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“Kisuke, do you think they were able to win against Aizen without us there?”
Despite the harsh bite to the frigid air, Kisuke’s hands were warm as he wrung out the excess water in the rag before continuing to wipe away the accumulated grime on black scales. The clearing was quiet, a welcome respite from the past few months, the soft sound of falling snow providing a much-needed sense of safety. It was easy to get lost in the motions of his task despite how new it was.
“I can honestly say that I don’t know, Kurosaki-san.” He tries for flippant and knows he fails when Ichigo heaves a sigh and lifts his head from where it rests on the frozen earth. Talons easily the length of his hand carve furrows in the dirt, dried blood crusted on the edges.
“After twenty years, I’d hope they could manage without us.” Ichigo’s voice is deeper, with the distorted tones of his hollow just beneath the surface. He looks regal with the proud arch of his neck even as he scans the forest around them for potential followers.
They had been in the middle of a battle on the sands of Hueco Mundo, attacking Aizen in tandem, when it happened. Turns out that the hogyoku was stronger than anyone could predict. With a year to consolidate his power in Muken, Aizen had surpassed the level he had achieved in that last battle with a sixteen-year-old Ichigo. But then again, Ichigo had experienced just as much growth, only Ichigo didn’t have centuries of experience and Aizen didn’t make the same mistake twice.
Two years after the defeat of Yahwach, Aizen graciously waited for Karakura High’s winter break before sending an unprecedented number of low-level hollows to Karakura. Every last one had been augmented by the hogyoku, making them far more lethal than they normally would have been. It had been Orihime, Uryuu, Chad, Isshin, Ichigo, and Kisuke frantically trying to protect the town. There just weren’t enough of them. Too many lives were lost that day and thus the Winter War began anew.
Kisuke gives one last inspection of the claw marks on Ichigo’s muscled shoulder, making sure they’re as clean as he can get them, before bringing up a hand glowing the green of kaido.
Ichigo flinches, turning his head to watch the process with hollow gold eyes lined in bone white scales.
“I will never get used to that. Zangetsu was always quicker about it.”
Kisuke doesn’t think he will ever fully adjust to his student becoming a large and still growing black dragon. It has only been a handful of months and already his head is as long as Kisuke is tall.
His scales are the color of the night sky, shining blood red in the light of the moon, and yet in the sun, they lose that sheen. Conveniently, it grants Ichigo a form of camouflage glossy scales lack. Feathers run down the length of Ichigo’s spine, a riot of bright oranges to the darkest of reds, a sunset, or an outward warning of the fire that can destroy everything in his path. He is built for speed, lithe with well-defined musculature, and long tapered wings. Eerily similar to Ichigo’s human body when he had been human.
Kisuke had startled awake on a cot in the room of a run-down shack, Benihime propped against a white and red egg nestled in a pile of blankets next to him. He’d had theories, particularly after learning it was a dragon’s egg and becoming wary when word of a Brom character had been mentioned. For two weeks he’d adjusted to the town and the small farming family who had taken him in.
It had been after a supply run, for himself and the family he was staying with, that the egg had started cracking. His student was just as magnificent as a dragon as he was a human. Ichigo had lost Zangetsu with their sudden arrival to this strange dimension while Kisuke had kept Benihime and the use of his reiatsu. However, the former hybrid retained his status as an unrivaled powerhouse. He doesn’t know why he had been surprised when Ichigo’s dragon’s flame turned out to be not only the black and red of his initial bankai form but also the sheer destructive capability of his Getsuga.
Though, the most shocking difference had come when they learned that it was their thoughts being shared between them and Kisuke was the only one to hear Ichigo. And with no one to explain the phenomenon well.
The former shopkeeper tries not to think about that too much, far too many possibilities and implications atop everything else involving their existence in this dimension. He pulls his hand away letting the kaido fade and reaches to place a hand on Ichigo’s surprisingly soft nose. Kisuke smiles when the dragon closes the gap and nudges his palm with a contented rumble.
The moment breaks when a particularly strong gust is biting winter wind cuts through the clearing, and Kisuke shivers in its wake. Silently, Ichigo lifts a single dark wing, neither of them needs to communicate with words after two decades of fighting side by side in what felt like a neverending war. He takes the offer for what it is, ducking under the leathery membrane and settling onto the nest of blankets tucked against the warmth of the dragon’s side.
“I’ll wake you when we need to go.” Ichigo’s voice is a soft rumble in the depths of his mind, a welcome contrast to the harsh judgment of his zanpaktou.
He knows Ichigo will keep watch as he sleeps, a long-established pattern from the war, and Kisuke gladly succumbs to the pull of exhaustion. For the moment, their problems are for another day.