Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Loud, cold, wet. Bright.

Too much.

Hot breaths were panted into the fabric covering his knees. Bare toes curled into wet not-quite-softness. The fabric at his back was unfamiliarly coarse. He couldn’t remember how he’d gotten here.

Something damp and plush thudded against his calf.

Fur; not fabric.

He jolted, skittering back, and had to bite off a cry at the unexpected pain the motion brought.

The heavy-dense-softness had stayed pressed against his legs; distracting him from the harsh, tugged ache at his lower back that he wasn’t able to process. Looking past the dull grey fabric covering his knees - he didn’t have any clothes that colour, just what? - he could see a fox’s brush awkwardly twisted under his pale leg, the damp and twisted fur the same silver shade as his hair. It twitched and Gin felt the motion in his spine. Nausea gripped him.

Hunched on his hands and knees, dry-retching in tandem with every flicker of motion from the tail hanging behind his legs and lashing agitatedly at the ground, unable to open his eyes against the brightness, the flutter of somethings shifting his hair, sounds suddenly muffled a fraction, and shivering from the cold and soaked-through unfamiliar yukata, with no memory of how he’d gotten here; it felt like hours had passed before Gin found a semblance of his composure. It was still too bright and cold, the sounds of wind and birds and people in the far-off distance were still far too loud. He aches all over, but his chest felt like someone had taken a sword and carved it open --

-- Oh.

Gin was glad he hadn’t tried to stand yet.

His chest burned in agony with the hot flash of memory. There’d been a sword cutting through him, blood gushing out as he’d dropped like a stone. His hand couldn’t find the wound though. It was hard to know if that was better or worse.

A wound like that should have killed him. Had to have.

He was dead.

He was dead, and somehow waking up with a tail in a grassy ditch was the afterlife.

Gin tries to stand, but his balance is off and he crumples before he gets even halfway, landing on the damned tail and suffering a brutal spike of pain, laughing even as the world span in a too-bright haze. He immediately regrets it as his everything rebels and he’s forced to dry-heave again. So afterwards he just sits, eyes shut and breaths deep; fingers twisting and pulling up strands of grass, wondering when was the last time he’d had the chance to just sit in the grass and studiously ignoring the waves of dysphoria every twitch of the tail or the unsettling somethings on his head inspired. The destructive motions helped a little.

I died. The thought still drags a streak of phantom pain across his torso. He takes another few breaths.

Does i’ really matter? Easier, somehow. He hadn’t particularly liked what he’d been doing with his life before. Hated it, in fact. His chest might hurt, but there’s no longer a yoke made of desperation slung about his shoulders with the weight of a future he never wanted. Realising that causes a welcome paradigm shift. It doesn’t even matter that he’s not sure if he lived past his eleventh birthday or not.

The silver tail swishes, and Gin is reminded of beautiful sculptures of foxes decorating shrines in Kyoto. Inari Ōkami. People had quipped that he looked like one of their pale foxes before with his narrow face and silken silver hair, but this all seems a little too comical.

There’s no pain accompanying his laughter this time.

Chapter Text

Waking up with animal ears and tails was apparently not the norm, or even common, in the afterlife Gin had realised. Or if it was, it wasn’t advertised.

Gin had carefully avoided interaction until he learned to conceal his strangeness; unsure of where the knowledge to cast illusions over his new features came from, but it was just one more thing to add to the list of ‘strange things happening to him’ and he was grateful for it.

He had also cut his hair with a flat stone he’d patiently sharpened, shearing off more than a foot of the gossamer soft length so that there was less to grab, because he’d seen that darker hungers were alive and well amongst even the lowest souls here just as they had been in his previous life. It'd been freeing, another step further away from his past, and short hair was so much easier to manage.

There had been an added bonus in the unexpected hilarity of watching wild birds fight each other for rights to the cast off strands as nesting material.

The afterlife was surprising in its similarities and differences. It didn’t seem like it was much improved, Gin’s personal circumstances aside; This far out in Rukongai, everyone was poor and cold and worried. People were much the same - the soft hearts sacrificing what little they had for orphans they claimed as family, the self-centred ones joining gangs and seizing everything they could. Food was considered even more of a luxury here than in the realm of the living; ordinary souls didn’t seem to possess hunger but greed still existed. Hunger was an unwelcome sign, apparently inviting danger.

Gin had felt resentful of the hunger that clawed at his own insides for a time.

The first really notable difference between Rukongai and Kyoto was the lack of prideful and petty lordlings from long lines of affluent families throwing money around and making demands. Though Gin learned that there were Noble Families, Pure Souls born in this world that lived cocooned in the brilliant white city of Seireitei, protected by impenetrable walls and black-clad guardians. The Nobles would apparently never be seen sixty-four districts out in Rukongai, so their existence and that of Seireitei was really only a little more substantial than a rumour.

There were no Samurai here either, though people whispered of Shinigami in a fearful reverence the Samurai Gin remembered could have only dreamed of, or raged about them with a bitter anger at both their existence and absence. Shinigami were at least witnessed by some of those living in the district, having ushered their souls into the next life. They were the black-clad protectors of the Seireitei, and supposedly Rukongai as well, though they were hardly ever seen seen out here. Warriors, apparently, with living swords that changed forms when their names were called. It would be more fantastical had Gin not woken up as a Kitsune, so he wasn’t sure where the line for ‘myth’ stopped at anymore.

What concerned him more than the absent presence of the Shinigami was the pervasive fear of the the things that they hunted; the things that hunted souls.

The residents of Rukongai were suspicious and hostile to anything unusual, frightened of the possibility of it being a Hollow; a masked monster that would consume your heart and make you into one of them, forcing you to desperately consume the hearts of others and continue the cycle of pain. Hollows were described as being bestial with strange powers, and ones seen multiple times were given epithets.

They were also said to be drawn to those with spiritual power, those souls that needed food to nourish their strength. It was the reason that some souls were driven out and left to starve.

Even the Shinigami with their magic were regarded as somehow cursed, not that that would stop the powerless souls from cowering behind them in the face of a threat. If Gin’s hunger was enough to see him shunned if discovered, he suspected the existence of his Kitsune features would see him killed, again, if he wasn’t careful. There were already rumours of a beast-that-walked-like-a-man in the area he’d woken in, and his arrival into town had been met with underlying apprehension.

He didn’t stay in the town.

Hiding the traces of his true nature had easily become second nature to Gin, but people in Rukongai had long memories and he was still a cynical vagrant boy with strange hair and a narrow, vulpine face. Maybe he wasn’t perfectly hidden, but it didn’t really matter when he was surrounded by only dull souls.

Life here was hard, and monotonous. Gin was no craftsman and the hovel he had built for himself in the woods was shoddy and unwieldy to maintain. It was barely a home, and it didn’t offer much protection, but he felt safer there than he did under the scrutiny of the residents of the town; staying dry and somewhat warm was more of a drain on him than seemed reasonable. He avoided people as much as possible but as time passed and his presence hadn’t heralded imminent doom, the suspicion of him gradually, fractionally lessened. After that some people started taking interest in him for more familiar reasons.

Gin traded for what he needed. He avoided starvation, barely.

It’s a long time of just surviving, of a hollow existence - isn’ that a dangerous sentiment? - that left him somehow constantly restless. He doesn’t sleep much, restlessness pushing him to walk, and walk, and walk, when he’s not gathering food and supplies. It’s frustrating, and the longer it goes on the more miserable he feels. He can't help but feel the weight of months building. The growing despondency.

Until one day something new brushes his senses. It’s weak, fragile, but potent enough that he’s not capable of walking anywhere but towards it.

At the end of that impossible draw he finds a girl no older than himself lying by the roadside, blank gaze to match the sky and her face framed by chin-length red-gold hair. The people using the road deliberately ignore her, carefully averting their eyes so they don’t have to see. It makes something hot and dark and edged rise up in Gin, but he doesn’t know why. She looks impossibly beautiful and sad, but that’s nothing strange this far out in Rukongai. Still… there’s something else too. That delicate sensation like smoke curling on his perception, both perfect and nowhere near enough.

There’s a sound, graceless and growling, and it’s coming from her thin frame.

And he finally realises - she’s hungry. Hungry in the way only the powerful, the worthy, in this world of souls can be.

Kitsune aren’t made to be alone, and Zenko were the partners of Samurai in the stories Gin remembers. Something about that feels right to him. He’d been persisting without a purpose, and it’s left him strung-out and snapping; but just seeing this sad-eyed girl has him feeling more alive than he has since the day he woke up with a tail. She doesn’t seem like much with her wasting frame and vacant expression, but the air still tastes like promise with her fragile spiritual power.

Gin thinks that maybe he’s finally found his True North.

It’s actually a little scary how much he wants this to work out. He’s never been an optimist in his life.

Nothin’ for it.

He’s carrying an armful of dried persimmons in his yukata sleeve already, worst case he leaves her something to eat and goes on his way. This isn’t difficult.

Her eyes never leave the sky even as he approaches. Gin isn’t sure if she can’t hear him coming, or if she just can’t bring herself to respond to anything around her anymore. He doesn’t walk this way very often and it’s not impossible that she’s been lying here for literal days. The other souls seemed to be aware that she was here, given their calculated disregard. Won’ do any good to lose y’ temper, Gin.

“Eat up.” he orders, holding the fruit right in her face. The Girl blinks a little, but is otherwise unresponsive. Gin keeps his hand where it is. “The fact you collapsed t’ hunger means you have it too, right?” He has her attention now, “Spiritual power.”

“You...too?” Her voice is a soft, destroyed rasp. Gin doesn’t let his smile change or move his arm.

“Yeah. Me too.” He tells her, inexplicably relieved. “Ichimaru Gin. Nice t’ meet y’”

She still hasn’t moved to sit up or take the fruit from his hand, seeming lost in thought. “Gin…” She says wonderingly, “...that’s a weird name.”

Gin snorts, a real smile showing through his ‘polite’ face. “Y’ pretty blunt, aren’ y’? C’mon now, eat.”

She finally reaches for the persimmon in his hand, tiredly pushing herself up. Gin sits down next to her, the small bounty he’d been carrying cradled in his lap. The Girl munches through the persimmon quietly, and before she can say anything Gin silently offers her another, pressing it into her empty palm when she hesitates. She finishes that too in silence, and gives him a wry expression as she accepts the third. “I’m Matsumoto Rangiku.” she tells him with a blooming confidence in that dry rasp, and Gin wishes he had water to offer her too.

“Rangiku’s a bit of a mouthful…” Gin muses, a devious and honest grin lighting his face as he watches her face scrunch up, “I’m jus’ gonna call y’ Ran-chan, okay?”

“What’s with calling me -chan!?” Rangiku grumps, “You don’t look any older than me.”

“Yeah, bu’ I’m clearly the responsible one.” Gin informs her smugly as he pushes another dried persimmon on her, taking one for himself when she squints at him. He likes the little satisfied smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“You make it sound like we’re going to be staying together.” Rangiku says with a note of accusation in her voice. Gin thinks he can hear a cautious hope in that tone as well.

“We could.” Gin offers, “Nothin’ stoppin’ us.”

It’s too casual. He knows it the moment her expression hardens.

“Why?” She asks, voice flat. Rangiku’s turned to face him, pale blue-grey eyes intent on his own slitted ones. “Why would you offer that? Why even give me this much?”

Gin can’t answer for a moment, taking a final bite of his persimmon to stall for time. Unsure of how to convince Rangiku that he wants her stick around maybe more than she does, and how to say it genuinely without revealing everything he’s realised in the last half hour. Rangiku seems to understand that he needs the time to figure out how to phrase what he wants to say, and only scoffs a little when he hands her another piece of fruit. They sit in mostly comfortable silence for a bit.

“The people here…” Gin begins haltingly, watching Rangiku’s whole body sway as she focuses on him, “They’re not… not kind t’ people like us who feel hunger. They’re afraid of i’, an’ they let harden ‘em so they can jus’ ignore us an’ leave us t’ starve if we don’ have somethin’ they want.” His smile feels a little frozen, but Rangiku is still listening and trying to lock gazes with him. “I’m tired ‘a bein’ lonely.” he surrenders, a little shocked at his own honesty. It seems to be just what Rangiku wanted to hear though, as a sympathetic smile curls on her pretty face and her eyes take on a distinctive shine.

“I don’t like being lonely either.” She tells him, and then admits in quieter voice, “It’s been hell.”

Don’ lose y’ temper, Gin.

“So le’s not be.”

She laughs, the sound a little watery. “Just like that?”

“Yeah.” Gin answers, getting up and holding a hand out to help her up, “le’s go, Ran-chan.”

Rangiku grasps his hand and tugs him to the ground, rolling out of the way just in time. “Stop calling me -chan!” She orders him, ignoring how they’re both laughing. Her hand slips over the back of his as he stands again, warmer fingers curling about his wrist and tugging him to get moving. “Where are we even gonna go?” Her voice is still raspy, but it’s bright and warm.

“I have a… something. A hut?” Gin stalls. It’s a work in need of a lot of progress, but it’s got walls that stand up most days and something of a roof. “A hut if y’ feelin’ generous,” he decides, “in the woods t’ the west ‘a town.”

“Sounds promising.” Rangiku sasses, smiling but with a notably sarcastic brow raised.

“Y’ got anywhere else t’ suggest?” Gin returns. Small fingers interlock with his own, swinging joined hands a little.

“No. Let’s go see this ‘something hut’, Gin.”

Scant days after she’d taken his hand, Gin decides to take the chance to show Rangiku what he really is. There’s rumours still going about town of course, bandied about by the bored and nervous; hilariously inaccurate ones because none of those dull souls could understand. Rumours of malice that make their district neighbours wary of him. She’d probably heard some of them in passing when they went into town to trade firewood for rice but Rangiku’s clearly the type to make her own mind up about everything so he’s not worried.

Rangiku has been glowing with curiosity ever since he told her he had something to show her later that evening. She looks like a little fox herself with her red-tinted hair and inquisitive expressions. The thought makes Gin smile every time he catches her watching him for clues; he might have told her that much early just to be mean.

It’s hard to feel guilty when she’s being this cute though.

Their daily routine of chores has become a silly game of ‘fourteen million questions’ as Ran tries to work out what he could have hidden. It’s a fun game for Gin, because there really is nowhere in the hut to hide anything and he’s barely been out of her sight since they met, so Rangiku’s getting desperate as she tries to think of what it could be.

“You don’t have a gang tattoo, do you?” She asks in a firm voice, and then cuts him off before he can even speak, “because if you’re part of a gang I feel like you should have told me at the start of our acquaintance.”

Friendship is nothing like Gin could have expected, it’s so much stranger and better. He likes that Rangiku already feels so at home with him here, even as they try to reattach a corner of the roof to their ‘something hut’. He can’t help but put on his smuggest, most secretive smile as he answers, “Why Ran-chan, how early are we talkin’? I only jus’ met you six days ago, I couldn’t put the gang at risk ‘til I knew you at leas’ this well.”

Rangiku turns to him with fury in her eyes until she catches onto his expression. His grin cracks into sniggers as she thumps his shoulder hard. “You’re so mean, Gin.” she hisses.

“Says the girl givin’ me a dead arm.” He replies. She sticks her tongue out at him in clever retort. It sets him off laughing again. His shaking is too much for the wall he’s working against and some of the boards fall down.

They both hiss at the extra work this gives them.

By the time they get the ‘something hut’ to rights again, it’s too late in the day to go foraging; or at least that’s the excuse they give themselves as the sun starts to sink and the two of them are vaguely sore all over. They still have rice and enough water to manage a small pot of it for dinner, so he and Ran both silently agree to turn in early. With the lack of demanding tasks to distract her, Rangiku goes back to vibrating with curiosity; the tiny hut alive with the buzzing of her reiatsu. Gin fends her off a for a few minutes more by fussing with dinner just to feel it a little longer.

“Gi~n!” she wheedles, blue-grey eyes wide and pleading, “Tell me already.”

“Y’ sure? I could always show y’ tomorrow.” He teases. For that, Rangiku gives him the flattest stare yet envisioned.

“Tell me.”

Gin shifts to make himself comfortable on the floor. “A’right Ran-chan, no more teasin’” He begins, only to be cut off by her.

“Don’t call me -chan.”

Gin waves her off, that’s not changing anytime soon. Rather than argue about though, he elects to distract. “Y’ heard any of the rumours ‘bout me in town?” he asks her.

That particular question doesn’t seem to surprise Rangiku, but she takes a moment to think of how she wants to respond, sitting back on her hands and looking to the ceiling as she thinks on them. “I heard a few, sure.” She tells him drily, before confiding, “They were pretty outlandish.”

“Mhmm. Did y’ hear the one ‘bout the man-beast prowlin’ aroun’ the same place I came from ‘fore I showed up?” Gin asks her, mirroring her wry expression. The fact that they’re sort of right and way off the mark with this rumour still amuses him. Well, for as long as nobody acts on it, at least.

“I heard you were the beast. Or a servant of it.” Rangiku tells him, prodding his side with her foot, “Warn me if you need to eat people, yeah?”

Her casual trust warms his sarcastic soul. “Yeah.” he responds, wearing his best ominous grin, adding, “I don’ think you’ll need the warnin’ though.”

She kicks him lightly, “Just what are you ‘yeah’-ing? Am I some sort of virgin sacrifice to your dark lord?” There’s a seconds pause as Rangiku gives him an assessing look. “I think I could take you and make an escape if I am.” She pronounces.

Gin’s grin turns feral. “An’ what if I’m the beast?” He asks her.

Rangiku sits forwards, taking the moment to rake her gaze from his head to toes, clearly none to impressed. “Then you need to learn to make a better human disguise.” Gin cackles.

It takes him a few minutes to catch his breath before Gin concedes, “Yeah, I probably do.”

Ran’s sitting upright, very clearly amused but working on looking prim. “Well, let’s see it beast-boy.” She orders. Gin can’t understand how anyone could have left this wonder of a girl dying by the roadside. He just nods his head and goes to do as bid.

When he lifts his illusion, there’s no pretending to be anything else to keep the game going. It turns out that there was no way of mistaking him to his own surprise.

He has a second tail.

It’s not the silver of his first tail that matches his hair and ears. No his second tail is a brilliant white with the guard hairs tipped with the same cinnamon shade as Rangiku’s hair, gilding the edges gold in the evening sunlight filtering through the patchwork walls of their hovel.

His jaw actually falls open at the sight of it.

“Kitsune…” Rangiku’s voice is a quiet, wondering thing that pulls him back into reality. Her eyes are soft and awed, but as he turns to look at her she must have caught the shock on his face as they brighten with interest, gaze automatically jumping to his tails. It doesn’t take Rangiku long at all to understand, and mischief lights her features and she points to the mismatched addition. “Is that because of me?” She asks innocently, with an evil grin.

Gin can’t stop the blush forming in time.

“It is!” she crows, “Look at you, you big softy.”

Gin can only hide his face in his hands. “Go ‘way, y’ witch.” he groans.

“Can I pet your tails?” She asks delightedly, leaning forwards and ignoring his complaints, “Can I rub your ears?”

“No!”

“Awww, c’mon!” she complains, grabby hands already tangling in fur, “Don’t be stingy!”

Gin never knew that he could feel this happy.

Chapter Text

It takes several years, two decades really, but eventually the ‘something hut’ became more hut and less something. It never loses the nickname, however.

Gin’s proud of it; their little home with the cooking pit relegated to a safe distance outside, and the collection of rocks Rangiku had arranged and carved a very rough approximation of a face onto, resembling a squat, hideous lump of a cat that she insists is ‘charming’ by the door.

Gin likes to bicker with her about that, pretend to be affronted that she hadn’t made a fox instead.

It had backfired spectacularly for him when Ran started pestering him to work on fully transforming into a fox like in the stories she’d heard.

Figuring out it was both possible, and how to, hadn’t even been difficult. Gin could move about fluidly on four paws inside a week of trying. He almost resented how easy it had been since Rangiku had felt immediately justified in nagging him into shifting all the damn time so she had something cute and fluffy to cuddle. And when he didn’t, the little witch would just change tack and beg instead that drop his illusions so she cuddle with his tails anyway, utterly mussing and pushing the fur the wrong way on purpose because she was just that awful a person.

In return, Gin would badger her into training her burgeoning spiritual powers with him; creating slowly expanding balls of pure light, their very own stars in the palm of their hands.

It was more childish than he was used to feeling feeling, but Gin loved how they glowed in the night.

And how their reiatsu would fill the clearing.

Ran’s energy was a comforting warmth that could turn turbulent in a heartbeat; she accidentally figured out how to set fire to things when she lost her patience and managed to target the fire pit one evening. The rice that night was… crunchy. Gin was just glad he’d vetoed any notion of having a fire pit indoors.

Scraping a living is challenging, but Gin’s content to bear it. Ran-chan’s happy, and that has everything to do with it. Compared to the time before Ran took his hand and his shoddy shelter became a home, they’re both thriving. They can afford eat more days than not. They have actual futon now as well, that they lay out side by side because both of them like the closeness of having the other in arms reach, rather than sleeping in a nest of old rags.

Living with Ran hasn’t been new to Gin for a long, long time, but despite the routine nature of their lives it never loses its novelty. She’s vibrant in a way nothing and no one else is, and Gin’s so ridiculously fond of her even when she’s swindling him to get out of the worst chores. Or being a demanding brat.

They still avoid the other residents of the district for the most part, only going into town to trade. Both of them stronger than their lean frames would suggest, and firewood made for reliable trades in town with so many elderly souls, as well as any other fortunate foraging. Neither of them ever forget that they’re only welcome when they have something to trade, nor do they trust the watchful stares.

Gin takes as many of those trips alone as he can reasonably manage, trading more than he knows Rangiku would approve of - things he doesn’t ever want her to think of- and hiding what extra resources he can in a burrow deep in the ground to carefully dole out on lean days. It’s as good a protection as he can manage for their secret reserves, given no human could easily access it. It also keeps it out of Rangiku’s suspicion as well.

She always complains about the trips when he slips off before she’s properly awake, and how long they take. Gin just shoulders the guilt for that, he knows she hates feeling lonely but he can’t bear the thought of her doing this as well. She’d call it sexist, and it might be, but it’s really just because she’s Ran-chan and Gin would do anything to keep her safe and happy.

Gin’s trudging back home from one such venture, tired and sore and frustrated at the tight-fisted townspeople who’d been ruder that usual, only to forget about it all in light of the distressing sight that greets him.

The ‘something hut’ is wrecked, one of the walls knocked in and the roof listing sadly. There’s a scattering of their belongings in the clearing, the cooking pot on it’s side in the smouldering embers with half-cooked burnt rice spilling out. There’s no sign of Rangiku nearby, but he can see debris left by what looks like several pairs of clumsy feet all going in the same direction.

Gin’s blood runs cold.

Following the trail of careless destruction, panic carving its way deeper with every step as he realises the excessive damage to the trees and how wide the swathe of havoc is.

It had to be caused by people with significant spiritual power, but he can't figure out what Shinigami would be doing here when there’s been no hollow sightings for months.

He still hasn’t found Rangiku either; or even seen anyone else.

This direction, there’s only the Izakaya on the major road leading out to the Sixty-Third District. It was usually bustling, and more tolerant than the town towards people with reiatsu since it made a good chunk of it’s business from Shinigami when they came this far out, and from people traveling to the Seireitei from the outer districts to become Shinigami. The matron there is fond of Rangiku, has offered her a safe place to stay if she ever needs it and likes to whisper tart advice in Ran’s ear about the trouble of men and how Ran should best wrangle Gin as she gives him smug smirks over the sound of giggles.

If she made it there, then Rangiku should be safe. Gin tries to hold onto that thought.

The unnatural silence even as he’s getting close to the road smothers that hope.

The familiar silhouette of the Izakaya is utterly gone. Reduced to a flattened ruin and wooden shards. Gin’s heartbeat is a thundering tattoo in his ears. He reaches out his reiatsu sense desperately, casting it out as far as he can in search of the familiar ripple of Rangiku’s presence.

It’s there, but strangled by the presence of foreign signatures and far weaker than it’s ever felt; more feeble even than when they met and she was nearly starved. Slight and obstructed enough that he can’t immediately pinpoint her and can only run in the vague direction of source, towards where the back door of the building used to stand.

His heart stops at what he finds.

Rangiku is lying there in torn up clothing, legs totally exposed. There’s bruises and filth on her skin, dried tears on her face. Gin remembers a sword wound to the chest, and it didn’t hurt even a fraction as much as seeing this does. He would have given anything to stop this.

She doesn’t wake when he says her name, nor when he gently shakes her shoulder. In this moment, Gin thinks he’s grateful for that. He covers her as best he can before picking her up into his arms. It hurts; she’s not heavy but they’re a similar weight and his arms are already sore from lugging firewood into town that morning. Ran’s too out of it to even react, doesn’t snuffle into his neck or ease his burden by wrapping her arms around her neck, just lies painfully pliable in his grip. He hopes she’ll stay asleep a while longer as he makes the slow trek back home.

He’s maybe a little over halfway back, the sun already sinking low in the sky, when Rangiku startles awake, jerking stiff in his hold with her legs kicking at him; wrenching his arms brutally, and it takes everything Gin has not to drop her. The cry of pain he lets out seems to rouse her into realising who’s holding her, slim arms swinging up in a vice grip around his shoulders and Rangiku’s face burrowing into his neck. Gin can feel her hitching sobs and the sudden flood of tears soaking into his collar. Her whole body shaking like she might come apart if he lets her go.

Blunt teeth latch into his shoulder like Rangiku just can’t contain all of her pain by herself. Gin can only pull her closer into his chest, his own face hidden by her hair. The pressure from her teeth doesn’t let up, sinks regrettably deeper as Ran’s breaths become more frantic, and Gin’s pretty sure she’s muffling a scream in it. His own eyes are stinging with tears he won’t allow to fall. Heart pounding with sympathetic rage for her. Breath caught on the choking sense of guilt. “’M sorry Ran.” Gin murmurs into her hair, “‘M sorry I wasn’ there.”

The clench of teeth in his shoulder turns sharp and vicious.

It barely registers as pain compared to how his chest constricts in shame, punching the air out of his lungs in a ragged gasp.

Gin doesn’t even notice the pressure on his shoulder releasing, not until he’s meeting a furious pair of blue eyes. “What could you have even done?” Rangiku bites out, voice unsteady and angry.

“Anythin’, Ran. I would ‘a done anythin’.” He whispers back desperately. It’s the truth, but it only makes her eyes narrow in anger. Her tear-stained cheeks redden further and that sweet face sets in bitter scowl he’s never seen before.

“So I’d have to watch you get hurt too? That’s not any better Gin!” Rangiku rages hoarsely, would be shouting, he thinks, if her breath wasn’t still catching on sobs. She narrowly avoids headbutting him as she ducks her face into his shoulder, closed mouth pressed into the same wounded spot, and Gin can feel the furious scream she muffles vibrating on his aching skin.

Remorse is a cold weight in the pit of his stomach as Rangiku only cries harder.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there holding her to his chest and whispering nonsense apologies as she cries. Long enough that his arms feel ready to fall off, before Rangiku solidly thumps a fist down onto his uninjured shoulder with a hiss of “Stop apologising.” when she has enough control to speak again. She’s quiet for a moment longer, before she squirms a little. “Put me down, Gin. I can walk.”

He’s doubtful, but does as she asks, immediately catching her when her legs won’t take her weight and choosing not to draw attention to the pained whimper Rangiku let out. “How ‘bout a piggy-back instead?” Gin offers quietly, knowing she’d caught on that carrying her had been hurting him.

At her tiny nod he helps steady her before crouching down. Rangiku lets out another hurt whimper as she climbs into place and doesn’t seem able to wrap her legs around his waist as tightly as normal, her arms locked in an uncomfortable chokehold instead; Gin doesn’t comment on any of it, just holds her up as gently as he can manage before hauling himself up and walking on. Her breathing is erratic, and Gin knows that Ran’s biting her lip to keep quiet as she’s jostled on the uneven terrain.

Neither of them say anything for a long time. The near silence is foreign and anxious between them. It’s hauntingly unnatural. Gin hates seeing Ran so hurt and subdued, worries if her thoughts are twisting in the same dark spirals his own take. He’s not good at being comforting, doesn’t have Ran’s natural warmth, but for her he’ll try.

“Hey, Ran.” he say softly, drawing her into reality with him. He’s glad to hear her quiet hum of attention. “When we get home I’ll get y’ some warm water, let y’ have a proper bath ‘fore y’ turn in.” Gin hopes it’s enough, he never just offers to fetch water for their repurposed barrel bathtub except on her birthday. Rangiku loves baths though, could soak for days if the water would stay warm, so he hopes one will help even a little. Hopes that warm water can soothe her pains even a fraction.

Her grip around his neck shifts and she slumps a little more into him. “Tired, Gin.” she sighs into his neck.

“Are y’ really gonna turn down me willingly offerin’ t’ fetch y’ bath water?” Gin asks, aiming for persuasive but really just hoping he succeeds in keeping his apprehension out of his voice. They’re almost home now, their glade just visible through the gaps in the trees.

Rangiku nuzzles a cheek into his hair, arms tightening. “Mhmm… that would be a waste.” she concedes in a tired voice, but sounding more like herself, “Just don’t take too long.”

“I won’ Ran-chan.” Gin promises, heart lifting at the familiar huff he receives, and finally stepping into their home clearing. He resolutely ignores the broken wall of their hut and the mess of their possessions, they’re problems he can deal with later. “Will y’ be a’right t’ mind the fire?”

“I won’t fall asleep. You’ve promised me a hot bath now, you’re not getting out of it that easily.” Rangiku tells him in no uncertain terms, almost sounding like her usual self as she slides off his back and curls into a comfortable sitting position with only minimal help from Gin. She catches his wrist and gives a squeeze, slow to let go.

“Mhmm, I did.” He agrees softly, meeting her eyes properly. Like always, she’s riveted by the colour of his eyes in a way he’ll never understand; and whatever she sees in them brings a fragile, tentative smile to her face as her fingers slide away. Gin works to offer one his own, charmed and heartbroken. “I’ll get righ’ on tha’.” he says as he reluctantly pulls away.

The fire’s long since burnt out, ashes and burnt rice lying thick on the ground; Gin just sweeps it aside and lifts the cooking pot out of the way, making room to set up new logs and kindling. A hot burst of reiatsu catches the tinder alight immediately, easily tended into a proper flame. Both Gin and Ran sigh at the heat, only now realising how chill the evening air is. Once the flame is stable, Gin tips the remains out of the pot into the waste pile before setting it aside. The pot stand is easily righted, no more of a wobble than before. He looks back to Rangiku, sitting hunched and small and shivering as she stares into nothing. His heart aches.

“Wan’ me t’ grab y’ a blanket?” Gin asks. Rangiku doesn’t respond, clearly not hearing him past wherever her thoughts have drifted. “Ran?” he tries with no response, then a little louder, “Ran-chan?” She starts a little at that, gaze finally in the present as she turns to look at him questioningly. He attempts an easy smile. “Are y’ still cold?”

She nods, hunching in on herself further and shuffling a little closer to fire. “Blanket?” she pleads.

“‘A course.” Gin agrees, getting to his feet. He steps around the fire, passing close to Ran and stretching a hand out as though to ruffle her hair, the movement hesitant and telegraphed and never actually connecting. Ran scoffs a little and rolls her eyes and leans into the touch, but her expression is soft and appreciative. The moment hangs for a little before breaking as a shiver rocks through Rangiku. Gin pulls back gently, offering a fleeting smile and slipping away to get her a blanket.

The hut looks worse than it is at an initial glance. The missing wall is pretty bad, but the structure is still holding and the inside doesn’t look like it’s been touched. Gin quickly grabs his blanket, tossing it over one shoulder, and the cloth wrap containing their soap from the ground; the bar inside is cracked and crumbling at the edges from falling to the ground. Resting just to the side of the hut is the bucket and their bathtub which he collects as well; grateful that he can just roll the half-barrel out instead of carrying it.

Rangiku has curled a little closer to the fire in the meantime, legs folded into her chest and hands reaching forwards with splayed fingers to soak in the heat. Her head whips around a little too quickly at the noise of the rolling barrel-bath, fear briefly flitting over her face before she registers what the sound was.

The sheepish expression that takes over after only adds to the sorrow and anger Gin is burying deep in his chest.

When Rangiku catches sight of the blanket on his shoulder a thoughtful frown takes over her features. “Why your blanket?”

Gin rights the tub, setting the bucket and soap down next to it, and shrugs. “Didn’ want t’ get yours dirty.” he offers as explanation.

That same soft, warm appreciation blooms on her face again, and it’s worth everything to him. Rangiku lets out a contented sigh as he gives her the blanket, helping her drape it over her shoulders and tucking it deftly around her. Gin gives her a sympathetic smile as he grabs the cooking pot to fill at the river. “Won’ be long Ran-chan.” He tells her gently.

The contentment leaves her gaze, but she puts on a brave face and doesn’t complain as he goes to leave.

The river is close by, and Gin has every intention of keeping his word.

The trip is swift and uneventful, the forest quiet but for the usual animal noises. Gin doesn’t think there’s anyone lying in wait here, but he can’t help but hurry with the jittery panic lurking under his skin. The pot is given a quick scrape out and rinsed in river’s flow before he lets it fill up.

He loses some water in his rush back, but not enough that he regrets it. Their clearing is bright, beautiful in the dimming evening in a way that makes it feel endangered.

It doesn’t help Gin’s rampant anxiety at leaving Ran there alone.

She’s still waiting by the fire, facing the river route with a branch from the firewood pile in hand, posture taught but expression miles away. Rangiku’s eyes blink back to the present as Gin steps into the clearing, and she gives him a wobbly smile.“I’m okay, Gin.” She says, voice admirably level.

They both know that she isn’t, that she’s saying it for his sake but probably for her own as well. As if she’ll believe it if she repeats it enough.

Gin doesn’t have any reply to that, nothing that can help anyway, so he just nods and swallows past the lump in his throat.

The fire’s still strong and there’s plenty of wood left to burn, so Gin just has to heft the heavy pot onto the hook, making sure not to jostle the stand. That done, he crouches down in front of Ran, meeting her watery blue-grey gaze. “I’ll need t’ make a few more trips, Ran. ‘S it still okay?” He asks her, gently as he can.

Her face creases, something sad and maybe even angry crossing it before she schools her expression into a fracturing smile. “I already said you’re not getting out of preparing me a bath so easily.” Rangiku tells him, falling short of levity. She’s still holding his gaze though. “I’m fine here. Just come back in time before that water gets too hot, you’re the one preparing this bath.”

She’s so brave it honestly floors Gin. Tired and hurt and scared, but refusing to cower. The only thing Gin can do is honour that determination.

“A’right, be right back.” he concedes, pushing himself up and snagging the bucket by the handle. He forces himself not to look back at Rangiku; she doesn’t need him second guessing her decision.

He just won’t be long.

The second trip is just as uneventful, and quicker. The same anxiety as the previous run haunts it anyway.  When he gets back Rangiku’s curled in tighter to herself, fist still clenched around her branch. She makes herself smile when she sees him. Gin wishes she didn’t have to. He makes himself smile back.

“Le’s get this bath started then.” Gin says as he sets the bucket down and carefully unhooks the pot from the stand over the fire.

Pouring the near boiling water into the tub without touching hot metal is a challenge, but he’s had practice. There’s a hissing sound as he sets the pot on the ground to refill with fresh water before hanging it back over the fire. Rangiku hasn’t taken her eyes off of him the whole time, quietly watching in a way that’s more usual for him. Gin doesn’t like the role reversal, can only wish he knew how to fill a silence the way Ran’s normally all too happy to do. All he can do is maintain his smile and say, “Be back soon.” as he lifts the bucket again, pausing for a second in case Rangiku wants to object.

The third and fourth trips to the river are equally quiet, but Rangiku doesn’t try to keep up her smile anymore when he gets back, face drawn and white knuckling the branch she’s kept in her hand. By the time he’s brought the fourth bucketful the flames are a little low, wood needing to be pushed further into the centre. It’s clear that Rangiku is too caught up in her thoughts to tend the fire. There’s a decent amount of water in the tub already, with more just set to heat, so Gin makes a decision. “This’ll be the last trip.” he assures, receiving a grateful nod, and then gently suggesting, “Why don’ y get in while this water’s hot and I’ll add t’ it when I get back?”

Rangiku’s voice is hoarse when she whispers a quiet response of “Okay.” and stretches her hand forward for Gin to help her to her feet, visibly forcing the fingers of her other hand to let go of the branch she’d been gripping. Ran wobbles a little when upright, her teeth sinking into her lower lip and letting a harsh breath out of her nose. The few short steps to the edge of the bathtub look agonising for her.

The fingers she brings to the tie of her obi hesitate for a second before pulling it loose in a sharp jerk.

Gin politely averts his eyes as Rangiku undresses and climbs into the tub with a stifled cry, ducking around to pick up the soap for her. There's not much room in the half-barrel, Ran’s knees folded right up to her chest with the water just up to her ribs. Leas’ the water’s warm. Gin presses the wrapped, cracked soap bar into Rangiku’s palm, curling her fingers around it. “Won’ be long.” he promises solemnly, squeezing her hand between his own. The nod he receives in response is jerky, but Rangiku nods again when he hesitates.

The bucket feels heavier in his hand when Gin picks it up again; he really is tired. It’s just as well that this is going to be the last run for water, Gin’s not sure he has another one in him.

He steals a glance back at Rangiku as he leaves, relieved to see her slowly lathering the soap cloth.

Four uneventful trips, but leaving again is still hard. He’s sore and reluctant and scared of failing to protect her again by his absence. Gin doesn’t think this fear is going away any time soon. He won’t baby her though, Ran doesn’t need his pity or insecurities, so he forces himself forward.

The glade is dimmer when he gets back for the final time, the fire dwindled to little more than embers. There’s no sound of splashing water, and Gin’s heart skips a beat before he makes out the tightly contorted form of Ran in the tub, silent and still with her face tucked into her knees.

The bucket is dropped as Gin rushes over to her. She doesn’t uncoil at his arrival, and he can see that she’s pale-skinned and trembling all over. Fingers dip into the water and he almost hisses at the tepid temperature. “Hol’ on Ran. Gonna warm this up.” He whispers.

The pot comes off the stand easily, and he pours hot water over the barrel’s edge as far from Ran as possible so as not to burn her. Rangiku eventually lets out a quiet, hitching sigh as some colour returns to her skin. It takes another long moment before her head raises and he sees her face, those crystalline eyes glassy with tell-tale tracks streaking down her face.

Gin’s heart shatters.

There are no words to make this better, no actions to fix or change what’s happened. Gin feels such an intense rage, frigid and stinging and promising destruction. Enough to raze the whole world.

But it’s a worthless emotion right now when Ran needs him.

He tries whispering her name to no response, Rangiku sitting doll-like with that vacant expression, soap and washcloth clenched in each of her hands where they’re folded into her chest. The bath water is going to cool quickly, and the warmth of the day is steadily dropping at the night air descends, it wouldn’t be good for Ran to stay in the tub for much longer. “Ran, y’ need t’ finish up. Wan’ me t’ wash y’ hair?” Gin tries softly, to no answer.

“Ran, I need t’ know if I can touch y’. I don’ want t’ scare y’.”

That seems to reach her, and she gives the tiniest of nods. The arm holding the soap unwinds enough that Gin can gently take it from her.

With his other palm he scoops up some water, cautiously dampening her hair and carefully watching her face for any reaction. Rangiku must realise his wariness as she gives another tiny nod, just a fraction stronger than before. She’s not as catatonic as Gin had feared, though seemingly not able to verbalise currently. He won’t pressure her, just focuses on the task of scooping handfuls of water before delicately lathering soap into red-gold locks, working knots out of wet strands with his fingers as he makes sure to thoroughly clean them the way Rangiku likes.

Rangiku seems to come to a little more, tilting her head to give him a better angle to work with. Gin’s even more relieved when he hears water splashing, sees the soapy cloth run up over a pale knee. He doesn’t let it distract him from his task as thoroughly lathers every inch of hair and teases out the tangles. When it’s a smooth and clean as he can get it, he has to concede that there are other things he needs to do.“‘M gonna get the fire goin’ ‘gain while y’ finish up Ran.”

Rangiku stills abruptly, shoulders going tense before twisting to face him. She mouths his name and a waterfall of tears pours forth; any other words are stolen by uncontrollable sobs. Gin drops to his knees by the tub, not sure what he can do but just desperate to be close enough to help. He barely manages to avoid flinching when a soapy pair of arms snake about his neck and Rangiku’s head tucks under his chin. The washcloth still in her hand drips sudsy water down the inside his yukata but he says and does nothing about it, just cautiously wraps his own arms about Rangiku’s shoulders and holds her as she cries.

Gin has to count her back to oxygen when Rangiku can’t draw in a breath past her sobbing. It feels like an eternity passess before the convulsions wracking her frame stop, leaving her trembling from exhaustion and the cold. She doesn’t loosen her hold around Gin’s shoulders so he doesn’t try to pull away, rests his chin on soapy hair and hugs her tighter. “‘M not goin’ anywhere, Ran-chan.” He murmurs. He’d never leave her for a second if he could help it. It seems to reassure her, as Rangiku briefly squeezes him tighter before pulling back, red-raw rimmed eyes searching his own.

“Thanks, Gin.” She croaks, voice utterly gone after her crying fit.

“Y’ don’ need t’ thank me for this, Ran-chan.” Gin tells her, gentle but firm. “Y’ don’ have t’ be okay right now either.”

There’s a little wobble in her lower lip now that Rangiku bites down on, the lavender shadows under her puffy eyes darken a little as her face scrunches in the effort not to break down again. There’s a pained swell of affection in his chest. Gin’s honestly so proud of her even as he worries. She really fights to hold onto her composure. A few deep breaths later she clears her throat, sheepishly admitting, “I’m really cold.”

Gin gives her a relieved smile. “Let’s get y’ rinsed off and next t’ the fire then.” He replies, waiting for her nod of confirmation before letting go of her, slipping the soap bar into her hand, and testingly touching the side of the half-full cooking pot.

The metal is cooled enough to safely touch, the water in it just on the warm side. He hefts it up with a little difficulty, lifting it high to pour over Rangiku’s hair. There’s not enough water for a perfect rinse but most of the soap is gone, and it’ll have to be good enough. When Gin goes to pick up her worn yukata from the ground for her, Rangiku halts the action with a quiet, frantic “No.” instead pointing to the discarded blanket from earlier.

Gin just lifts it without comment, shaking it out thoroughly as Ran carefully climbs out of the tub and handing it to her to wrap herself in.

Her steps are slow and clearly pained as she goes to curl up in her spot by the fire pit again, tucking her knees to her chest. She looks so small and young like that. It makes Gin’s chest clench painfully and he has to remind himself to breathe. He places new kindling and uses another flash of reiryoku in thoughtless, mechanical movements; counting backwards in his head to keep control of his emotions. Once the flame is stable, Rangiku beckons him over and Gin helplessly obeys, dropping into place beside her.

Rangiku twists in place and softly, insistently pushes Gin onto his back, tucking herself into his side and curling up half on top of him, arms like a vice around his waist. Gin carefully runs a hand down her side and back again soothingly. It’s uncomfortably hot down his left side lying this close to the fire and the crackling pops of the tinder seems so loud compared to everything else. The moment is a miserable imitation of their usual ease.

The trembling starts again and he can feel Ran quietly crying for a long time until she falls asleep.

Chapter Text

Gin doesn’t sleep at all that night, too tangled up in his anger and worry and guilt to even try. He’d pushed it all aside earlier to focus on Ran, but with no real distractions left he couldn’t stop the anxious spiral his thoughts raced down.

All he’d wanted ever since he’d met Rangiku was to make things better, and he’s failed that and it hurts.

His eyes are stinging and Gin can’t stop the hot, furious tears from escaping them. It’s an effort to keep his breathing steady, but Ran’s finally asleep and her head’s resting on his chest and he doesn’t want to wake her with this. She’s the one who was hurt, but she’ll care far too much for his worthless crying if she realises.

Rangiku’s sleep is fitful - nightmares or flashbacks? - but her tremors and distressed cries settle under his tentative touch each time. She’d started shivering from the cold as well shortly after the fire burned itself out, and Gin had to shift their positions enough for him to roll on his side so he could let his tails materialise in order to wrap over her hip and press the warm length of them against her spine. She slept more soundly after that, forehead pressed against the hollow of his throat. Gin just stares out into the darkness and tries to convince himself that she would be okay.

He isn’t very successful.

Dawn arrives, bright and awful. Gin’s eyes feel like they might as well be grit. Ran had burrowed further into his shoulder in adamant refusal of sunlight and his right arm is totally dead from the weight - that is going to hurt later when the blood flow came back Gin’s certain.

The ground hasn’t gotten any softer as time’s passed, but lying in mild pain and squinting against the sunlight is fine since Ran doesn’t want to wake up yet. His eyes only sting a little from the salty grit in them as he blankly stares at the trees. It’s easier than looking at the damaged hut and planning the logistics of fixing it. Honestly, even thinking of cleaning up their belongings in the clearing is beyond Gin’s current motivation.

The cold light of day could be a little less piercing though. He doesn’t think Ran can burrow her way deeper into his shoulder to avoid it, but she’s putting up a solid effort. It twinges a bit.

“Gin, it’s too bright.” Ran murmurs, sleep-slurred. Her voice is scratchier than normal.

“Mhmm.” He sighs in reply, his own eyes firmly screwed shut. He shifts his hip resting on the ground and has to wince. “Hard t’ miss when the sun comes up an’ y’ slept outside.”

Rangiku only groans in response. It’s a good sound; normal for them. Gin rubs her back, under the plush of his fox tails wrapped like a blanket, and feels his lips pull up at the appreciative hum the action earns him. He’s a lot more sensitive to little things like that without his illusions keeping his real nature locked away. Something must give him away, because Ran cuddles closer and worms an arm free, thumb tracing the curve at the corner of his mouth before stretching further rub at one vulpine ear and Gin can’t stop the chirr rolling in his throat at the feel. Ran snickers into his neck at the sound. Gin squeezes her but doesn’t offer any real protest, letting Ran do what she wanted and just melting into the touch.

It’s a nice morning in their bubble of denial. Well, it’s nice until Rangiku shifts on his right arm and he’s ready to scream at the sudden influx of bloodflow.

Gin absolutely doesn’t let out an embarrassing whimper.

Rangiku is a traitor for laughing at his manly grousing. And for poking the intensely prickling limb. Just removing it is looking like a more and more appealing option. Ran has him pinned in a way that he can’t avoid her prodding and is taking unscrupulous advantage of it as Gin tries to flinch away.

He attempts to roll Ran over him and away from his bad arm but has to groan as his everything aches with the effort and gives up immediately. His whole body is viciously complaining over the previous day’s strain and laying on the hard ground all night. Ran stills for a moment, wide eyes fixed on him, and her expression goes soft. Slim fingers start working soothing circles into his slowly-regaining-feeling arm instead.

“You overworked yourself yesterday, didn’t you?” She asks softly; sadly.

Gin’s not having that.

“Nah.” Gin says, and heaves a dramatic sigh. “Old age is catching up t’ me Ran-chan. I feel it in m’ bones. Gonna need a walkin’ stick just t’ make it t’ the toilet fifty times ‘a day.”

Rangiku gives him a glare, but her lips are pinched shut in the way he knows means that she’s trying not to smile because she doesn’t want to find him funny. He grins back at her, eyes sly.

“Does my hair look grey t’ you?”

Rangiku rudely shoves his face away. He knows she’s trying to hide her smile. “You’re an idiot.” she grumbles without heat.

Gin’s grin is victorious. “Be gentle wi’ me Ran-chan, ’m not as spry as I used t’ be.” he bemoans theatrically, before smugly adding, “But a’ least ‘m still handsome as ever.”

That earns him an amused snort, and a suspicious pause. “...Yeah,” Rangiku replies, ominously agreeable, “A real. Silver. Fox.” The hand on his face snatches up to tug on a pointed ear, the other running backwards up one his tails exactly how he hates. She cackles at his outraged squawking.

“Witch.” he spits mock-seriously, tails fluffing up automatically. It only makes her laugh more.

The hand gripping his ear has him too well hampered to stop her malicious assault on his tails, nasty little fingers twisting the fur awry. “Witch.” Gin hisses again, this time with a little more vehemence, contorting himself to pry her hand away. He ends up hunched beside her, his pair of mismatched tails swaying behind him ridiculously bushy and skewed, hopelessly diminishing the force of his glower.

Rangiku gives him a roguish little smirk. “You’re so cute, Gin.”

His most unimpressed frown only sets her off giggling again. Gin holds it anyway as he smooths out the fur on each tail with deft strokes. “Next time y’ wake up, y’ hair’s gonna be full ‘a twigs.” he warns.

Rangiku cocks a bemused eyebrow at him, smirk still firmly in place. “That happens and I will shave you bald in your sleep.”

“Wi’ what?” Gin retorts flatly. It’s a fair question, they still only have sharpened stones for cutting - none of the townspeople would sell them anything with a real edge. Ran’s eyes narrow, mouth setting in a put out little muoe.

“...I could still give you a really bad haircut.” she grumbles. It’s Gin’s turn to smirk.

“Y’ could, but y’ don’ want me returnin’ the favour.” He’d never go that far, knows Rangiku wouldn’t either, but raising the stakes is just reflex since neither of them like to lose. Gin can tell he’s won this round by Ran’s little huff. He bats away the half-heartedly questing hand reaching for his tails again. She sticks her tongue out at him before flopping back with a kittenish yawn.

And she has the gall to call him cute.

He sticks his own tongue out back at her before laying down too and twisting away in pretend affront, both of them harrumphing at the other - competing to get the last one. A yawn breaks Gin’s streak and he huffs at the automatic loss as Ran sleepily crows in victory.

Typically, that sound makes him smile despite himself. There’s no resistance to it today.

Gin knows that this is all a fragile lie, that their game ended too quick because they’re both sore and tired, but it feels so good that they can even manage this much right now. There’s a little shard of hope lodged in his chest, just sharp enough to make each breath ache. It’s the kind of hurt that’ll kill him if he’s wrong, but Gin’s choosing to embrace it regardless of the edges.

He sneaks a glance over his shoulder at Rangiku; laying on her side with her back to him, limbs pulled in tight. Gleaming fire-tinted hair pushed back behind her ear so he can just make out the soft peach curve of her face. She’s the best thing that ever happened to him.

And he couldn’t protect her.

There’s an uneasy downturn at the corner of her mouth. A shadow of the same grimace that had haunted her features last night when she couldn’t force herself to keep smiling.

Before he can even think Gins tails are curled over Ran like invasive weeds. She starts at the sudden intrusion.

There’s a panicked beat in which instincts and stupidity are frantically cursed in silence before Rangiku gives a little sigh, turning over and into him. Gin’s heart feels three sizes too big for his chest and he has to remind himself to breathe as she snuggles into his back. She catches one of his tails in the bend of her elbow, the one Gin gained for knowing her, and tugs it to her chest to cuddle as her other arm winds around his waist.

She lets out a little huff when she can’t get comfy with his boney shoulders digging into her. “Turn over.” she grumbles into his neck.

And like a dam releasing water, laughter comes rushing out of Gin. Ran headbutts him in the back when he spends too long not turning over like she’d deman - asked, but he can feel her own laughter puffing against his shoulder. He wonders if she knows why they’re laughing.

Breaths unsteady with half-suppressed hysterics Gin does as ordered and twists in the limited space Ran’s arm allows. The fabric of his yukata catches on the ground as he moves, tugging off his right shoulder - Gin would think nothing of it if it weren’t for the sudden, sharp inhale from Rangiku.

When he looks to where her eyes are fixed on he finds a near perfect circle of bruised flesh.

The bubble of calm they’d been hiding in all of that morning bursts at the slight pressure of Rangiku’s tears.

“Aw Ran, this isn’ somethin’ to cry over. ‘S only a bruise.” Gin hushes her, thumb delicately wiping stray tears away. “Don’ even feel it, promise.”

Rangiku only shakes her head. “I bit you.” she says, tone somewhere between disbelief and anger. Tears still leaking past her lashes.

“Ran, y’ve bit me t’ get the last persimmon b’fore.” Gin tells her dryly as he wipes under her eyes again. She lets out a little wheeze of incredulous laughter, slapping a hand over her mouth in horror. “Y’ were hurtin’ an’ y’ needed t’. It’s fine.” he soothes.

Ran’s not buying it, head shaking behind her hand. “It’s not alright Gin. I knew it was you and I still…” She trails off, frowning. “I was just so angry.”

There’s still traces of the foreign reiatsu signatures stubbornly clinging to Ran’s weakened reiryoku. Gin’s still furious that anyone would hurt her like this. He’d taken note of every single one of those signatures over the restless night; every one of them is going to be found if Gin has his way.

“Y’ have every right to be angry, Ran.” He tells her seriously, arctic blue eyes meeting hers steadily, “Be angry f’r as long as y’ need t’ be. Go on a rampage if y’ want. I’ll be there with you.”

Ran doesn’t immediately respond. An unhappy, thoughtful expression on her face and delicate fingers tracing just outside the ring of bruises with a butterfly soft touch that makes Gin shudder reflexively. The hand retreats like it’d been burnt.

“It wasn’t that that left me so angry. Well, it was part of it, but I was angrier at being helpless.” Rangiku says, both cryptic and not. Gin understands enough.

The ensuing silence isn’t peaceful, but it is patient as he waits for Ran to compose her thoughts. She curls into him, head against his chest.

Gin thinks she might be listening to his heartbeat.

“There were three of them who came here. All in black with swords drawn.” Rangiku begins in a measured tone, “I started running as soon as I saw them - the cooking pot was my fault. Two of them chased after me into the forest and the other shouted about staying behind to look for ‘the other one.’” She pauses here, a tremor rattling through her whole body. It takes her a couple of tries to get the next words out. “I was so scared that they’d felt you coming back before I could Gin.” Ran whispers, old fear bleeding into her voice.

It makes Gin feel warmed and wounded all at once.

“I tried to circle back but they cut me off. I couldn’t even send you a signal like we’d practiced without them almost catching up and I still couldn’t feel you nearby, so I just kept running to Kaede-san’s.”

Her voice takes on a wry, unfairly self-deprecating tone, “I ran there because I didn’t know where else to go, but it was already wrecked by even more Shinigami. I had thought that they were traffickers when they came here, but it was so much worse than that.

I don’t know what they did, but the Shinigami were taking something from people and they were just... fading away. They-” Rangiku’s voice cracks. Gin can feel his own breaths stuttering in sympathy as she fights her sorrow. Her next words come out ragged, and carried on a sob.

“Th-they did it to Kaede-san when she tri-i-ied t-to protec-ct me.”

“Oh, Ran.” Gin breathes, hugging her shaking form tighter as she cries into his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

That clever old snake Kaede-han had always been playfully antagonistic, never particularly close to Gin. He could admit to it really being his own doing. But he’d always appreciated her concern for Ran. Her loss strikes him harder than he’d ever thought it might, and he can feel how it’s devastated Rangiku.

“After that-” She chokes, fighting a sob.

“After that, I didn’t see the others disappear, but I could hear them begging.” Gin can feel the effort Ran’s putting into this by the tension in her arms around him. “I don’t know how long it even took before they were all gone...

The Shinigami who’d stayed behind to wait for you came there too. I think my heart stopped until he said that nobody showed up.

I don’t remember much after that. It’s just a blur until they were done.” She tells him all in a hoarse rush, like she has to get the words out now. There’s something else though, he can tell by how Ran’s fidgeting with the edge of his collar.

“After they-” Ran tries, hands clenching in his yukata. She’s nervous and it’s scaring him.

“It’s okay, Ran.” Gin soothes, feeling the words to be a lie even as he says them, “Y’ can stop if-”

Rangiku cuts him off with a forceful shake of her head, still not looking at him but at the dark fabric clutched in her fists. Gin’s anxiety is a cold spike as Rangiku struggles to work up the nerve.

“When they were done using me, the Shinigami took the same thing from me as the had from everyone else.” Rangiku tell him in a painfully thin, neutral voice. Refusing to look at him.

There’s a dull roar in Gin’s ears. He’s not sure he’s breathing.

“I don’t know how I’m still alive.” His very best friend, his everything, admits in a tiny, frightened whisper as her tears fall like rain onto his chest. Gin can’t even speak. All he can do is curl tighter around Ran, pull her closer to his chest and try to convince them both that she’ll be okay with his grip alone.

He’d pull the stars from the sky for Rangiku, but it feels like the world’s already gone dark as Ran’s weakened reiryoku falters against his own and fear makes a home in his bones.

Gin’s not sure if he’s wasted hours on empty promises trying to reassure Ran and himself that things would be alright. He hushes her crying, fighting and failing to stop his own.

He knows he’s not accomplishing anything like this.

Fragile as she feels, Ran’s still here, and that has to mean something.

It has to.

He might have failed to protect her, but he hasn’t lost her yet. Even if she is kitten-weak, and rasping, and wan. He’s helped her recover from that before, he’ll just have to do it again.

With that resolution, Gin feels a spark of life. The world’s not ended yet, so he arms himself with a smile of forged confidence and gives her a less desperate squeeze, playfully bumping his chin on the top of her head with a husky, “We cry any more an’ we really will dry out and die Ran-chan.”

He feels her briefly stiffen with shock at his total change in demeanour before literally barking with laughter. Her throat really does sound painful.

“‘M serious.” He protests, “I don’ know ‘bout you but I plan on dyin’ handsome.”

Ran finally tilts her head up from his shoulder. Her cheeks are still damp, but her eyes are bright as she gives him a wryly assessing look.

“I don’t know how you’re going to manage that.”

Gin’s sniggering before he even has a chance to play at being offended.

His act feels a little more real.

“Y’ sound like a li’l toad.” He informs her blithely, grinning wider.

That’s too much of an insult for Rangiku to let stand apparently as she thumps him with vigour.

Yeah, Ran’s gonna be fine.

“You sound like a bastard.” She grates out gruffly.

“Tha’ cuts deep Ran-chan.” Gin replies in a dry tone, pressing a hand to his chest and probably squeezing Rangiku uncomfortably tight going by the involuntary croak she lets out. She really does sound like a toad now. “Right here. An’ I was goin’ t’ make y’ tea f’r tha’ parched throat. But I can see ‘m not appreciated.”

Her squint at him is entirely judgemental, and visibly torn. Like a ruffled cat who absolutely wants what you’re offering and is debating the cost to its dignity. It’s one of Gin’s favourite expressions.

Rangiku sighs when it’s clear Gin could outwait the earth itself when he’s sitting on an easy victory like this. “Tea would be nice.” she concedes. Gin arches a brow. “Please.”

“‘A course.” He agrees benevolently, ruffling her hair for badness’ sake as he gets up. The haughty look he gets in return just encourages him. “Would Ojou-sama like t’ wait by the fire, ‘r shall I ready the norimono?” Gin offers loftily, slanting Rangiku a perfectly deferential bow with a smug smile.

Rangiku’s look of disgust is perfection. It’s not often Gin manages to offend her this hard; he’s so proud.

“I’ll stay.” is the quiet, puzzling response.

Ran’s not that petty, and she’s definitely caught on to what Gin was really asking. Her expression is knowing and grateful, before turning impish.

“Wouldn’t want to strain your old bones, Gin.”

Disarmed, Gin gives her a rueful smile. Ran’s always been perceptive.

“Won’ be long then.” He promises.

Despite his jokes earlier, Gin’s got a lot more sympathy for the elderly with their aches and pains as he slogs his way back. How he ever carried a potful of water before without being ready to keel over is a mystery. He’d had to stop to rest twice. His shoulders feel like frayed seams.

Gin’s not sure if he has ever been so grateful that Ran called his bluff, awful as that is.

But he really does resemble nothing more than a decrepit old man as he staggers into their clearing with his burden. Ran, dressed and arranging tinder from their dwindling supply, laughs at his awkward hobbling. Until she herself cuts off with a guilty expression. Gin just huffs, dropping the pot next to her.

“Maybe dyin’ of old age is the wrong decision.” He groans.

Ran slaps his arm without even turning to look. It actually stings.

Rubbing the sore patch, Gin watches her start a fire manually.

He wants to help. It’d be no time or effort for him to do it with reiryoku.

But it would be the wrong thing to do.

He hefts the pot onto the hook and decides to busy himself with setting out the tea leaves. There’s a red packet he’s vaguely familiar with that Ran gets given a couple of times a year, but she’s never wanted it before and he’s never asked.

“Kaede-san gave that to me.” Rangiku says, probably catching his hesitance over it. Her tone is soft, and he sees her bite her lip. Like she’s worried about saying any more.

“She said it would spare me any more heartache if… if something like that happened.”

Gin’s heart sinks like a stone. It hadn’t ever crossed his mind, but it would have devastated Rangiku.

He’d never wanted to be indebted to anyone. Not even knowing, wily, considerate Kaede-han. But he is and all he would ever have to offer is gratitude for protecting Ran in a way he didn’t even know to. He can’t even give Kaede-han that now.

He doesn’t know how to thank the dead.

The mixture inside the red paper is pungent; smokey smelling. There’s a set of handwritten instructions in a beautifully flowing script explaining how much of the kara toki root to use per cup and how long to steep for. Prescribing six cups a day at regular intervals and to stop taking it when a real bleed begins.

There’s a note on the back that Gin doesn’t read but passes to Rangiku.

He wraps an arm around Ran when she silently folds herself into his side. She’s not crying, likely just too exhausted, but the note’s pressed to her heart and her grief is plain to the world. Rangiku clings to his arm like it’s the only thing holding her here. Or maybe like she’s afraid he’ll disappear too.

Gin wonders how it all became so complicated. “‘ve got y’, Ran-chan.” he whispers. Lies. Because he doesn’t know how to fix any of this.

He has to rely on a packet of roots and the inked wisdom of someone else.

And just hope it doesn’t get any worse.

It took him another day to convince Rangiku that they needed food. She’s still as week as a newborn fawn and tea’s not enough. Gin hurts from hunger, and he’s grateful that Ran still feels it too - that those Shinigami didn’t rip all of her reiryoku from her. But she needs to eat.

It’d been a very rare fight between them, and he feels awful for it. Both of them are hungry and they’re both exhausted from constantly interrupted sleep to brew her more of the kara toki on a regular schedule. The patchy sleep from nightmares and sudden fears that the other would be gone.

Gin feels awful for having to bring up his own aching limbs in order to convince Ran that he needed food too. For manipulating her. He hates having to make her feel guilty after everything, but he needs her to eat.

She’d been scared about being left alone for hours. Vulnerable.

He’d had to tell her about his secret store, hidden in a burrow dug in his fox form. And hope she didn’t speculate on how he’d managed to accrue it.

But it was a shorter trip than going into town.

“Won’ be long.” He’d promised her, squeezing Rangiku’s hands and gently not mentioning the tears she was holding back.

He’s almost at his little den when the ambient sounds of the forest quieten, replaced instead by loud male voices. They’re not close enough for Gin to make out what they’re saying but it’s unlikely that the men are from the town with how much noise they’re making - Rukongai residents are much too fearful.

Shinigami?

Gin pauses, focusing on reaching out with his senses -

-and the world screeches to a furious halt.

He recognises that reiatsu.

Chapter Text

It’s like he’s been drenched in ice water, but Gin feels his blood boil inside his veins.

He recognises that reiatsu.

He knows it from the careless, sordid remnants that have been smothering Rangiku. Knows it for cruelty.

Gin thinks of Ran’s tears. Her bruises. Her fear.

And knows it for being someone deserving of a slow death.

“I don’t know how I’m still alive.”

Gin takes a breath; exhales the white noise from his head. Forces the fire in his blood to cool. He needs to focus. Ran’s soul piece is more important than ending this scum’s life. He needs to be patient and find out where the Shinigami have taken it. He’ll kill them after.

In that same breath, another familiar stranger’s reiatsu registers to his senses.

And another.

Careful, now. He can’t afford to be seen. Won’t allow Ran to suffer the cost.

He needs to be sure he can take it back before he strikes.

The wretches aren’t quite heading in his direction but all of them are moving towards the same point, so Gin makes sure his own presence is hidden and moves to follow. He barely breathes as he creeps after them, trying to keep his steps quiet. He could shift into his fully fox form, but that feels too small and vulnerable. He doesn’t want to know how Shinigami treat exotic animals.

If there’s anything to be grateful for it’s that the Shinigami themselves are loud, clearly unused to traversing this kind of terrain. And equally clearly unconcerned with the possibility of being followed as they call out to each other and talk between themselves, just quiet enough that Gin can’t make out their words from this distance.

The three Gin can see are boldly, casually carrying something glowing in their cupped palms. Only careful enough not to spill their macabre bounties.

And Gin has the disquieting realisation.

How many souls are contained in those near-liquid handfuls?

The forest feels busy. Busier than it has any right to with the animals fled from the raucous Shinigami. Gin can feel the indistinct presence of multitudes , more than a town. A concentrated mass of human life like he hasn’t felt since Kyoto, since Before.

But he can only hear less than half a dozen voices and clumsy footfalls.

The silence behind them is deafening.

How many? Just how many souls have these Shinigami mutilated, torn into bare essence? How many years -

No.

He only needs to find Ran’s soul piece. One among thousands.

“-missed out on a hell of time, being in Sixty-Three, Usui.” Gin catches one of them shouting to a latecomer. Jovially, like he’s not carrying an abomination in his hands.

Or talking about what Gin strongly suspects.

“Some of us take our orders seriously, Hoga-san.” The newest arrival snipes back in a prim tone as he falls into step next to the first speaker. Tall, with light brown hair cut very short and a precise gait. A social climber.

“Live a little, Usui-kun.” an older sounding voice from the man on the left pipes in, “We’ve all collected our share, just had a little bonus on the side as well.”

Not. Yet.

“Shame you killed the pretty little redhead Takata. She was a gorgeous fuck.” The first man says in a covetous tone.

Gin feels himself start shake with his rage.

Hold. Hold, hold, holdholdhold.

“She was.” The older man agrees, disgustingly wistful, “Could have made it to be a Shinigami with that much reiryoku, but that’s exactly what Aizen-sama told us to look for. Girl nearly filled my quota all on her own.”

That one, Gin thinks savagely. All he has to do is take Ran’s soul piece back from him; if he kills him in the process all the better. Gin counts the paces between them. Only fourteen. He’s unarmed. He only has one chance to ambush them.

He needs a better angle.

Gin curves his path off to the left and picks up his pace, silently treading between trees. He briefly loses sight of the three Shinigami, but they’re taking the smoothest route through the forest on the barley-there path worn though the dirt, so he knows where they will be.

There’s a ridge not too far ahead, where the trail dips into a stream and the trees bow over the water. He’ll use what little cover it offers to his advantage when he strikes the man carrying Rangiku’s soul, and take to his fox form to dart through the rabbit warrens in the ground to get it home.

The Shinigami’s footsteps are so loud. Gin hears one of them curse in surprise as his foot hits the shallow water. So self absorbed they can miss the sound of running water. Good, Gin thinks, tha' works t' my favour. He readies himself to launch his assault, a sharp stick in hand. Waiting and watching for the moment he’ll have a perfect line to his target. Sweat runs down his palm. His hands shake. His reiryoku thrums in his bones, desperate to lash out. Jus’ a li’l more.

There’s a silent crash in the air. Like lightning come without the thunder.

Gin spits out dirt on his next breath, gasping out seconds lost. What-

-A heavy footfall cracks a branch some distance away to his left.

His vision tilts into darkness at the edges when he lifts his head. His legs buckle when he tries to stand and he has to fight down a sudden wave of nausea. Choking on air, Gin fights it all back. Ran, he reminds himself. The stolen fragment of her in the hands of scum.

He can barely hear the footfalls in the distance. Four pairs now instead of three.

He’d lost his chance. Somehow.

No.

Gin forces himself to his feet. Forces unwilling legs to bear his resolve. Rangiku is still wounded and he still draws breath, his hunt hasn’t ended. One step, down the trail of his enemies. Two. Gin’s feet no longer feel unsteady by the eighth step. The air is still heavy, but the world doesn’t darken at the seams of his vision anymore. Whatever it was that struck him, Gin won’t let it down him a second time.

When Gin reaches out with his reiatsu sensing again, he almost chokes like he’s drowning. There’s a tidal wave of power sweeping out from so close Gin feels likes he’s caught in an undertow for a heartbeat, almost frightened into expanding his own power just to breathe. That would be death though. He retreats, pulling his senses back under the fragile barrier of his skin.

That reiatsu has to be from the one in charge.

Gin realises that he doesn’t know enough about Shinigami to discern whether this atrocity is sanctioned or not. Doesn’t know which is worse. Not that any of it changes his goal, only means he has to be more careful still. He wouldn’t be able to catch up to the subordinates before they reached the one in charge. He needs to wait for the right opportunity to take Ran’s soul piece back, regardless of who he has to take it from.

His hand aches from the grip he has on the sharp little branch. It’s not much, but Gin will be as creative as he needs to be.

Gin had stayed far from the path as he crept after the cluster of Shinigami reiatsu, choosing to stay within the denser vegetation of the forest where it would be far harder to spot or chase him. He needed every advantage he could get.

His path had surprisingly gotten him to the glade where that overwhelming reiatsu was located quicker than the Shinigami. A small part of him gnawed on the thought that he should have taken his chances at attacking them and fleeing, that he might have succeeded in escaping the notice of whatever monster leaked out so much reiatsu. He tries to ignore the thought as he waits.

The clearing is quiet. No sounds of impatient steps or a distracted voice. No sound of rustling paper.

There’s a gap in the shrubs in front of him that Gin daren’t approach until he’s sure of a distraction. Not until he hears the arrival of four cloddish footfalls, and feels the presence of a city’s worth of souls. Gin fights back the instinctive shudder.

In the centre of the clearing is a plain looking man, his uniform unadorned and inconspicuous, brown hair in a scholarly cut with loose locks falling just short of a pair of squarish glasses. Gin wouldn’t have looked twice at him if he couldn’t feel his colossal reiatsu.

The weaker Shingami bow to the man, clumsy and deep. All the more awkward as they hold they cupped hands out before them. The brown haired man only smiles, eyes hidden behind glass lenses and expression serene, as he takes the offering from each man and pours their handful of heartache and sin into the darkly glowing container in his hand.

A warm wetness slides from Gin’s palm and down his wrist as he watches the man take Takata’s offering - Rangiku’s soul - and add it to his morbid little container. He grits his teeth until his jaw aches as a part of Rangiku is treated as a mere object, as this Shinigami’s due . A trick of the light lets Gin catch a glimpse of the man’s eyes, the colour as nondescript as the rest of him, but they burn like coals with avarice. Him. Gin realises, He’s the boss.

Ran’s suffering was this Shinigami’s doing. Whatever it costs him, Gin is going to kill that man and take her soul piece back. He’ll become as much of a monster if he has to.

Lightning and pressure burns the base of his spine. Awareness comes of a new tail, raw to the world. It hurts. Gin can’t bring himself to care.

This tail, Gin knows, is forged of his despair. The resolve to overcome it. Whatever magic marking him Kitsune remaking himself for that promise. But he knows too that it’s not safe to unwind his illusion, to see how he has changed. Feels like it never will be safe in this moment, as he stares at the smiling face of a villain through the branches. The moment a brand on his very soul.

One day, that smiling Villain will feel the bite of this brand too.

“Thank you, Takata. Usui. Hoga. Ikeda.” A soft, measured, voice rings out. Charming and polite. Gin hears the pleased note within it. “You have done very well, collecting so much reiryoku. My report will be most positive. Please keep up the good work.”

The Villain leaves, uncaring of what his men are going to do next. Gone in a silent step so fast that Gin’s eyes can’t trace it.

Gin waits only long enough to ensure he’s gone before he tears out of the bushes, ready to tear those wretches apart. First, Takata - Who stole Rangiku’s soul from her - with only his sharpened twig, driving it through one widened grey eye. It bursts from the force. Gore and hot blood splashes onto Gin’s face. He drags the katana from the corpse’s waist as it drops to the ground. And almost lets it fall too.

The katana is much heavier than he’d anticipated. The weight of it makes his thin arms tremble as he tries to raise it. His grip on the hilt is slippery from his bloodied palm.

The other three Shinigami only blink uncomprehendingly at him. Gin can’t contain the laughter bubbling through his chest at the sight. The tip of the sword in his hands thuds into the dirt as he uses it like a crutch to stay upright.

For a moment, the only sound is Gin almost choking himself in hysteria. He doesn’t miss the hiss of steel being drawn before one of the Shinigami roars, “Kill him!”

Gin drops under the sweep of the Shinigami’s sword, just barely keeping ahold of his own pilfered weapon. He kicks out the man’s knee as he overbalances from the clumsy swing.

One down. There’s a wet squelch as Gin’s sword pierces the man’s belly, followed by a scream.

Pulling the katana out again is harder than Gin had thought. The mistake costs him. A line of white-hot fire streaks across his back; right shoulder to left hip. The rent punches the air from Gin’s lungs. He tumbles over the dying Shinigami, his sword left embedded in the man’s guts.

Gin rolls away from another downward swing. Desperately kicks at the thin wrist holding the sword before the Shinigami can raise it again. Once, twice. Crack. The man curses, letting his katana fall as he foolishly cradles his broken wrist. Gin lunges for the dropped weapon. Swipes it at the back of the man’s thighs, severing tendons. The Shinigami collapses before he can get his good hand under him, landing heavily on the broken joint and loosing a scream. As he flops onto his back Gin puts the point of his own sword through his throat.

Only one Shinigami remains standing. Their sword raised to chest height, the blade’s edge gleaming cruelly. A wild look in their eyes.

Gin imagines he doesn’t look so dissimilar to them.

With a wordless cry, the Shinigami charges for him. Gin throws himself to the side. The stab misses. “You little wretch.” The Shinigami spits, “I am Usui Akio. Of the Gobantai, of the Goteijūsantai.” He raises his sword. “I sentence you to death for the crime of murdering three Shinigami.”

Gin sneers. “An’ what o’ the crimes you Shinigami have been committin’ here?” he accuses, stepping carefully around the corpse at his feet without taking his eyes off the Shinigami, “Murder. Rape.” Gin spits, the wet glob landing at the Shinigami’s feet. “Stealing Rukongai souls.”

Another strike, hastily blocked. “You don’t have the capacity to understand.” he scoffs, “Your kind are vermin. Those other Rukon rats have been graced to be used for a higher purpose,” The Shinigami postures, readying his stance once more, “you shall not have such a mercy.”

He thrusts his katana forward, lower this time. Gin barely catches it on his own blade before pulling away. His feet almost slip. His hands burn. Gin attacks, only to have the blow caught. His arms are agony from the aftershocks of steel on steel. The katana is nearly wrenched from his hands. The wound splitting his back screams.

Blunt force slams into his hip. Gin staggers. Drops his sword. Another kick. Hard earth rushes to greet him. Steel plunges toward his gut. He hears fabric ripping as he scrambles away. His knuckles rap against something solid. Gin grabs it. Knocks the Shinigami’s sword away with a screech of metal. He backs up into something heavy-soft-solid.

Gin dives over the corpse, lashing out at the man’s leg in a wild swing before the Shinigami can bring his own weapon down again. The tip of Gin’s katana gouges a red line from the back of the Shinigami’s knee even as Gin loses his grip. The Shinigami staggers two steps before dropping to one knee with a choked grunt. “You bastard.” He gasps out in an agonised breath. Gin doesn’t wait to hear his tirade. He’s exhausted. Cold creeping into his bones. Just when had it started to snow? Each breath sparks a wave of pain down his torn flesh.

Staggering to his feet, Gin puts some distance between them; wary of the blade still clutched by the Shinigami. He can’t pick up his dropped weapon without coming in range of sharpened steel. He’d abandoned another weapon though, in the abdomen of his second kill.

The snow isn’t thick enough to cover the ground yet. Doesn’t crunch underfoot. Instead it melts into rust coloured slush and slicks the dirt beneath his bare soles. Gin’s tired feet almost slide out from under him as he stumbles toward his goal.

The body stinks of urine and worse. The black hakama conceal much, but the snow under its groin is stained with yellow. There’s no dignity in death. He didn’t deserve it anyway. Staring at the miserable thing, Gin realises he’d forgotten about this Shinigami’s own sword. Lying on the ground next to him, wet with Gin’s blood. Nothing left clean in this place. He bends to pick it up, fingers fighting to not wrap around its hilt. His arms don’t have the strength left to fully heft the katana. The bloodied end of it stubbornly clings to the earth despite his efforts.

Gin hears the scrape of metal on stone. Groans and hissed curses. A flesh wound wasn’t enough for this Shinigami. They’d promised a death sentence; one Gin intends to deliver, sword or not. He’d already killed with less.

What he’s doing, what he’s done, is reckless. Gin needs to succeed anyway.

The stick pulls free with a wet sound.

The Shinigami had managed to push himself to his feet by using his katana as a crutch. He wouldn’t be able to use it as a weapon and keep his feet. Gin was disgusted that the Shinigami thought he deserved to die standing.

“Y-ye lord!” the Shinigami booms, lifting his hand to Gin, palm out. “Mask of flesh and blood, all creation, flutter-”

Gin doesn’t know the meaning of his gibberish. He doesn’t waste time on finding out. Charges.

Red light hurtles past his right ear.

His wrists jar. Wood sunk through thin skin. Gin wrenches the branch free. Blood erupts, hot and red. The Shinigami spasms. Lets out a choked gurgle. The sound magnified by proximity as he slumps over Gin’s shoulder. Gin shrugs away and the body drops like a stone.

Four dead in all.

Four men who would never even think to touch Rangiku again.

Gin had never killed before. Tastes bile in his throat a second before he’s heaving into the grass next to his final victim. His shuddering, violently sick reaction shatters his control of his magic, tears his deceptions apart. The smell of death - deaths - more potent to his unveiled senses causes him to heave again. He feels his Kitsune ears flatten to his skull.

It had been difficult. It’d been too easy. It had been deserved.

He was going to do it again.

More clear bile mixes with the dirt and blood and snow.

Gin catches a glimpse of his newest tail writhing against the dirt from the corner of his right eye. It’s black like despair, the grey of ashes scattered throughout the fur. And tipped with the bloodied red of his resolve.

Just the sight of it makes him want to throw up again.