Insomnia (chapter 7)

[silverkytten]

DISCLAIMER: All characters depicted in sexual situations are fictional and are intended to be and considered to be by the author of said material of the legal age of consent in the United States state of California, regardless of what age these characters may be in the material they are derived from.

Author: SilverKytten
Title: Insomnia (chapter 7)
Rating: PG-13 (overall NC-17)
Pairing: IchigoxRenji
Warnings: Yaoi, language, angst, spoilers
Summary: When you carry world on your shoulders, who’s left to catch you when you fall? (previous chapters)


Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. All characters associated with the series are the property of Tite Kubo, I am simply borrowing them for my own amusement.

Amnesty

Renji sighed, standing atop a building in the shopping district, staring down into the crowded streets. Ever since the last Arrancar attack, Hitsugaya had decided to tighten up their patrols, meaning he could no longer simply rely on his communicator. It wasn’t a big deal, he supposed, but it did get boring just wandering around when there was nothing to do. Usually, he would have taken out his gigai and wandered the streets with the humans, but he was feeling restless today and had decided to stick to the rooftops.

The whole thing with Ichigo was still bothering him, and he couldn’t get it out of his mind. He’d expected him to be a bit jumpy, because that was fast becoming their established routine, but this had seemed different. There had been something in his eyes, something more than the usual overly dramatic, perversely amusing, sense of teenage awkwardness. No, this had seemed more real somehow, and it had been enough strip away Renji’s humor.

He was pretty sure that the tickle of fingers against his neck, which he’d felt upon waking, had something to do with it, but he didn’t know how. The look on Ichigo’s face when he’d snatched back his hand was so painfully confused and afraid that Renji had reached out to catch him without thinking. Vulnerability was not an emotion that Ichigo carried well and anyone who knew him would have been concerned.

They’d already established that the kid was touchy, so he wasn’t sure why this latest example would cause such a strong reaction. He wondered if he’d missed something while he’d been asleep, but he didn’t dwell on it because there was no way to tell. The only answers were going to come from Ichigo, but he seemed to be hiding which made things more difficult. Renji snorted in amusement. Ichigo was really bad at hiding; his reiatsu was like a beacon to anyone who was looking for him. Renji could feel him over by the river, where he’d been for the past hour or so, but he stayed clear. If the younger man needed to be alone then he was willing to respect that.

His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar flash of black and green flitting through the crowd. Renji frowned, wondering what had brought Urahara out today. It wasn’t unusual for the shopkeeper to be going about some business or another, but Renji rarely happened upon him when he was. Curious and bored, he followed him until they emerged onto a less crowded street and then dropped from the roof to join him.

“Lovely afternoon, isn’t it, Abarai-san?” Urahara greeted him, not bothering to turn as the other man fell into step.

“Slow afternoon,” Renji corrected, settling his hand on Zabimaru.

“I suppose it depends on how you look at it.” He pulled his hat lower and regarded the redhead from the corner of his eye. “Have you seen our wayward young friend today, by any chance?”

“Not since this mornin’.” Renji shrugged. “Seemed best to let him calm down.”

“I suppose,” Urahara conceded, a small smile playing on his lips.

Renji raised an eyebrow at him, wondering what he was thinking and the smile grew. He was about to question him further when a buzzing from his pocket brought them both to a stop. Renji dug out his communicator, but no sooner had he flipped it open than it fell silent once again. He frowned at the tiny screen as it seemed to flicker, displaying a faint, wavering pulse.

“That’s weird,” he muttered as Urahara moved to peer over his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, eyeing a dot that seemed to grow brighter for a second and then disappear.

“Battery might be getting low.” Renji shook it slightly. “It’s actin’ funny.”

“May I?” Urahara reached out and Renji handed over the small device.

The older man tapped through a series of screens, checking the readouts that monitored performance, “It seems to be working fine, except for the strange pulse.” He frowned, looking off into the distance. “It looked like it was coming from somewhere near Kurosaki-san.”

Renji closed his eyes and concentrated, “I don’t feel anything over there except for Ichigo.”

“Neither do I,” Urahara agreed, as he turned to move in that direction.

The alarm went off a couple more times, a half second chirp before returning to silence. Neither spoke when this happened, just picked up their pace a little more. Renji was starting to feel the first real tickle of foreboding when Ichigo’s reiatsu suddenly spiked dangerously and then wavered. Beside him, Urahara gasped and was gone, shifting into shunpo even as Renji’s own instincts kicked in.

Urahara was fast, and Renji was hard pressed to keep up, though his time serving under Byakuya had honed his shunpo skills. The shimmer of the water was just coming into view when they heard a horrible, broken scream, and Ichigo’s reiatsu, which had been fluttering unstably, seemed to die away. Renji felt something cold twist inside of him as they flew over the hill and came face to face with an Arrancar.

For a moment Renji didn’t see Ichigo and it didn’t make sense because he’d been so sure he was here. Urahara made a strange choking noise and he whipped his head around, following his line of sight to the motionless body pinned partway beneath the beast. Ichigo was a mass of torn and bloody flesh, skewed like some grotesque experiment laid out for dissection. He wasn’t moving, head tipped to the side, eyes half open and unblinking.

Urahara shouted something and the world seemed to rip apart in a blast of crimson light. The Arrancar leapt aside, tearing its tentacles out of Ichigo with a sickening, wet crunch that sent him sprawling. It caught the end of the blast, screaming in agony as an arm burned away, hitting the ground hard and skidding backwards. Urahara jumped forward, Benihime humming in his hand and his reiatsu crackling wildly.

“Check him,” he yelled back as he unleashed another blast at the Arrancar.

Renji was already moving, falling to his knees in the in the grass, leaning over the body to shield it with his own. Trembling fingers slipped across blood slick skin, searching for a pulse but unable to find one. He grabbed the ghostly pale face, the sightless eyes staring through him as he pressed his palm against the temple. He closed his eyes, searching for any trace of reiatsu but was overpowered by the sheer pressure of the battle raging behind him.

It was like a nightmare, surreal and terrifying, lying there across Ichigo, the blood soaking through robes as another blast of energy exploded into the earth. He’d seen death a hundred times over, but he wasn’t prepared for something like this. He’d always seen Ichigo as something of an immortal, someone who could always find a way, no matter how impossible, to overcome anything that was set before him. For someone like that to die such a senseless and random death was unfathomable to Renji. It was not supposed to happen.

He jerked Zabimaru from his sheath, feeling him scream in his hand and in his mind. The urge to cut and tear and kill was nearly overpowering and yet he couldn’t bring himself to leave Ichigo unprotected. He leaned over the body as the Arrancar screamed again and felt the warm spatter of blood across his back as Urahara took another piece out of it.

“Is he dead?” the older man shouted at him from a few feet away, barely managing to block a counter attack.

Renji tried to reply but the words lodged in his throat, as if not saying them out loud would keep it from being true. He tore his eyes from Urahara, staring down at the pale, expressionless face, at his own fingers still curled against the blood streaked throat. There were just no words for this.

Something brushed against his fingers, a sort of murky energy, and his eyes went wide. For a moment he saw nothing, and then the air seemed to stir, like a spirit fading into existence before his eyes. It looked like Ichigo, but not, and for one terrifying moment he thought the Arrancar had somehow affected Ichigo’s soul. Then snow tipped lashes swept up over cold, yellow eyes and Renji recognized it for what it had to be. He’s seen that look behind countless masks in his lifetime, just never in the face of a friend.

“You fucking dumbshit,” it choked, barely audible, glaring at him as it shuddered. This one outburst seemed to have exhausted its strength because its eyes fell closed again. It rested its head against the grass, loosing substance rapidly until it faded back into nothing.

He had no time to consider the oddity of the words because at that moment Ichigo’s body gave an almost imperceptible shudder to match the one he’d just seen. A soft sort of choking wheeze rose in the pale throat and Renji felt it tremble against his fingers.

“Fuck!” Renji fell backwards, his eyes swinging back to where Urahara was still holding his ground. “I think he’s alive.”

Urahara seemed to falter and was nearly run through when his eyes snapping to Renji in disbelief. He could see the questions running over the former captain’s face and knew that they were mirrored in his own, but there was no way to voice them.

“Take him and run,” he shouted, leaping back into his fight, all other thoughts pushed aside.

Renji was already doing just that, pulling the younger man roughly against his chest, trying to ignore the crunch of bones as they slid together. He righted himself quickly, struggling to hold his footing in the blood drenched grass.

“Abarai, look out.”

His head snapped towards the yell and found that the thing had disappeared, leaving Urahara turning a slow circle as he desperately tried to track it. Renji barely managed to leap aside as a spike came from nowhere, driving into the ground, forcing him off balance as it took a second swing. Urahara was flying towards them and the second Renji hit the ground, he took off in a sprint, trusting the older man to cover his retreat. The thing was shouting its rage over its escaping prey, bearing down on him fast and he knew it would be on him soon.

There was a flash of white in front of him and he felt a massive surge of reiatsu. Something coiled, tight and fast, and there was a shattering roar as Hyourinmaru joined the fray, cutting low over his shoulder to smash into the beast. Hitsugaya leapt past him and their eyes locked for a moment. He saw the captain blanch as his eyes fell to Ichigo but he didn’t stop. There was no time to do anything but pray to any gods that would listen as he shifted into shunpo and left them all behind.

Fear is a powerful motivator, it can drive a person to push themselves harder than they had ever imagined possible. As Renji sped across the rooftops, slicked with the blood of the limp body clutched gracelessly against him, he was more afraid than he had ever been in his life. Not in the dozens of times he’d watched his own death approaching, not even when he’d watched Aizen thrust his hand through Rukia’s chest, had he ever felt the hopelessness with such brutal clarity.

Urahara’s shop sped towards him but he didn’t slow, instead using kidou to simply blast the front door open as he screamed for help. There was an instant pounding of feet and three figures appeared in the hall, ready for a fight. At the sight of Renji and his pale, blood-soaked burden, the children’s eyes went wide and they seemed to freeze in place. Tessai alone retained motor control, though he didn’t look much better off. After only a moment’s hesitation he scooped the body from the panting shinigami and raced back down the hall, yelling instructions to the children as he went.

Renji dazedly followed the larger man and watched as he laid Ichigo on the floor, peeling away the remains of his shirt. He crouched on the other side of the body, staring down into the sightless eyes gone black as the pupils dilated. He felt the ice begin to form in his veins.

“There’s nothing I can do for him,” Tessai murmured, grief choking his normally stoic voice as he wrung his hands in indecision.

“There has to be somethin’,” Renji snapped at him, eyes hard and dangerous. “Just do what you can.”

“This is a mortal wound, Abarai-san. I could heal some of the physical damage but it would be too little far too late.” Tesasi’s eyes pleaded with him to understand. “There is nothing more to be done.”

“I ain’t interested in what you think,” Renji snarled, his hand closing around Zabimaru, “You just do whatever you fuckin’ can or I swear to the gods you’re gonna follow him.”

Tessai didn’t look particularly intimidated, but he seemed to understand that it was necessary because a second later he was bent over the still form, hands glowing and brow furrowed in concentration. The children came and went, providing what aid they could and always close by in case they were needed. Renji held his place, never twitching a muscle, watching the skin and bone knit back together as he clutched one limp hand in his own.

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There were voices; they were always talking, even though he couldn’t make out what they were saying. It was strange, the voices, because there was no real sense of order, or even time, and so their existence was something of a mystery. Most of them were familiar, some were even identifiable, and one time it almost seemed like he could hear his father. Wherever he was it was dark and he didn’t like it. It definitely wasn’t his inner world, he’d tried to make his way there and failed, and it didn’t seem like the real world either. He’d stopped trying to identify it after a few minutes, or was it years, and had decided to focus instead on the voices.

The seemed clearer now than they had before, when it was like he was hearing them through a blanket of water. They were mumbling and he still couldn’t make out what they were saying, though a couple of times he thought he heard his name. They got briefly louder, like someone was arguing and then they abruptly cut off with the distinct click of a door sliding into place.

At first he thought he was alone again, but then something cold touched him. He would have jumped if he were able because it was the first thing he’d felt since he arrived in this place. Something seemed to slide across his chest, leaving behind an uncomfortable sort of tickle that made him want to squirm away. The pressure disappeared and he felt a chill on his skin, though he hadn’t been warm in the first place. He wanted to turn on a light or something, see what was going on, but he couldn’t figure out where to begin.

The touch came again, softer than the first time, warmer. It was sliding across his flesh in strange, seemingly senseless patterns, stopping occasionally to press deeper into him. It was on about the third of these stops that he realized the pressure hurt, a sharp, stinging, crushing feeling. Irritated at the pain, and at his inability to see his attacker, he focused all of his available energy on trying to knock it away. He felt a burning in his arm, accompanied a tearing sensation, and there was a sharp intake of breath from somewhere close to him.

“Kurosaki-kun?” The voice was close, very close, and wonderfully familiar.

“Urahara-san?” He tried to say, but all he heard was an unintelligible choking.

There was a rustle of cloth and then something was slipping under his head, lifting it up so a cup could be pressed to his lips. It burned and tasted like death, he tried to push it away but his body didn’t seem to want to comply.

“Is that better?” His head was lowered back down.

“No.” At least it sounded like a word this time.

“Can you open your eyes?” There was the slightest hint of amusement in the voice now.

He started to answer no again but stopped himself because he hadn’t even tried. He’d never really considered that the darkness might be banished by something as simple as opening his eyes, because it had seemed more powerful than that. He concentrated on the task but nothing happened. He swore a mental string of insults at himself and pulled everything together for a second attempt. Slowly, and accompanied by the feeling of trying to lift a small car, light began to flood back into his world.

It took a moment for things to clear but when the room finally swam into focus, he found Urahara leaning over him with a look of intense concern. The older man dropped his gaze, looking for something, and then held up a bottle for him to see.

“I need you to drink this.” He slipped a hand back under neck and brought the bottle to his lips.

“No,” Ichigo protested against the glass rim.

“Don’t be difficult, Kurosaki-kun.” There was a definite tone of relieved amusement now.

Ichigo wanted to object further but the bottle was tipped up and his only options were to swallow or choke. This one didn’t burn so much but it tasted worse, if that was even possible. Whatever it was seemed to take effect immediately and he felt a tingle run through him as his head cleared further. Without warning his whole body was alight with pain.

“Fuck, everything hurts,” he complained, finally managing to wrench his rebellious arm off the floor. The whole thing was covered in bandages, from his fingers all the way up to where it disappeared from his line of sight.

“I would be astounded if it didn’t.” Urahara sounded serious again and Ichigo found the other man watching him with an unreadable look.

“What’s wrong, Urahara-san?” He gave the fingers one experimental flex, ignoring the fresh wave of pain, before returning it to the ground.

“You should be dead,” Urahara said plainly.

Ichigo managed to raise his head slightly, looking down at himself. His chest was bare, though there were a pile of bandages lying on either side of him and he realized Urahara must have been cutting them away. The skin looked raw in places, like it was not quite healed and there were a mosaic of dark bruises radiating out from the center.

“Yeah, guess I got lucky this time.” he muttered, still staring at himself.

“You misunderstand.” Something in the tone brought his gaze back around to where Urahara still watched his with narrowed eyes. “I mean that you should be dead, regardless of luck. The wound you sustained should have killed you before we ever reached you.”

Ichigo frowned up at him. “Well I don’t seem to be dead, so how is that possible?”

“I don’t know, yet.” Urahara settled back a little and Ichigo finally noticed how tired he looked. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I think I saw Renji, but everything was really dark. Before that it was just me, the Arrancar, Zangetsu, and my Hollow.” Ichigo let his head fall back to the ground, no longer able to support its weight.

“Both your Hollow and Zangetsu were there?” Urahara asked, sounding perplexed. “What were they doing?”

“I don’t know, just watching.” His eyes closed on a grimace as he tried to shift his body. “Seemed like they were in pain.”

“Well, Zangetsu was able to contain some of your wounds when you fought Zaraki Kenpachi, but nothing to this degree. Did he say anything to you?” Urahara was speaking slowly, as if trying to piece something together.

“No, he seemed more focused on my Hollow, actually.” Ichigo turned his head so that he could see the other man. “It was like he was trying to protect him or something.”

Urahara’s eyes widened fractionally, like he’d caught onto something that Ichigo was still missing. “Has your hollow ever shown the ability to heal you?”

Ichigo returned his gaze to the ceiling, slightly uncomfortable with the topic. “The Vizard said that when I turned into a full hollow I had some sort of instant regeneration, but that’s never carried over into even my shinigami body, let alone my human one.” He tried for a shrug but failed.

“Theoretically it’s possible that he could still be able to affect you, but I suspect that it would take a great deal of effort, and would probably be dangerous for him.” Urahara sounded thoughtful. “Zangetsu could have been lending his support.”

“Well he was using bankai,” Ichigo admitted, glancing at him from the corner of his eye, “But it’s hard to imagine him helping me. He spends most of his time just waiting for me to slip up like that.”

“I doubt you’d be much use to him dead.” Urahara gave him a pointed look.

Ichigo couldn’t deny that so he just remained silent, focusing once again on trying to shift his uncooperative body.

“You shouldn’t try to move, the damage is still healing,” Urahara admonished. “I need to apply some medicine and rewrap your chest. There are others who want to talk to you about that Arrancar. They’ve been waiting for you to wake.”

“Hmm.” Ichigo didn’t really feel like answering questions right now. “How long was I out anyway?”

“Three days.” Urahara was pouring some pungent sludge into the center of his chest.

“Three days?!” Ichigo tried to sit up but fell back with a strangled yelp.

“Yes, and you’ll be down longer if you reopen your wounds,” Urahara reminded him, reaching for some clean bandages.

Ichigo huffed but remained still. In truth, he felt like his arms were going fall off, and just trying to sit up had his heart pounding like he’d run clear across town. He decided that it was probably better to just stare at the ceiling for awhile longer until the room stopped spinning. At least it wasn’t the ceiling from home; this one still held some mysteries for him.

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Eight hours later Ichigo decided that if he didn’t find a way out of the room soon he was going to go crazy. Urahara had finished wrapping him up and had gone to spread the news of his return to the world of the waking. Shortly thereafter Hitsugaya had arrived to discuss the new breed of Arrancar with him. They had gone over everything several times, with Ichigo strategically leaving out the parts that involved him having an inner Hollow, and Hitsugaya eyeing him like he suspected an omission. Apparently, those immediately involved in his treatment had glossed over the part where he should have died, because Hitsugaya seemed relatively uninterested in his miraculous survival.

Once he was satisfied with the story, Hitsugaya had filled Ichigo in on what the Shinigami had been doing while he was unconscious. It had been decided that it was too dangerous to continue patrolling alone, and so they were splitting into teams to prevent Ichigo’s fate from befalling anyone else. It seemed that, with Rukia off with Inoue, they were short a man when it came to making teams and were wondering if he wanted to lend a hand when he was feeling up to it. It would make it easier to have three teams on eight hour rotations, rather than having to continuously mix and match people at odd hours. Ichigo, who had no intention of being left out, had readily agreed.

After Hitsugaya left, Tessai had come in to continue his treatments. The large man seemed to regard him with a mix of awe and apprehension as he worked and it made Ichigo wonder exactly how bad he’d looked when he’d first come in. He’d fallen asleep sometime during the process, trapped in dreams filled with agony, death, and whispered apologies. He woke to an empty room, far less pain, and an overwhelming need to be up and moving. When he was idle, all he could think of was the horrible cold of dying and the sight of his Hollow reaching for him through blood soaked grass.

He briefly considered calling out to see if anyone might be lurking but decided against it, figuring that whoever he managed to rouse would likely demand that he remain in bed. He scanned the area for any useful tools, but other than the futon he was currently occupying the room was bare.

Finally, realizing there was nothing else for it, he began the rather uncomfortable process of rolling onto his stomach. Once there he managed to push himself onto his knees, gritting his teeth against the throbbing pain in his arms. He’d certainly experienced worse pain than this and if it meant his freedom then it was a small price to pay. Once on his knees it was easier; his lower body hadn’t sustained much injury at all. He managed to sway to his feet on only the second attempt and stood there panting, congratulating himself on his success.

The door was tantalizingly close, but his first step nearly sent him sprawling back to the ground as his legs tried to give out. He grimaced, clutching an arm against his chest as he staggered, just barely managing to keep his balance. Shuffling seemed to work better, though it made him feel like an old man. The way he saw it, it was better to be an old man and be outside than it was to be a young man who fell down, ripped open his newly healed chest wound, and got yelled at for an hour.

Reaching his destination, he leaned against the door, trying to catch his breath and listening for movement. It would be easier if he knew what time it was, but there were no windows in the room and he hadn’t bothered to ask anyone earlier. He was hoping for night, because otherwise there’d likely be someone in the front of the store, which would make his little adventure all the more difficult.

Deciding that the only way to be sure was to check it out personally, he slid the door back a little, peaking through the crack. It seemed dark out there, which he took for a good sign even though there were no windows in the hall either. He pushed the door open and old man shuffled out of the room, stopping once again to listen. He couldn’t hear anyone in the front of the store, or anywhere else for that matter, so he decided to head in that direction. Bracing himself against the wall with one arm, he started forward, already feeling the strain of exertion. He could almost taste the fresh air on his tongue; it tasted like freedom; it tasted like victory; it tasted like…

“What the fuck do you think you’re doin’?” It tasted like getting caught red handed; Ichigo cringed, turning slowly to face the irate figure behind him.

“Well?” Renji demanded, eyes narrowing dangerously.

“Um…walking?” Ichigo tried, leaning into the wall a bit more to hide the fact that his legs were starting to shake.

“I know you’re fuckin’ walking,” Renji scowled at him, “You ain’t supposed to be up, you’re supposed to be sleepin’ like ya were an hour ago.”

“What are you, my nurse or something?” Ichigo griped, irritated at having been caught and at the way the world was starting to spin ominously.

“It’s my turn to watch your ass so that you don’t do anythin’ stupid like get out of bed,” Renji snapped at him, frowning as he looked him over. “Shit, ya look half dead again.”

“I’m fine,” Ichigo forced out, even as the spinning turned into a full on lurch.

He staggered once before Renji’s arm closed around him, palm splayed against his lower back as he held the smaller body against his own. Ichigo’s hands came up to steady himself, clutching at the folds of his kimono.

“The fuck you are,” Renji muttered into his hair, though he seemed to have lost his anger.

“Just need to catch my breath,” Ichigo panted, dropping his forehead against the dark shoulder.

“You need to be resting.” He felt Renji’s free hand threading through the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I’ve been resting,” Ichigo pointed out stubbornly, eyes closing as the long fingers stroked slowly up his scalp.

“You almost died, dumbass.” Renji started to turn him around, but had to stop when Ichigo slumped against him. “Ya scared the shit out of me,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper as he held him closer.

“Sorry,” Ichigo mumbled into his shoulder. “If it bothers you that much, I’ll try not to get stabbed again.”

“Asshole,” Renji smirked, bending down to catch him behind the knees, lifting him against his chest.

“Hey, what the hell are you doing?” Ichigo demanded, wincing as his body protested the move.

“You need to be in bed and ya can’t walk.” Renji was still smirking.

“I can walk fine,” Ichigo griped, scowling fiercely.

“Sure you can.” Renji headed back towards the empty room.

“Put me down,” Ichigo hissed. “I’m not going back in there.”

“Stop bitchin’,” the redhead snapped at him.

“I mean it, Renji; I’m going crazy in that room. There’s nothing to do but stare at the damn ceiling.” Ichigo was starting to struggle a bit. “I’m just going to leave again.”

Renji stopped, glaring at him in frustration, “Well ya can’t just wander around either, it’s too dangerous. Ya gotta heal.”

Ichigo glared back at him. “You try laying there for hours on end and see how you like it. You’re as bad as me when you get injured, so don’t give me this bullshit about just taking it.”

It was true and they both knew it, though Renji wasn’t about to admit it. The tension crackled between them as each tried to subdue the other through force of will. Finally, Renji just sighed and turned back around.

“Where are we going now?” Ichigo demanded, trying to ignore the bone deep pain that was starting to throb in time with his own heart.

“Somewhere I can keep a better eye on ya,” Renji grumbled.

He paused further down the hall and managed to pry his own door open with one foot. He knelt next to his futon and lowered Ichigo onto it carefully, doing his best not to jostle him too much. He closed the door and returned to run an assessing eye over the younger man.

“Doesn’t look like you tore anything,” he noted before a wry smile stole across his face. “Where were you plannin’ to go dressed like that, anyway?”

Ichigo glanced down at himself, realizing that he was wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and a whole lot of bandages. He scowled; he’d been in such a hurry to get out the door that he hadn’t cared what he was wearing. He glanced back up at Renji, finding him still smiling at the situation, and couldn’t help the tug at the corner of his own lips. It really was kind of funny.

“I was going out,” he said haughtily, tipping his chin up slightly.

Renji chuckled in amusement, tugging at his clothes to loosen them.

“I can’t sleep on my side,” Ichigo pointed out, wondering how they were going to work the sleeping arrangements.

“I know.” Renji was pulling off layers of clothing. “You need the rest more than I do.”

“You’re not going to sleep?” Ichigo asked, turning away as Renji stripped completely and stepped into a pair of loose fitting, cotton pants.

“Don’t worry about it.” He shrugged, shaking his hair free and running his fingers through it. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Wait.” Ichigo called out as he started for a nearby chair. “Maybe you could…um…you know…”

Renji was staring at him and he felt the heat rising in his cheeks. “Maybe you could…um…like I was when we were… in my bed.” He bit his lip to keep from wincing at how awkward he sounded.

Renji raised an eyebrow. “It’s gonna hurt if I’m draped all over ya?”

“It doesn’t hurt much anymore,” Ichigo lied. In truth, he didn’t think he could sleep alone, not with the images of those yellow eyes and cold, white fingers burned into his memory.

Renji looked at him incredulously. “I felt you shakin’ in the hall, I know it hurts.”

“Just shut the fuck up and get down here,” Ichigo growled at him, his face going a brilliant shade of red.

Renji looked startled, and slightly bemused, but knelt beside the futon. “What’s the matter with you now? Most of the time you’re bitchin’ as loud as you can to keep me from touchin’ you, and now, all the sudden ya want me to sleep practically on top of you. Are ya still sufferin’ from blood loss?”

“Shut up,” Ichigo muttered, looking away.

Renji frowned, realizing that the younger man was serious. He reached out and caught Ichigo’s chin, pulling his head back around, his eyes softening. “Nightmares?”

Ichigo mentally cursed Renji for his occasional bursts of insight as he held the dark gaze. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I saw something that day we found you,” Renji murmured, releasing his chin and brushing his fingertips up the side of his face. “It looked like you, but not you. It was fading in and out, so I couldn’t see it very well, but it had yellow eyes.”

Ichigo felt the fingers bury themselves once again in his hair, soothing away some of the tension the words created. “I-”

“It’s okay, I’m pretty sure I know what it was,” Renji cut him off, tracing lightly along his ear. “I can still see it when I close my eyes, though. I see it when I sleep.”

Ichigo didn’t know what to say, there weren’t enough lies in the world to explain away something like that. He knew firsthand how haunting those eyes could be.

Renji was still watching him, looking troubled. “Do you want me to stay with you?”

Ichigo managed a brief nod and Renji complied, slipping in next to him, carefully avoiding the worst of his injuries. Ichigo extended his arm through the curtain of hair, allowing room for Renji to press along his side. The redhead threaded a leg between Ichigo’s for stability, trying to keep his weight from rolling forward as he settled his head on the younger man’s shoulder.

“This has to hurt.” His breath ghosted across Ichigo’s skin as he wrapped his arm low over the bandaged waist.

“It’s fine,” Ichigo lied again, striving to keep the tremor out of his voice. In truth, it hurt less than he’d expected, well within bearable limits.

“Liar.” Renji sounded like he was smirking again.

Predictably, his fingers begin skimming the skin just above Ichigo’s hipbone as soon as they fell idle. He felt the familiar flutter of embarrassment, but there was a strange sort of comfort in the soft tickle and he couldn’t find the energy to tell him to stop.

“It’s up to you if you want to suffer,” Renji continued, his nose brushing Ichigo’s jaw as he settled himself better. “I’ll stay as long as you need the company.”

He knew he should feel insulted by the fact that Renji thought he was afraid, but he couldn’t deny it, even to himself. “Thanks,” he whispered, barely audible against the other man’s hair.

“Don’t worry about it.” Renji nudged his jaw again in a conscious show of understanding. “I know what it’s like to not want to be alone sometimes.”

The silence stretched between them, and after a few minute the sharper pain settled into a dull throbbing ache. Ichigo stared into the darkness, sorting through his worries and frowning against the broken memories of his near demise. At some point during his musings, Renji’s fingers had stopped moving, and he realized that he was asleep. He wrapped his arm around him carefully, feeling suddenly protective in the darkness full of his own sluggish fears.

Something felt off inside of him, a strange sort of quiet that was both unfamiliar and frightening. He’d recognized the problem, at least part of it, and though he refused to let himself panic, the worry still lingered. Ever since Urahara shared his theory on Ichigo’s survival, he’d been trying to reach his inner world for answers. He wanted to see Zangetsu, or even his Hollow, to ask them what they had done. The problem was that every time he tried to reach them, he failed. A couple of times he thought he felt a tickle, somewhere in the back of his consciousness, but it faded quickly. It was no use, it didn’t matter how much he concentrated, or what he tried, there was no answer. His inner world had fallen silent.