Fanfiction || Dead Man Walking 07
Title: Dead Man Walking
Fandom: Bleach
Main Character: Hitsugaya Toushirou/Shimizu Kouryuu
Rating: PG-13
Genre: General/Adventure/Suspense/Mystery
Warnings: Sporadic gore, language, author's inability to stay consistent with a single genre
Timeline: This story follows the manga's timeline. It takes place after the war with Aizen has begun.
Summary: Hitsugaya's disappearance left Seireitei with plenty of unanswered questions, but when a boy identical to the supposedly late taichou appears on Earth, to what lengths will everyone go to find out why? And when the answer does come, will it be too late?
~*~
“I feel I've come to realize
How fast life can be compromised
Step back to see what's going on
I can't believe this happened to you”
-Hell Song, Sum41
~*~
Chapter Seven
Salt on Open Wounds
~*~
It wasn’t until they were filing into the unassuming sweets shop that Kouryuu finally realized just how far into this nonsense he’d already fallen. Nyoko had told him about what had happened after he blacked out as they walked, about the black-haired girl healing him and how they insisted they were the “good guys.” That high school delinquent, Kurosaki something-or-other, seemed ready enough to back up her story, trying to convince him that they were here to help and that this Urahara person would know how to go about doing it.
But even so, all of this talk about dying, coming back to life, and magically healing people while battling living stuffed animals was nothing compared to stepping into Urahara Shoten and seeing the large, muscular man wearing a frilly apron at the counter.
“Just kill me now,” he groaned, ready to walk right back out the door.
“I thought that was what we wanted to avoid,” the raven haired girl retorted dryly.
But no one was listening to either of them. The apron-clad shop keeper had stepped out from behind the counter when he saw them enter, his big, black mustache twitching in a particularly disturbing way as his glasses glinted dangerously. With just a nod and a strangely dignified exit, he disappeared into the house beyond.
“Tell me that wasn’t this Urahara guy.”
“He wasn’t,” Kurosaki clarified with a derisive smirk. “Urahara’s worse.”
“Why am I here again?”
“Because I saved your ass from a giant monster.”
“Such eloquent vocabulary. You really are a delinquent, aren’t you?”
“Oh, shut up. Both of you,” Kuchiki huffed, reaching up to bonk Ichigo on the back of his head.
“Now, now. There’s no need for violence here,” chimed an overly-cheery voice, and Urahara Kisuke made his grand entrance into the shop. He eyed Kouryuu for a second before his grin took a decidedly sinister turn, and he swooped toward him like a hawk, winking obnoxiously in his face. “Oh, dear. Are you alright? Are these two idiots harassing you and your friend?”
A pale brow rose as Kouryuu leaned back and away from the prying man before he turned a wry smirk on Kurosaki’s very noticeable scowl. “Actually…”
Kurosaki ignored him in favor of Urahara himself. “Why am I not surprised that you’re not surprised?”
“Learning, are you?” the blond man cooed, standing straight once more. He readjusted the odd, green striped bucket hat atop his head, then pointed conspicuously at Kouryuu. “So tell me what nonsense was going through your head when you decided to bring him here, let alone the girl?”
“Why bother asking when you already know the answer?” Kuchiki replied without missing a beat, tapping her foot impatiently on the floor. She dealt with Urahara far too often to be put off by his antics any longer. “We found him; a hollow got to him. Not only that but you obviously know enough about him, seeing as you haven’t asked a single, relevant question. I’d be more surprised if you weren’t involved. Just tell us what’s going on already. This shouldn’t be possible.”
“Of course, of course. It’s nice to see you again too, Rukia,” the man grinned. “But I’m afraid I really have nothing to do with it this time. I’m not the one you should be asking.”
“Then who should we be asking?”
Kouryuu didn’t think it was possible, but Urahara Kisuke’s grin grew wider. He motioned for them to follow him into the house behind the shop, and they did. The insane salesman then proceeded to lean out of the doorway between the main room and the hallway, cupping his hand around his mouth as he hollered, “Oi, night owl! You’ve got visitors! Wake up!”
The man told them it might take a while and asked if they wanted anything to snack on before he left for the kitchen. Kouryuu took the opportunity to glance at Nyoko who was looking rightly nervous. He caught her attention by circling his pointer finger around his ear as he rolled his eyes. She managed a hesitant smile, and that was good enough for him. But when he turned back around, he was sure his heart skipped a beat.
Standing in the doorway, bed head and all, was the crazy woman he’d met on the street. Matsumoto Rangiku.
“Kiiiiisukeee…” she whined, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “How many times do I have to tell you? If it’s not Aizen himself, I don’t wanna see him. Tessai can handle the shop on-”
“Matsumoto-fukutaichou!”
The woman’s half-closed eyes bolted open as she stared wild and disbelieving at the assortment of visitors. Her sight darted from Kuchiki to Kurosaki to the girl and then…
“You…?”
“Tai-!” Her breath hitched in her throat, and she hastily pulled back. “I… I mean Kouryuu. It was Kouryuu-kun, right?”
Before Kouryuu could nod, his mind numb, Kuchiki Rukia had run up to the woman, grasping her arms as if to assure herself they were real. “Matsumoto-fukutaichou! You’re supposed to be dead! I-I mean, so was Hitsugaya-taichou, but this is different! You’re really here; it’s really you! What happened?! What’s going on?! We all thought… We really thought…”
Matsumoto didn’t look very comfortable with the smaller woman’s exclamations, but she took it in stride. “Oh, calm down, Rukia. It’s not that big a deal, is it? It’s only been half a year. Think of it like … an extended vacation. I really needed to work on my tan,” she tried to laugh it off but failed miserably.
Luckily for her, it was right about then that everyone remembered there were two people in the room who didn’t belong. “So you’re … one of them?” Kouryuu finally hazarded, his voice soft with indecision. “Because I thought we already had this conversation. You mistook me for someone else, but it was just that: a mistake. You said so yourself.”
“Aw, how cute,” Urahara reentered the room, displaying as little tact as usual. “He’s having an identity crisis. Look, kid. I’d love to tell you to believe in yourself and all that, but the fact is that you are nothing more than a figment of Ai-”
“Shut up!” Matsumoto hastily interrupted. “If he says he’s Kouryuu-kun, then that’s who he is! If all that means is that I’ll have to get to know Kouryuu-kun too, then I don’t see the problem!”
Kouryuu attempted to blink away his surprise, but he was no better at hiding his discomfort than Matsumoto. “You have to get to know me…?”
“Stumped? Here, catch.”
The boy’s eyes widened as he stepped back to catch whatever the blond salesman had thrown at him. It was long, heavy, and cold. It was a sword. And the moment it contacted his palms, Shimizu Kouryuu checked out.
~*~
“K-Kouryuu-kun! Kouryuu-kun!”
Nyoko frantically shook the boy’s shoulders, waving a hand in front of his unblinking face, but no matter how much she called he wouldn’t look away from the blade.
“Well, that’ll keep him occupied for awhile.”
Nyoko slowly turned around to stare at Urahara’s satisfied grin. “What did you do to him?” she demanded.
“Gave him back his other half,” the man chimed happily. “Or would that be a third now? He’s officially two-thirds the man he used to be.”
“Stop trying to sound philosophical,” Matsumoto growled. “You suck at it.”
“Yes, but now that he’s out, you can speak freely to our guests, ne? I’m sure Ichigo and Rukia would appreciate the behind-the-scenes replay of the story from someone who was there.”
“You were there too,” she pouted.
“Not for the entire time. And no one was attacking me. Have fun reliving your worst nightmares!”
“Cheeky bastard.”
“I love you too.”
“Burn in hell.”
“Too late for that,” Urahara Kisuke smirked, his hand already on the sliding door. “I’m off to cavort with beautiful, anthropomorphic women! Tata!”
And Matsumoto was left to glare at the now vacant doorway, seething at the man she currently ranked the third worst in the universe. (Even Tousen had the decency to be tactful every once in a while.) “…Why, out of everyone in the world, did it have to be that idiot?”
“Ah… Matsumoto-fukutaichou, if you don’t want to talk about it, then…”
The buxom shinigami snapped herself back to reality, her gaze landing on Rukia. She laughed, waving away the other woman’s words. “No, no, no. Don’t sweat it. It’s my fault. I thought I was prepared for anything, but I never even imagined that you guys would get caught up in all of this. Kisuke just likes to piss me off, is all. Something about being hot when I’m angry…”
Ichigo promptly blushed, and Matsumoto laughed again.
“I can tell you guys what I remember, but if I’m going to be honest, it isn’t a lot to go off of. If I knew any more about this craziness than you guys, I’d be doing something about it.”
“I’m pretty sure you at least know more than we do,” Ichigo huffed, his lips downturned into a full scowl as he plopped down on a chair. Rukia sat next to him, but Nyoko refused to leave Kouryuu’s side, still making half-hearted attempts to wake him. “All I know is that six months ago, I got back to base to find everybody in shock ‘cause you and Toushirou just up and disappeared in the middle of a war. ‘Presumed dead,’ they said. You don’t look very dead to me. And now I see Toushirou walking around in Karakura, only somehow it’s not him and everyone’s telling me it’s impossible.”
“Well, that’s because it is,” Matsumoto shrugged. “Even Kisuke can’t explain it, though he’s busting his ass trying to figure it out. He’s Hitsugaya-taichou; I know he is. But at the same time, he’s not. He’s a thirteen year old living boy. Reincarnation just doesn’t work that way; no soul can mature thirteen years in just six months.”
“But somehow Toushirou did it anyway?”
“Nope,” she replied without missing a beat. “I just told you it was impossible, didn’t I? Aren’t you listening?”
Before Ichigo could snark back, Rukia hastily intervened. “Then just tell us what you do know. From the beginning. Please. And we’ll help you figure out what’s happened to your taichou.”
The two women stared each other down for nearly two minutes before Matsumoto finally leaned back, hands finding their way unconsciously to her hips. “Alright,” she sighed. “From the beginning.”
~*~
He hadn’t answered her. She’d called out to him, but he hadn’t answered. She hadn’t planned on following; she really hadn’t. Her taichou was strong, despite what people saw when they looked at him. He could take care of himself.
But she could take care of him too.
And when she saw how that Espada was leading him away from his division, she knew that her taichou was heading right into a trap. She knew that he knew it too. That was why he hadn’t answered. She bit her lip as she sliced clean through another hollow and began tracking her taichou again.
He didn’t need to answer.
Finally, she caught up to them, immediately lowering her reiatsu until it was undetectable. She hadn’t gotten the hang of her bankai when Hitsugaya-taichou had been trying to help them in Karakura, but she’d certainly mastered suppressing her spiritual pressure. Then she had enjoyed many games of hide and seek; now she could use it to watch her taichou’s back.
He was in the middle of a fight with the Espada who had led him here. The Espada was missing an arm, thousands of scattered, bloody icicles detailing exactly what had happened to it. The other arm was unharmed and harbored three long, needle-like claws floating in the air above it. One of his legs was frozen to the ground, and he was looking appropriately battle weary. Unfortunately, Hitsugaya-taichou was in much the same condition. His sword arm was covered in blood gushing down from three deep cuts in his shoulder as his bankai slowly attempted to cover the wound. His body was covered in smaller cuts and bruises, but none of them were as serious as the ones on his shoulder. There was one lotus left floating behind him, four petals. But Matsumoto couldn’t even see the Espada’s weapon, which was a very, very bad sign. After all, she knew better than most what could happen when a zanpakutou disappeared after being released.
She frowned at the sight. Maybe it wasn’t a trap. It looked like they were actually fighting fair, unless this secluded terrain was something the Espada needed to gain an advantage with his weapon. It was completely barren, no plant life; it looked more like an abandoned quarry than anything else. It was the perfect place for an ambush.
Her eyes widened to the size of dinner plates as the feeling of dread crept over her entire body. Ambush. Immediately, her head shot up, scouring the rocks until she saw him. He was only a few meters behind the Espada, hidden in the shadow of a rock face. A glint of light. A crooked smile. An inaudible command.
And Shinsou shot outward in a gut-wrenching burst of déjà vu, skewering the Espada so as to reach her taichou dead on in his chest.
“Taichou!”
And he moved, using Hyourinmaru to screech against Shinsou’s edge and push himself out of harm’s way. She jumped down to meet him as the Espada turned on his attacker, obviously as surprised as they were.
“Yare, yare. I missed. Aw, don’ look at me like tha’, Stark-kun. S’not like I killed ya or anything,” drawled that far too familiar kansaiben as Ichimaru Gin stepped out of the shadows, a retracted Shinsou in hand.
Stark only turned away from him, scratching the back of his neck with his remaining hand. “You’re annoying. And loud. I just wanted to beat this punk so I could take a nap. I didn’t know he’d be as annoying as you.”
“Havin’ trouble, are ya? Want some help?”
“Not from you.”
“Suit yo’self,” Gin smiled widely.
Before he’d even finished the words, Hitsugaya had already charged forward, and Stark was completely enveloped in fatal pillars of ice.
“Haa. Nice work, Hitsugaya-kun,” the traitor complimented wryly. He hadn’t even flinched. “But the thing ‘bout bein’ frozen is that ya lose control o’ yo’ sword, ne?”
And that was when everything came crashing down. Literally. The Espada’s resurrección revealed itself to Matsumoto in the worst possible way as thousands of long, thin acupuncture needles shot downward from the sky, all aiming for the Espada and, by default, her taichou. Hitsugaya jumped back, his bankai dissipating after his last attack.
Both shinigami knew what was about to happen before it did. There was nothing either of them could do to change that. The moment Hitsugaya-taichou dove out of the way, Ichimaru let Shinsou fly exactly where he knew the boy would stop. Shinsou was already in motion; there was nothing they could do to change that. But maybe she could change something else.
Her taichou could take care of himself. But she could take care of him too.
Just before Shinsou hit its target, Matsumoto shunpo’d into its path. But instead of the stabbing she had expected, she watched as Gin’s smile faded into a grimace, and he jerked the hilt so that the elongated blade sliced open her stomach, cut at least half-way through her arm, and then hit something else. She couldn’t comprehend where the rest of the flying blood had come from until her legs gave way beneath her and she didn’t fall to the ground.
Standing beside her, holding her up as best as his small frame could manage, was her taichou. His entire face was covered in blood, and she noticed with a detached clarity that there was only one eye looking at her beneath all the red. His mouth was wide open; he must have been yelling, but Matsumoto couldn’t hear him. The last thing she remembered was closing her eyes and thinking that he was going to give her hell for this when she woke up.
It wasn’t until a month later, when she woke to a cold, dark, and empty room, that she realized how heavenly that would have been.
Fandom: Bleach
Main Character: Hitsugaya Toushirou/Shimizu Kouryuu
Rating: PG-13
Genre: General/Adventure/Suspense/Mystery
Warnings: Sporadic gore, language, author's inability to stay consistent with a single genre
Timeline: This story follows the manga's timeline. It takes place after the war with Aizen has begun.
Summary: Hitsugaya's disappearance left Seireitei with plenty of unanswered questions, but when a boy identical to the supposedly late taichou appears on Earth, to what lengths will everyone go to find out why? And when the answer does come, will it be too late?
~*~
“I feel I've come to realize
How fast life can be compromised
Step back to see what's going on
I can't believe this happened to you”
-Hell Song, Sum41
~*~
Chapter Seven
Salt on Open Wounds
~*~
It wasn’t until they were filing into the unassuming sweets shop that Kouryuu finally realized just how far into this nonsense he’d already fallen. Nyoko had told him about what had happened after he blacked out as they walked, about the black-haired girl healing him and how they insisted they were the “good guys.” That high school delinquent, Kurosaki something-or-other, seemed ready enough to back up her story, trying to convince him that they were here to help and that this Urahara person would know how to go about doing it.
But even so, all of this talk about dying, coming back to life, and magically healing people while battling living stuffed animals was nothing compared to stepping into Urahara Shoten and seeing the large, muscular man wearing a frilly apron at the counter.
“Just kill me now,” he groaned, ready to walk right back out the door.
“I thought that was what we wanted to avoid,” the raven haired girl retorted dryly.
But no one was listening to either of them. The apron-clad shop keeper had stepped out from behind the counter when he saw them enter, his big, black mustache twitching in a particularly disturbing way as his glasses glinted dangerously. With just a nod and a strangely dignified exit, he disappeared into the house beyond.
“Tell me that wasn’t this Urahara guy.”
“He wasn’t,” Kurosaki clarified with a derisive smirk. “Urahara’s worse.”
“Why am I here again?”
“Because I saved your ass from a giant monster.”
“Such eloquent vocabulary. You really are a delinquent, aren’t you?”
“Oh, shut up. Both of you,” Kuchiki huffed, reaching up to bonk Ichigo on the back of his head.
“Now, now. There’s no need for violence here,” chimed an overly-cheery voice, and Urahara Kisuke made his grand entrance into the shop. He eyed Kouryuu for a second before his grin took a decidedly sinister turn, and he swooped toward him like a hawk, winking obnoxiously in his face. “Oh, dear. Are you alright? Are these two idiots harassing you and your friend?”
A pale brow rose as Kouryuu leaned back and away from the prying man before he turned a wry smirk on Kurosaki’s very noticeable scowl. “Actually…”
Kurosaki ignored him in favor of Urahara himself. “Why am I not surprised that you’re not surprised?”
“Learning, are you?” the blond man cooed, standing straight once more. He readjusted the odd, green striped bucket hat atop his head, then pointed conspicuously at Kouryuu. “So tell me what nonsense was going through your head when you decided to bring him here, let alone the girl?”
“Why bother asking when you already know the answer?” Kuchiki replied without missing a beat, tapping her foot impatiently on the floor. She dealt with Urahara far too often to be put off by his antics any longer. “We found him; a hollow got to him. Not only that but you obviously know enough about him, seeing as you haven’t asked a single, relevant question. I’d be more surprised if you weren’t involved. Just tell us what’s going on already. This shouldn’t be possible.”
“Of course, of course. It’s nice to see you again too, Rukia,” the man grinned. “But I’m afraid I really have nothing to do with it this time. I’m not the one you should be asking.”
“Then who should we be asking?”
Kouryuu didn’t think it was possible, but Urahara Kisuke’s grin grew wider. He motioned for them to follow him into the house behind the shop, and they did. The insane salesman then proceeded to lean out of the doorway between the main room and the hallway, cupping his hand around his mouth as he hollered, “Oi, night owl! You’ve got visitors! Wake up!”
The man told them it might take a while and asked if they wanted anything to snack on before he left for the kitchen. Kouryuu took the opportunity to glance at Nyoko who was looking rightly nervous. He caught her attention by circling his pointer finger around his ear as he rolled his eyes. She managed a hesitant smile, and that was good enough for him. But when he turned back around, he was sure his heart skipped a beat.
Standing in the doorway, bed head and all, was the crazy woman he’d met on the street. Matsumoto Rangiku.
“Kiiiiisukeee…” she whined, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “How many times do I have to tell you? If it’s not Aizen himself, I don’t wanna see him. Tessai can handle the shop on-”
“Matsumoto-fukutaichou!”
The woman’s half-closed eyes bolted open as she stared wild and disbelieving at the assortment of visitors. Her sight darted from Kuchiki to Kurosaki to the girl and then…
“You…?”
“Tai-!” Her breath hitched in her throat, and she hastily pulled back. “I… I mean Kouryuu. It was Kouryuu-kun, right?”
Before Kouryuu could nod, his mind numb, Kuchiki Rukia had run up to the woman, grasping her arms as if to assure herself they were real. “Matsumoto-fukutaichou! You’re supposed to be dead! I-I mean, so was Hitsugaya-taichou, but this is different! You’re really here; it’s really you! What happened?! What’s going on?! We all thought… We really thought…”
Matsumoto didn’t look very comfortable with the smaller woman’s exclamations, but she took it in stride. “Oh, calm down, Rukia. It’s not that big a deal, is it? It’s only been half a year. Think of it like … an extended vacation. I really needed to work on my tan,” she tried to laugh it off but failed miserably.
Luckily for her, it was right about then that everyone remembered there were two people in the room who didn’t belong. “So you’re … one of them?” Kouryuu finally hazarded, his voice soft with indecision. “Because I thought we already had this conversation. You mistook me for someone else, but it was just that: a mistake. You said so yourself.”
“Aw, how cute,” Urahara reentered the room, displaying as little tact as usual. “He’s having an identity crisis. Look, kid. I’d love to tell you to believe in yourself and all that, but the fact is that you are nothing more than a figment of Ai-”
“Shut up!” Matsumoto hastily interrupted. “If he says he’s Kouryuu-kun, then that’s who he is! If all that means is that I’ll have to get to know Kouryuu-kun too, then I don’t see the problem!”
Kouryuu attempted to blink away his surprise, but he was no better at hiding his discomfort than Matsumoto. “You have to get to know me…?”
“Stumped? Here, catch.”
The boy’s eyes widened as he stepped back to catch whatever the blond salesman had thrown at him. It was long, heavy, and cold. It was a sword. And the moment it contacted his palms, Shimizu Kouryuu checked out.
~*~
“K-Kouryuu-kun! Kouryuu-kun!”
Nyoko frantically shook the boy’s shoulders, waving a hand in front of his unblinking face, but no matter how much she called he wouldn’t look away from the blade.
“Well, that’ll keep him occupied for awhile.”
Nyoko slowly turned around to stare at Urahara’s satisfied grin. “What did you do to him?” she demanded.
“Gave him back his other half,” the man chimed happily. “Or would that be a third now? He’s officially two-thirds the man he used to be.”
“Stop trying to sound philosophical,” Matsumoto growled. “You suck at it.”
“Yes, but now that he’s out, you can speak freely to our guests, ne? I’m sure Ichigo and Rukia would appreciate the behind-the-scenes replay of the story from someone who was there.”
“You were there too,” she pouted.
“Not for the entire time. And no one was attacking me. Have fun reliving your worst nightmares!”
“Cheeky bastard.”
“I love you too.”
“Burn in hell.”
“Too late for that,” Urahara Kisuke smirked, his hand already on the sliding door. “I’m off to cavort with beautiful, anthropomorphic women! Tata!”
And Matsumoto was left to glare at the now vacant doorway, seething at the man she currently ranked the third worst in the universe. (Even Tousen had the decency to be tactful every once in a while.) “…Why, out of everyone in the world, did it have to be that idiot?”
“Ah… Matsumoto-fukutaichou, if you don’t want to talk about it, then…”
The buxom shinigami snapped herself back to reality, her gaze landing on Rukia. She laughed, waving away the other woman’s words. “No, no, no. Don’t sweat it. It’s my fault. I thought I was prepared for anything, but I never even imagined that you guys would get caught up in all of this. Kisuke just likes to piss me off, is all. Something about being hot when I’m angry…”
Ichigo promptly blushed, and Matsumoto laughed again.
“I can tell you guys what I remember, but if I’m going to be honest, it isn’t a lot to go off of. If I knew any more about this craziness than you guys, I’d be doing something about it.”
“I’m pretty sure you at least know more than we do,” Ichigo huffed, his lips downturned into a full scowl as he plopped down on a chair. Rukia sat next to him, but Nyoko refused to leave Kouryuu’s side, still making half-hearted attempts to wake him. “All I know is that six months ago, I got back to base to find everybody in shock ‘cause you and Toushirou just up and disappeared in the middle of a war. ‘Presumed dead,’ they said. You don’t look very dead to me. And now I see Toushirou walking around in Karakura, only somehow it’s not him and everyone’s telling me it’s impossible.”
“Well, that’s because it is,” Matsumoto shrugged. “Even Kisuke can’t explain it, though he’s busting his ass trying to figure it out. He’s Hitsugaya-taichou; I know he is. But at the same time, he’s not. He’s a thirteen year old living boy. Reincarnation just doesn’t work that way; no soul can mature thirteen years in just six months.”
“But somehow Toushirou did it anyway?”
“Nope,” she replied without missing a beat. “I just told you it was impossible, didn’t I? Aren’t you listening?”
Before Ichigo could snark back, Rukia hastily intervened. “Then just tell us what you do know. From the beginning. Please. And we’ll help you figure out what’s happened to your taichou.”
The two women stared each other down for nearly two minutes before Matsumoto finally leaned back, hands finding their way unconsciously to her hips. “Alright,” she sighed. “From the beginning.”
~*~
He hadn’t answered her. She’d called out to him, but he hadn’t answered. She hadn’t planned on following; she really hadn’t. Her taichou was strong, despite what people saw when they looked at him. He could take care of himself.
But she could take care of him too.
And when she saw how that Espada was leading him away from his division, she knew that her taichou was heading right into a trap. She knew that he knew it too. That was why he hadn’t answered. She bit her lip as she sliced clean through another hollow and began tracking her taichou again.
He didn’t need to answer.
Finally, she caught up to them, immediately lowering her reiatsu until it was undetectable. She hadn’t gotten the hang of her bankai when Hitsugaya-taichou had been trying to help them in Karakura, but she’d certainly mastered suppressing her spiritual pressure. Then she had enjoyed many games of hide and seek; now she could use it to watch her taichou’s back.
He was in the middle of a fight with the Espada who had led him here. The Espada was missing an arm, thousands of scattered, bloody icicles detailing exactly what had happened to it. The other arm was unharmed and harbored three long, needle-like claws floating in the air above it. One of his legs was frozen to the ground, and he was looking appropriately battle weary. Unfortunately, Hitsugaya-taichou was in much the same condition. His sword arm was covered in blood gushing down from three deep cuts in his shoulder as his bankai slowly attempted to cover the wound. His body was covered in smaller cuts and bruises, but none of them were as serious as the ones on his shoulder. There was one lotus left floating behind him, four petals. But Matsumoto couldn’t even see the Espada’s weapon, which was a very, very bad sign. After all, she knew better than most what could happen when a zanpakutou disappeared after being released.
She frowned at the sight. Maybe it wasn’t a trap. It looked like they were actually fighting fair, unless this secluded terrain was something the Espada needed to gain an advantage with his weapon. It was completely barren, no plant life; it looked more like an abandoned quarry than anything else. It was the perfect place for an ambush.
Her eyes widened to the size of dinner plates as the feeling of dread crept over her entire body. Ambush. Immediately, her head shot up, scouring the rocks until she saw him. He was only a few meters behind the Espada, hidden in the shadow of a rock face. A glint of light. A crooked smile. An inaudible command.
And Shinsou shot outward in a gut-wrenching burst of déjà vu, skewering the Espada so as to reach her taichou dead on in his chest.
“Taichou!”
And he moved, using Hyourinmaru to screech against Shinsou’s edge and push himself out of harm’s way. She jumped down to meet him as the Espada turned on his attacker, obviously as surprised as they were.
“Yare, yare. I missed. Aw, don’ look at me like tha’, Stark-kun. S’not like I killed ya or anything,” drawled that far too familiar kansaiben as Ichimaru Gin stepped out of the shadows, a retracted Shinsou in hand.
Stark only turned away from him, scratching the back of his neck with his remaining hand. “You’re annoying. And loud. I just wanted to beat this punk so I could take a nap. I didn’t know he’d be as annoying as you.”
“Havin’ trouble, are ya? Want some help?”
“Not from you.”
“Suit yo’self,” Gin smiled widely.
Before he’d even finished the words, Hitsugaya had already charged forward, and Stark was completely enveloped in fatal pillars of ice.
“Haa. Nice work, Hitsugaya-kun,” the traitor complimented wryly. He hadn’t even flinched. “But the thing ‘bout bein’ frozen is that ya lose control o’ yo’ sword, ne?”
And that was when everything came crashing down. Literally. The Espada’s resurrección revealed itself to Matsumoto in the worst possible way as thousands of long, thin acupuncture needles shot downward from the sky, all aiming for the Espada and, by default, her taichou. Hitsugaya jumped back, his bankai dissipating after his last attack.
Both shinigami knew what was about to happen before it did. There was nothing either of them could do to change that. The moment Hitsugaya-taichou dove out of the way, Ichimaru let Shinsou fly exactly where he knew the boy would stop. Shinsou was already in motion; there was nothing they could do to change that. But maybe she could change something else.
Her taichou could take care of himself. But she could take care of him too.
Just before Shinsou hit its target, Matsumoto shunpo’d into its path. But instead of the stabbing she had expected, she watched as Gin’s smile faded into a grimace, and he jerked the hilt so that the elongated blade sliced open her stomach, cut at least half-way through her arm, and then hit something else. She couldn’t comprehend where the rest of the flying blood had come from until her legs gave way beneath her and she didn’t fall to the ground.
Standing beside her, holding her up as best as his small frame could manage, was her taichou. His entire face was covered in blood, and she noticed with a detached clarity that there was only one eye looking at her beneath all the red. His mouth was wide open; he must have been yelling, but Matsumoto couldn’t hear him. The last thing she remembered was closing her eyes and thinking that he was going to give her hell for this when she woke up.
It wasn’t until a month later, when she woke to a cold, dark, and empty room, that she realized how heavenly that would have been.