how to blink, how to breath (how can you breath when you feel this heavy?). His body felt like a block of clay, settled firmly and unwilling to move until it had been pried from whatever surface it was stuck to.
Something was tapping against his arm, fuzzy, warm and exerting pressure that he could hardly feel. His muddled brain was unwilling to provide him with anymore clues as to where he was, how he got there, or how long he had been there.
"...hiro?"
A name that might have belonged to him was being yelled, or whispered. He couldn't quite tell. The sound, a buzz in his ear like he's never heard such a thing before, was persistent and made no sense to him whatsoever.
"Shiro, are you with us?"
Everything was black and it took Shiro a while before he remembered that it shouldn't be and that he was actually able to open his eyes. Come to think of it, he felt quite stupid that it took him to so long to think about opening his eyes. Maybe the blackness was comforting, maybe it was pleasant not to have to see anything or anyone. Ignorance, they said, is bliss, right?
He wasn't expecting the brightness and he quickly shut his eyes. The returning blackness when he closed them was truly comforting. But it's gone just as quickly when someone pried his lids apart and it's all to bright for him to make anything out.
"Li-" Shiro tried to say but there was dust in his throat, dry like old sandpaper and sticky cotton.
"Take it easy, one thing at a time."
The light slithered away as he was allowed to shut his eyes and he tried to speak, licking his lips that tasted oddly like cherry and Shiro almost laughed at how pleased he was by that. "The... light... too bright," he managed to softly choke out but it seemed he got his message across when he heard people scramble and the light dimmed, finally.
It's easier to see when the lights are low, easier to see the people scattered around him. "Where am I?"
"Can you tell me your name?" Someone asked and Shiro could feel cool fingers on his wrist, taking his pulse.
"Shiro Hakuba."
*~~~~~~~~*
The doctors told him he'd been in a coma, that he was pushed out of the two story building where he worked. Shiro's just grateful that he didn't remember it. He could see the still healing scars on his body where the glass and impact had cut him up pretty bad. Yeah, not remembering was a good thing at this point.
The general consensus was that he would never wake up. His attending doctor kept reminding him how lucky he was and all this garbage about percentages and the possibility of memory loss and coordination problems. But Shiro's just glad he's alive, because he doesn't remember the fall, but he remembered the gun against his skull. The feeling of losing everything in those brief seconds could change a man. Who cared if his mother didn't love him? He would find someone to love him. So what if he lived alone with his cat? He'd find another cat and they could have tea parties. What if he never met his father? Shiro is happy to just be alive, his father be damned.
He was going to get his shit together and start living.
*~~~~~~~~*
It felt corny to think it, much less say it, but the sunrise was strangely beautiful. Shiro couldn't remember the last sunrise he had paid attention to. It was surprising to see the all the colors and clouds, twining together and painting the sky. He knew this sunrise was special - it was the first one he'd been conscious for in weeks. He didn't have anyone to share it with, but that was okay, he would see many more after this and hopefully he'd find someone to share them with.
Just as the yellows were beginning to fade into blue, someone knocked none to gently on his door. It was man in scrubs who's hair was so blue is nearly matched his clothes. And tall. He was ridiculously tall with a toothy grin. Wolfish, almost. Shiro liked him instantly.
"Hi," Shiro offered to the man as he drew closer to his bed.
"Hey back at you." And there was that grin again that Shiro could help but respond to with an equally wide grin. "It's good to see you awake!"
"Yeah, I guess I'm pretty lucky." Shiro still had trouble adjusting to the fact that most of these people had been around him for weeks and had grown accustomed to seeing him on a daily basis. Aside from the fact that no one really even knew him, Shiro had to deal with the one-sided familiarity that he couldn't reciprocate.
The man just smiled and said, "No way, dude. Ichigo and me, we knew you'd wake up. It was just a matter of when."
His confidence was flattering and Shiro was secretly delighted that at least someone had held out some hope for him. He wasn't just a percentage or a lost case. This man, whoever he was, had faith in him.
"I'm Grimmjow, by the way," he said, leaning forward to offer his large hand for a handshake.
Shiro happily shook his hand and couldn't seem to wipe the smile off his face. "I'm Shiro, but I think you already knew that."
"Who doesn't know your name?" Grimmjow said teasingly, pulling back his hand and letting is rest on the edge of Shiro's bed.
Didn't know my name? What? Shiro was confused. "What do you mean by that?"
"Erm," the man floundered for words. "That's a story for another time, I think. You should get some rest."
"Okay." That was weird.
Grimmjow shuffled backwards to the door (escaping, really). "I've got to go. But I'll be back with someone you have to meet. Alright?"
"Who am I meeting?"
"My friend. Ichigo," Grimmjow said with a huge ass smile. "He's been waiting to meet you for a long time, Shiro."
Fandom: Bleach
Rating: PG-13 (higher for later chapters)
Word Count: 1627
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Ichigo/Shiro, Isshin, Grimmjow, OC
Summary: An AU story in which Ichigo works at the local hospital and comes across a coma patient that seems to be his twin. Who is this man and how did he get in a coma?
Disclaimer: Don't own Bleach or it's characters.
A/N: LOOONG ass time since this was updated. I'm slightly ashamed, but that's life.
All previous chapters can be found HERE on fanfiction.net.
Chapter 7
"I want everything you've got."
The tip of the gun was cold and piercing as it was horrifying. All of his equipment was still spread out - prints, pencils, markers, computer up and running, a work lamp casting a warm light on his designs. Was this really happening?
Shiro's heart pounded painfully against his ribs and he nearly fainted from the shock and fear he felt. The muzzle of the gun moved against his neck until it was pushing into the back of his skull; the tip growing warm from his body heat.
"Please don't do this," Shiro pleaded, feeling even more helpless as his voice broke, the syllables falling apart in his throat. He had been leaning over his work table, pencil held loosely in his hand, making notes and sketching new ideas into his sketchbook. He hadn't heard the door click open, hadn't heard the man's boots cross the titled floor, but Shiro had heard him cock the gun behind him. It was arguably one of the loudest sounds he could ever recall hearing. Click! Like the ticking of clock, marking the time - saying this is right now, this is the present.
Shiro thought of several things all at once. He remembered that he'd left some paperwork in the taxi he'd taken that morning. His boss would be expecting the files for their current project (which he'd probably never get now). Sara was out of cat food and he'd never get the chance to buy her more, or watch her slurp messily at her milk bowl.
He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all.
Most of all, he wanted to cry because if he was shot, no one would really even miss him, save Sara, his playful white tabby cat.
"I said to give me all you've got. I want your wallet, your keys, anything! And if you're a good boy you'll help me take all this fancy equipment down."
Shiro nearly did laugh at that. A burglar asking him to help move stolen equipment downstairs. How utterly pathetic.
In the space of only a few seconds, since the man placed a cold gun at his neck, Shiro had come to the conclusion that if he was going to die or be robbed, this was not how he wanted it to happen. This guy would not boss him around, gun or not. Shiro would not be bullied or forced. He would not be told what to do.
A staple gun gleamed on the desk, its heavy black metallic sheen catching Shiro's eye from the desk. Heart pounding, mouth sticky dry, palms sweating, Shiro grabbed the staple gun and ducked from beneath the gun, bringing his arm around as hard as he could. The metal object connected with the man's rib and he gave a breathy grunt, gun lifting and firing into the ceiling, leaving Shiro's ear ringing.
Shiro made for the door of the office, turning to dash for the exit when a boot entered his vision. The kick was hard and heavy into his shoulder and Shiro knew something horrible was about to happen because the window was...
Glass. Shards of the city falling with him. Down. Plummeting.
*~~~~~~~~*
Don't wish for things you can't have
Save for dreaming, if you even can.
I'd say don't tell me, those dreams.
But perhaps I want to know,
Maybe I can make them come true.
Like most times Shiro had ever woken up, he was awake before he actually knew that he was. It was hard to think about much else other than how heavy he felt or how he didn't quite remember how to move, how to blink, how to breath (how can you breath when you feel this heavy?). His body felt like a block of clay, settled firmly and unwilling to move until it had been pried from whatever surface it was stuck to.
Something was tapping against his arm, fuzzy, warm and exerting pressure that he could hardly feel. His muddled brain was unwilling to provide him with anymore clues as to where he was, how he got there, or how long he had been there.
"...hiro?"
A name that might have belonged to him was being yelled, or whispered. He couldn't quite tell. The sound, a buzz in his ear like he's never heard such a thing before, was persistent and made no sense to him whatsoever.
"Shiro, are you with us?"
Everything was black and it took Shiro a while before he remembered that it shouldn't be and that he was actually able to open his eyes. Come to think of it, he felt quite stupid that it took him to so long to think about opening his eyes. Maybe the blackness was comforting, maybe it was pleasant not to have to see anything or anyone. Ignorance, they said, is bliss, right?
He wasn't expecting the brightness and he quickly shut his eyes. The returning blackness when he closed them was truly comforting. But it's gone just as quickly when someone pried his lids apart and it's all to bright for him to make anything out.
"Li-" Shiro tried to say but there was dust in his throat, dry like old sandpaper and sticky cotton.
"Take it easy, one thing at a time."
The light slithered away as he was allowed to shut his eyes and he tried to speak, licking his lips that tasted oddly like cherry and Shiro almost laughed at how pleased he was by that. "The... light... too bright," he managed to softly choke out but it seemed he got his message across when he heard people scramble and the light dimmed, finally.
It's easier to see when the lights are low, easier to see the people scattered around him. "Where am I?"
"Can you tell me your name?" Someone asked and Shiro could feel cool fingers on his wrist, taking his pulse.
"Shiro Hakuba."
*~~~~~~~~*
The doctors told him he'd been in a coma, that he was pushed out of the two story building where he worked. Shiro's just grateful that he didn't remember it. He could see the still healing scars on his body where the glass and impact had cut him up pretty bad. Yeah, not remembering was a good thing at this point.
The general consensus was that he would never wake up. His attending doctor kept reminding him how lucky he was and all this garbage about percentages and the possibility of memory loss and coordination problems. But Shiro's just glad he's alive, because he doesn't remember the fall, but he remembered the gun against his skull. The feeling of losing everything in those brief seconds could change a man. Who cared if his mother didn't love him? He would find someone to love him. So what if he lived alone with his cat? He'd find another cat and they could have tea parties. What if he never met his father? Shiro is happy to just be alive, his father be damned.
He was going to get his shit together and start living.
*~~~~~~~~*
It felt corny to think it, much less say it, but the sunrise was strangely beautiful. Shiro couldn't remember the last sunrise he had paid attention to. It was surprising to see the all the colors and clouds, twining together and painting the sky. He knew this sunrise was special - it was the first one he'd been conscious for in weeks. He didn't have anyone to share it with, but that was okay, he would see many more after this and hopefully he'd find someone to share them with.
Just as the yellows were beginning to fade into blue, someone knocked none to gently on his door. It was man in scrubs who's hair was so blue is nearly matched his clothes. And tall. He was ridiculously tall with a toothy grin. Wolfish, almost. Shiro liked him instantly.
"Hi," Shiro offered to the man as he drew closer to his bed.
"Hey back at you." And there was that grin again that Shiro could help but respond to with an equally wide grin. "It's good to see you awake!"
"Yeah, I guess I'm pretty lucky." Shiro still had trouble adjusting to the fact that most of these people had been around him for weeks and had grown accustomed to seeing him on a daily basis. Aside from the fact that no one really even knew him, Shiro had to deal with the one-sided familiarity that he couldn't reciprocate.
The man just smiled and said, "No way, dude. Ichigo and me, we knew you'd wake up. It was just a matter of when."
His confidence was flattering and Shiro was secretly delighted that at least someone had held out some hope for him. He wasn't just a percentage or a lost case. This man, whoever he was, had faith in him.
"I'm Grimmjow, by the way," he said, leaning forward to offer his large hand for a handshake.
Shiro happily shook his hand and couldn't seem to wipe the smile off his face. "I'm Shiro, but I think you already knew that."
"Who doesn't know your name?" Grimmjow said teasingly, pulling back his hand and letting is rest on the edge of Shiro's bed.
Didn't know my name? What? Shiro was confused. "What do you mean by that?"
"Erm," the man floundered for words. "That's a story for another time, I think. You should get some rest."
"Okay." That was weird.
Grimmjow shuffled backwards to the door (escaping, really). "I've got to go. But I'll be back with someone you have to meet. Alright?"
"Who am I meeting?"
"My friend. Ichigo," Grimmjow said with a huge ass smile. "He's been waiting to meet you for a long time, Shiro."