Chapter Text
Originally posted: Sept. 3rd 2021
In the town of Karakura, death was not a foreign concept. And for one little boy, he was quite familiar with it. A tad too familiar.
For as long as Ichigo could remember in his ten years of life, he’s been able to communicate with the dearly departed. However, it wasn’t that ability landing him in his current predicament.
“What’s the matter, carrot-top?! Gonna go cry to mommy?!” Warusai’s words hurt just as much as the beating the other child was giving Ichigo. Why couldn’t they just leave him alone?!
“He doesn’t have one!” Bakugen added another insult on top of Ichigo’s injuries. They outnumbered Ichigo and would probably make up some excuse for his bruises, so all Ichigo could do was sit there and take it. Whatever cries of pain Ichigo should have made, he stuffed down. While Ichigo couldn’t do much, he wouldn’t give them that. Eventually, when they had enough of him, those two and Warusai’s other lackey left. Slowly, Ichigo got up. As usual, the bruises were scattered on Ichigo’s torso where people wouldn’t see them.
But Ichigo wasn’t moping around. He was, in a word, pissed.
They go badmouthin’ Masaki again, I’ll flay those little shits.
I know, but we can’t do anything. If I tried beating them up, even in self-defense, they’d find a way to make me look like the bad guy.
The sun was starting to set. Time for him to go home, have some of Yuzu’s curry - maybe Dad got take-out -, tend to his bruises, and go to bed. Ichigo was careful in his steps, making sure not to do anything that would worsen the bruises. But he was also quick, making sure he didn’t take his time. Zangetsu told him that it was nighttime when the monsters came out. Monsters with white masks that feasted on souls: Hollows. It was one of those monsters that killed his mom, pretending to be a little girl by the river.
If he—
King, it wasn’t your fault and never will be your fault that Masaki died.
Ichigo smiled a little. At the very least, he had Zangetsu.
Eventually, Ichigo came back home and opened the door. He was met by the scent of curry, knowing Yuzu to be busy in the kitchen. The clock said 6:00, so Karin was probably in her room.
"Is Dad pulling an all-nighter again?" Ichigo asked, not being surprised that Yuzu said yes. Some days their dad would only have a handful of patients and on others the clinic would be packed. Well, it couldn't be helped. Besides, Ichigo could tend to his wounds on his own with the first aid kit in his room. While his dad wasn’t the best, he was quite insistent on Ichigo knowing how to patch himself up and having the tools to do so. He ran up to his room, closing the door softly with a slight click.
His room wasn’t much, just the typical stuff with some posters from TV shows he liked and a few toys on the floor. Looking under his bed, he pulled out the first aid kit and went to the mirror hanging on his closet. Lifting up his shirt, he started to assess the damage. As per usual, it was a smattering of bruises along his gut and chest but none looked too bad. He could cushion a few with cotton balls and bandages, but the lumps would draw attention.
“ Why don’tcha fight back? Go for the head an’ the rest‘ll go cryin’ home. ” Zangetsu’s voice was clearly irritated, not at Ichigo but at those responsible for this little ritual. Zangetsu looked like what Ichigo thought he’d look like when he was grown up. Well, except for Zangetsu being white as a sheet and having some strange eyes, yellow irises on top of black sclera. He had a bit of a strange get-up with a white kosode and hakama, a black obi around his waist.
“I could get my family in trouble.” Ichigo’s voice sounded resigned to his fate. In truth, he yearned to fight back, to make the hurting go away. But if he tried to protect himself, he could end up harming his family. They weren’t some big-name clinic, just one of several small ones you’d expect to find in a city. So Ichigo just grinned and bore it.
Even if he told his father, what good would it do? Some ibuprofen for the pain, but those kids would come back. They’d come back, keep hurting him, and it would just repeat.
Yuzu called for dinner, shaking Ichigo out of his thoughts.
“Let’s talk about this later, Zan.” The spirit nodded, disappearing as Ichigo walked out the door and down the stairs. Soft footsteps thudding against wood, walking into the kitchen, and a small hope soon dashed. His father wasn’t there, his leftovers likely put in a container in the fridge.
Tonight’s dinner was curry with chicken and rice. Spicy, but a small bit of sweetness. Not much was said between the three, dinner being a lot quieter without the head of the Kurosakis around. Dishes were washed, baths were taken, and pajamas were put on. Ichigo slipped beneath the covers of his bed, laying on his back where bruising was minimal.
Ichigo’s inner world - that’s what Zangetsu called it - was strange. Just an endless field of skyscrapers and a blue sky with lazily drifting clouds. Ichigo’s form was the same as it was in the waking world, but minus the bruises. He felt something on his head, looking up to see Zangetsu.
“ It’s ‘later’ now, Kingy. So let’s get talkin’. ” The spirit sat down on one of the window panes, Ichigo doing the same. Ichigo sighed, some unknown tension released from his tiny shoulders. He looked at Zangetsu with eyes no kid should have, a mix of tiredness and sadness to them. Normally sweet chocolate now turned bitter.
“I want to get stronger. I hate being beaten up all the time! They always do it when I’m alone so that no one helps me!” Ichigo’s voice turned louder, a quiver to his chin. It was only in his Inner World that he let these feelings out: sadness, anger, hatred, and every other ugly emotion he felt he couldn’t show. He was the older brother, the protector.
And protectors don’t cry.
“ Well, we’ll get ya strong enough to scare ‘em off. I can’t stand seein’ ya play dead just so they’ll stop hurtin’ ya. ” He ruffled Ichigo's hair, bringing his King out of whatever thoughts were plaguing him. Zangetsu took a brief glance at the sky of their world, noting the sky was still clear.
“Zan!” Ichigo batted the hand away, pouting.
“So how do I get stronger?”
“ Well, I hafta tell ya somethin’ about us before we can get to that. ” Ichigo looked up at him, a smile and wide eyes waiting for him to answer. Such a good look on his King, a look of happiness.
He didn’t quite hate what he was going to say next, but it still made his stomach churn.
“ Hollows aren't just evil spirits; they're souls that couldn't move on. Their attachments to the World of the Living consume them, turning into beings that run on instinct and emotion. "
Ichigo tilted his head.
“ I’m yer inner Hollow, King. ”
“Does that mean I’m the same as what killed Mom?” Ichigo’s voice was shaky, quiet, eyes pleading to cry but something blocking them. His King used to be a crybaby, cried whenever Tatsuki beat him in a match. But the moment Masaki came to pick him up, he stopped crying and put on the biggest grin you’d ever see.
Ichigo still smiled, but he barely cried.
“ I’m all your instincts, all your desires, every emotion you’ve felt and bottled up. Now, are we a bad person, Ichigo? ” The two of them were separate, yet one.
Ichigo paused for a moment, Zangetsu taking a quick glance at the sky. A few grey clouds, but nothing to show it was going to rain.
“No. But, you don’t look like how the other Hollows do. Why?”
“ Cuz yer soul ain’t all Hollow, King. You’ve got some shinigami in ya, too. ” He heard Ichigo gasp, eyes widening not in shock but in excitement.
“That means I’m part death god?! We’re so cool, Zan!” His King tackle-hugged him, knocking the Hollow to the ground. He let out a laugh, raspy and more akin to a cackle. He explained the concept of a Shinigami, or at least what he knew of them from what Masaki told him.
But the time for talking came to an end and the time for training began. The moves weren’t anything too advanced, just building on the skills his King had. The Old Man joined them every now and then, a silent observer to their routine.
A few months passed, enough for Ichigo - he was a really quick learner - to be able to fight properly. Or as properly as a ten-year-old taught by a Hollow could fight.
Ichigo waited at the graveyard by an old tree, wondering how long it would be until Warusai and his goons showed themselves. He didn’t have to wait long, as the tweedle jackasses came at him with their usual taunts. He brushed them off, played their game, until…
“You’re the reason your mom’s dead!” Warusai sneered with all the venom of a snake fang. He wanted to get something out of Ichigo, and he got a punch.
A kick.
Another punch.
Ichigo kept going, seeing red.
“H-Help me!” Warusai whimpered.
“We’re not getting anywhere near that monster! ” His friends yelled, looking in fear. Did they want a monster? Well, it’d be a monster they’d get. He kept pummeling, but Ichigo’s fists grew tired. With ragged breaths, he looked at Warusai.
Bruised and crying, looking at Ichigo like he was the boogeyman.
But he didn’t feel any regret over it. Regret was that feeling of being weighed down by something, like a ball and chain attached to his chest. But Ichigo felt light as a feather.
The orangette walked home, happy that his problem had been solved. After dinner and a bath, he slipped into bed.
In the Gotei 13, you either had your head on a swivel or else your head would be ripped from your shoulders. As such, Isshin was more observant than he let on. There was something… off about Ichigo. Maybe it was Masaki’s death, maybe it was something going on at school. Whatever it was, Ichigo seemed a bit distant for the past few months.
Looking to the clock in the wall of the clinic, he noticed it say ‘11:13 p.m.’. The mind liked to play tricks at night, fed into all sorts of nasty thoughts. Isshin got up, stretching. Yep, definitely time for bed. Yuzu probably left something for him in the fridge. Poor girl, having to take on so many of Masaki’s responsibilities.
If he wasn’t trapped in this gigai, he would have been able to keep his wife and their mother from dying that day.
Isshin walked into the kitchen, noticing the lights were already on. The kids should be in bed by now. Speaking of kids, Ichigo was at the kitchen island. But Ichigo’s irises weren’t yellow and his sclera wasn’t black.
“ Took ya long enough, geezer. Don’ worry, King let me take over. He couldn’t sleep out here, so we figured, ” The Hollow tapped the side of his head. “ He could get some shut-eye in there. ”
The Hollow was helping Ichigo? The same thing that nearly killed Masaki was helping his son
Isshin, understandably, was skeptical.
“ Oh, and don’t go callin’ me ‘Hollow’. Just like you or Ichigo, I have a name. ”
“Then what is your name?”
“ Zangetsu. Try talkin’ with Ichigo more. He’s been dealin’ with more than Masaki’s death. ”
“Why didn’t he tell me? I’m his father, he should—”
“‘
I don’t want to be a burden.’
” Zangetsu’s voice was a near-perfect imitation of Ichigo’s, the Hollow looking at him dead in the eyes. A slight chill went up Isshin’s spine, deciding to go to bed.