Chapter Text
Shuuhei was kneeling in the mess of rubble, unmoving. He was no longer sure what blood was his and what blood was his Captain's, but he could feel its warmth on his face, leaking from his stomach. His vision was clouded with red, his clothes a mess. Somebody was screaming and it took the rawness in his throat to realize it was him, wordless and filled with pain. He could feel Komamura behind him, trying to pull him up from his knees, but he fought against it, grasping for the barely-white bits of fabric that had been his captain's clothing. Komamura left him, kneeling and shaking as he twisted stained white fabric in trembling hands. A few minutes later, another pair of hands joined Komamura's this time, and he didn't fight back as he clutched the clothing to his chest. Once they pulled him to his feet, he felt a familiar lightheadedness, a sudden warmth and wetness around his center. A strangely familiar voice shouted in panic, and large hands pressed against his bleeding stomach as he finally passed out, darkness pulling him in.
——————
Shuuhei awoke with a quiet gasp, fighting past the painkillers to stay awake, his body tensed as he tried to discern where he was. White. He squinted against the brightness, his eyes casting around until they finally landed at a figure sitting on his bedside, thumbing through a copy of the Seireitei Communications.
"You're awake." Kensei said gruffly, dropping the paper onto the bedside table before turning his gaze to Shuuhei.
"M-Muguruma... taicho?" He slurred, recalling his arrival, remembering seeing him in battle. Kensei gave a small smile.
"Not a captain anymore." He said, the corner of his mouth curling into a smirk. Pain and shame coursed through Shuuhei as a few tears leaked from his eyes, too high to bother wiping them away, or really moving at all. Kensei's smile dropped slightly, studying Shuuhei's face.
“I-Is Tousen-taicho…?” His voice cracked on the name as he forced it out, some tiny part of him hoping that his captain was somehow still alive, despite a clear, visceral memory of being covered in his blood.
"Dead." Kensei said, knowing full-well that Shuuhei remembered, but understanding his need to make sure. With that single word uttered by Kensei, Shuuhei felt something inside of him crumble. He knew Tousen was a traitor, but even now he felt his voice guiding him, teaching him. Shuuhei gritted his teeth, choking back a sob as more tears ran down his face. He knew the drugs were partially to blame, that had he been sober he would've waited for such a breakdown until he was alone, or even then have repressed it that much more. Of course this was how it all ended-- his beloved, traitorous captain dead, him crying and in pain on a hospital bed in front of the man who'd inspired him to become everything he was. Kensei watched him cry impassively, no judgement on his face.
"Taicho-" He gasped, unsure which one he was referring to, desperately wishing he were sober enough to sort out the thoughts screaming through his brain. One of his hands moved upwards, covering his eyes in shame as he sobbed, still trying to keep quiet, keep his embarrassment to himself. How fucked-up was it that he still loved his Captain, after all that had happened? Even after seeing him leave, even after evening upon evening of drinking with Rangiku and Kira, he still felt sick when he tried to reconcile strong, guiding Tousen with the man who’d betrayed them all. Ukitake had tried to talk to him about it once, and Hisagi had frozen, his heart pounding, eyes wide, and told him stiffly that he had work to do. He’d then promptly gone back to his office to curl up under his desk and re-orient himself, choking his breath back under control. He suspected Ukitake had known as much, and the Captain had been alarmingly gentle with him since then, periodically bringing him food or making a point to invite him to do things outside of his office. Hisagi rarely accepted, preferring to drown himself in paperwork so he didn’t have to think.
Kensei was still infuriatingly difficult to read, and Shuuhei desperately wished he were somewhere else, so he could experience this pain alone. His chest felt tight, and it was getting harder and harder to breathe as he choked back tears and sobs. “Kid, you need to calm down.” Kensei said, a hint of alarm in his voice as Shuuhei gasped for air. “C’mon.” The fourth-division lieutenant who’d lead him to Shuuhei’s room had warned him— said that Shuuhei had a tendency to fight his painkillers even when he desperately needed rest, would keep himself awake in order to do work or even just so he could defend himself if he was feeling unsafe, something common enough among injured shinigami. Of course, he was in no state to defend himself right now, his face a mess of tears and snot, bits of Tosen’s blood still clinging to his hair despite the fourth division cleaning him up as best they could.
“Kid—“ Kensei reached forward to touch Shuuhei’s shoulder, to try to ground him somehow, but clearly it was the wrong move because Shuuhei became wild-eyed, jerking up in his bed to avoid the hand out of reflex. A cry tore out of him as the movement disturbed his already-sensitive stomach, turning the dull throb into a sharp pain. Kensei jumped to his feet, but before he could react there were two other people in the room, gentle but strong hands pushing Shuuhei back onto the bed as he cried and struggled, administering more sedatives. Kensei watched uselessly as Shuuhei’s eyes, wide and desperate, met his before unwillingly slipping closed, tears still leaking from them. His breathing slowed, mouth ajar from his stopped-nose. Kensei barely heard what the two fouth-division members said, just remembered being led from the barracks, stumbling out into the bright sunlight. He sat down on the porch, collecting his thoughts. He’d seen the kid on the battlefield, had barely recognized him as the child he’d once saved. He’d certainly grown, and he’d felt a certain sense of pride at learning he’d become a Lieutenant, and of the 9th Division at that. Tousen had still clearly done a number on the kid, though. He'd heard the screaming on the battlefield, and remembered the dull horror he'd felt when Komamura led him to the kid, half-catatonic and trembling, kneeling over the mess of blood and gore and clothing that used to be his Captain. He hadn't realized who'd been crying out with such rage and pain, and he felt anger in the pit of his stomach at Tousen for causing him so much pain.
“Muguruma-san.” A calm, eerily-familiar voice greeted him, and Kensei looked up.
“Ah. Ukitake-taicho.” Jyuushiro looked slightly unsteady on his feet, and there were dark circles under his eyes, but he greeted the former 9th-division Captain with a smile.
“It’s good to see you have returned. May I sit?” He asked, ever-polite. Kensei nodded, and Jyuushiro sat on the edge of the porch next to him. “As much as I trust the fourth division to allow me to heal, I must admit staying inside so often does more harm then good.” He said, tilting his head up to catch the rays of the sun. Kensei didn’t know what to say to that, so he remained quiet, content to sit back and watch the near-empty square.
“We all suspected Hisagi-fukutaicho’s tattoo had something to do with you.” Jyuushiro said finally, breaking the silence.
“I saved him from a hollow when he was a kid.” Kensei replied, irritation in his voice. “He didn’t have to go and get that tattooed on his face.”
“When he gets an idea in his mind, there are few who can stop him. He once brought a motorcycle over from the human world and wrecked havoc on the Seireitei.” He gave a small smile. “Tousen threatened to take his seat for it, but I doubt he would have.” Kensei gave a small smirk at the anecdote, comforted by the thought that the broken boy in the hospital bed was more then just the condensed ball of pain that he’d seen thus far.
“He’s not normally like this, is he?” Kensei asked, sure that the question was a stupid one, but wanting to reassure himself all the same. Jyuushiro was quiet for a moment, considering his thoughts before speaking.
“He has changed a lot since the revelation about Tousen’s betrayal. He had a lot of trust in his Captain, and having that broken was not easy for him. I can’t imagine Tousen being killed has made that any easier. It is difficult to mourn someone who has done so much wrong.”
“Shuuhei killed Tousen.” Kensei said, repeating what Komamura had told him. Jyuushiro nodded, not surprised by the bit of information.
“He has a very strong sense of duty.” He said quietly. He looked over at Kensei. “Hisagi-fukutaicho is a fascinating young man, and I suspect much of that is owed to you. He needs time to heal, but I hope you will stay with us for a while longer. I believe you two have quite a lot to speak about.” Jyuushiro began to stand, gathering himself. “I’m afraid I must retire— perhaps the fourth division is right about needed rest.”
“I guess they know a thing or two.” He admitted, not even beginning to believe that Jyuushiro had come outside for the fresh air.
Jyuushiro gave a small smile before reminding him, “You are likely the closest thing he has now to what Tousen was for him. Please keep that in mind.” He said, before stepping back into the fourth division. Kensei could hear someone from within the walls chiding Jyuushiro for leaving, and Jyuushiro responded easily, allowing the door to close behind him. Kensei sat in silence, mulling over what Jyuushiro had told him.
Maybe he would stay.