Chapter Text
It was dark in here.
Darkness had never been a problem of his. Darkness concealed all, shadows were cast over the worst secrets. There was solace in darkness. A place to hide. A place to not pretend.
Now, however… it was like torture.
It wasn’t just dark here. No. They stripped him of his sight, of his hearing, of all sensation. The only thing left in this vast place were his thoughts, which were just too overwhelming.
His thoughts drifted to Soul Society over and over again, how Ichigo was there, moments away from delivering the final blow. How utterly vulnerable Mugetsu was when he interrupted them. How broken Mugetsu looked after every dirty secret was spilled.
If he wasn’t being so heavily restrained as he was now, he would have cried. The restraints withheld him in that regard as well. There wasn’t a single bodily function possible with the confinement.
Aizen wondered how long he had been here, and how long he got before the new Central 46 ordered his death. Because that was a possibility now, without the Hogyoku.
A scraping noise startled him out of his mind after hearing only silence for so long. His left ear.
He was expecting a harsh light to invade his eyes, but the person before him was barely visible with the dimmed lights. Left eye. Yamamoto.
“Aizen Sousuke.”
He blinked with his left eye to conceal the confusion within. He tried to speak, but that was still sealed.
“The Central 46 has decided upon your fate.”
He was already bored, and wondered what was worse… his thoughts torturing him, or a new jurisdiction system that was already flawed. No trial? They should look in the Human World for an example.
“You might have already guessed it. You have received the death penalty.”
Giving the elder a flat look, he wondered why Yamamoto was even talking to him right now. Unless there was something to gain for Yamamoto by visiting him instead of already killing him.
The Hogyoku, of course, would not be found near him. It would leave Soul Society anxious to say the least. It was, after all, his most important bargaining chip. Of course they would hesitate to kill him if the Hogyoku wasn’t found first. Because if the Hogyoku were to fall in evil hands again, they would, once more, find themselves in a pinch with another immortal God-wannabe.
“Since the Sokyoku was broken and could not be restored, we had to go back to a more… ancient way of performing a death penalty,” Yamamoto said with a sigh.
He wondered why. Was the Head-Captain trying to underline the severity of his punishments as an incentive for him to start talking about the whereabouts of the Hogyoku? As if he would ever put Mugetsu’s life in danger for the sake of his own life. The death penalty would not be lifted under any circumstances, he imagined.
“Have you ever heard of the Saiin Danzai? Blink twice if you have.”
The Re-Marked Condemnation.
His eyes widened first before he blinked twice. Of course he had heard of it. Was that what was going to happen to him?
Yamamoto closed his eyes as he continued, “I see that you realize what is at stake for you. If you cooperate with me, you will only have a normal death sentence. You wouldn’t have to suffer for eternity.”
He clenched his teeth, then startled when he noticed he could move his jaw. Hiding his emotions, he clicked his tongue experimentally. Even if that was what was awaiting him, he wouldn’t condemn Mugetsu further than he already had.
The silence stretched on, and Aizen put on his most bored expression. “So?”
Yamamoto opened his eyes again and regarded him, unfazed. “Where is the Hogyoku?”
Aizen's smirk deepened, slow and deliberate, like ink spreading through clear water. It was time to play.
“You disappoint me, Soutaicho,” he murmured, rolling his jaw with lazy curiosity, savoring the return of movement. “All this talk of ancient punishments… of souls suffering across lifetimes… yet we return to such a predictable question.”
His eyes narrowed, amused. “You ask for the Hōgyoku as if its location were something as mundane as misplacing your cane.”
Yamamoto’s brow twitched—barely, but Aizen noticed.
“So stiff,” Aizen continued softly, his tone dripping with patronizing warmth. “So painfully rigid. I often wondered if your bones ever complained about being forced to hold up such foolish decisions from incompetent superiors.” He drawled out the last word, sarcasm palpable in the air.
Yamamoto said nothing.
Aizen leaned forward as much as the restraints allowed, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You really came all the way down here to bargain with me? Me?”
His smile sharpened.
“I must say… I’m flattered.”
“You mistake necessity for sentiment,” Yamamoto replied quietly. “We cannot risk the Hōgyoku destabilizing the worlds again.”
Aizen laughed—a low, rich sound. “Destabilizing? Old man… you give me too much credit. The Hōgyoku merely magnifies potential. It would only lead to a wish come true if there was a realistic way of achieving it. If someone else were to misuse it…” He let his voice trail off, feigning concern. “…well. That would be a tragedy, I suppose…”
Yamamoto’s glare hardened. “Then speak.”
Aizen clicked his tongue in mock disappointment.
“You think fear of your Saiin Danzai will move me. You think eternal condemnation is enough to make me beg for a normal execution.” His smirk returned, slanted and cold. “But tell me—have you forgotten what happens to a soul as… resilient… as mine?”
Yamamoto’s grip tightened on his staff.
“Yes,” Aizen went on, eyes gleaming, “I know the ritual better than your precious Central 46 seems to. The reborn soul becomes powerless… harmless… stripped bare.” He tilted his head slightly. “But I wonder… do you truly believe any system you create could keep me harmless?”
The temperature in the cell shifted. Yamamoto’s reiatsu stirred, ancient and crushing.
Aizen welcomed it with a soft inhale, as if savoring expensive incense.
“You see?” he whispered. “Still afraid. Even now. Even with my powers sealed, body broken, sentence declared, and your blade hanging over my future incarnations… you still fear what I might become.”
Yamamoto’s voice dropped to a growl.
“I fear nothing.”
Aizen’s smile became almost gentle—almost pitying.
“Then why,” he said, lowering his gaze, “are your hands trembling?”
The silence cracked like dry wood.
“Aizen.” Yamamoto’s voice boomed now, echoing through stone. “With everything you’ve done, I would be surprised if you weren’t sent to Hell once you’re executed. The Saiin Danzai will be performed as a fail-safe – in the off chance you’re able to escape Hell. If the Saiin Danzai is enacted, your suffering will not end with death. Every lifetime will drag you back to judgment. Every rebirth will be hunted.”
Aizen’s eyes gleamed with wicked satisfaction.
“Then it is a good thing you are not going kill me at all,” he said softly.
Yamamoto’s reiatsu surged—
—but Aizen only laughed again, eyes half-lidded, utterly unbothered.
“Ah… but you wanted an answer, didn’t you?” Aizen said as though remembering something trivial. “Where is the Hōgyoku, you ask?”
He leaned back, eyelids lowering.
“I’ll tell you, old man.”
A beat.
“When the storm has passed.”
Yamamoto’s reiatsu finally settled, simmering like coals rather than roaring like a wildfire. Aizen felt the shift immediately. Doubt. A hairline crack in the old man’s resolve.
Perfect.
He wanted to fold his hands loosely in his lap, but the restraints didn’t allow it.
“You look troubled, Captain-Commander,” Aizen murmured, as though genuinely concerned. “Is there something wrong?
Yamamoto responded with narrowed eyes, “What is this storm you’re talking about.”
Aizen’s smile curved slowly, elegantly. Knowing.
“The one you have not prepared for. The enemy you thought to have defeated.” He let silence stretch, savoring Yamamoto’s tension. “Tell me, old man… have you ever wondered why the balance trembles? Why the world quiets as if holding its breath?”
“You speak in riddles,” Yamamoto snapped. “Speak plainly.”
Aizen chuckled. “Plainly? If I spoke plainly, it would undoubtedly cause more trouble.”
“If you seek to manipulate—”
“I seek nothing,” Aizen interrupted, voice suddenly cool. “Nothing dangerous at least. I merely observe. And what I see… is a future in which Soul Society bleeds more deeply than you can imagine.”
Yamamoto’s jaw clenched. “We have faced every threat and survived.”
Aizen lifted an eyebrow. “Every threat? Even the one that hides in your blind spot? The one you never suspected… because you believed him neutralized beyond salvation?”
Yamamoto’s breath caught—not visibly, but Aizen felt it. Hopefully, Yamamoto would link his words to the Quincy King while the ones listening in – the ones in the shadows – would think that Aizen was talking about himself, or at least other enemies.
He leaned forward slightly, eyes gleaming like sharpened glass.
“You think you know who your enemies are,” he whispered. “But that illusion will cost you men… Captains… perhaps even the pillars holding Soul Society upright.”
“Enough,” Yamamoto growled, fire licking at the edges of his reiatsu.
Aizen leaned back, as if sitting in an armchair rather than a prison.
“If you kill me, the worlds will lose a necessary piece. A stabilizer. A blade that can cut what your own cannot.”
“You presume too much of your value.”
Aizen smiled, a quiet, pitying thing, “Yet it was you that inadvertently confirmed my powers by considering the Saiin Danzai.”
Yamamoto didn’t respond.
Aizen closed his eye and sighed, “I presume nothing. I simply know my role in what is to come. Even if I do nothing…” He opened his eye again. “My knowledge alone could shift the tides.”
Yamamoto stared, expression unreadable.
Aizen sighed again, as if bored with the entire conversation. “If you doubt me—if you believe this is merely another one of my games—then by all means… seek confirmation.”
Yamamoto’s brows furrowed. “Confirmation? From whom?”
Aizen’s smile sharpened at the edges, but his voice became almost gentle.
“Urahara Kisuke.”
Yamamoto stiffened.
“Oh, yes,” Aizen continued lightly. “Do ask him. He is… let’s say… unusually well-informed about certain future developments.” He let that hang in the air, deliciously vague. “Far more than you’d expect. Isn’t it curious? The things one learns through the fabric of time.”
Yamamoto’s voice dropped to a dangerous rumble. “What do you mean by that?”
Aizen gave him a look of pure, infuriating amusement.
“If you doubt my necessity,” he said softly, “then consult Urahara. Ask him what the future has in store for us. Ask him what he has seen… or rather, what has been told to him. But please…”
He paused just long enough. “Do not make the mistake of letting someone listen in. And lately, there are a lot of someones here in Soul Society.”
Aizen continued with a whisper, “perhaps even here.”
Yamamoto’s reiatsu spiked with anger. It seemed the Soutaicho thought Aizen was making him paranoid on purpose. Still, he closed his eyes, satisfied. According to Mugetsu, the Quincies were present here as well, calculating and estimating Aizen’s power and involvement.
“You may kill me,” he murmured, “if you truly believe Soul Society can survive what is coming.”
His eyes opened, gleaming. “But if you wish for victory… you will keep me alive.”
The silence stretched, thick and heavy. Aizen smiled—slow, razor-thin.
“Go on, old man. Ask Urahara Kisuke.”
A beat.
“He’ll tell you… that the future needs me more than it needs you.”
~
He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you.
He banged his head against the wall behind him to quiet the voice inside his head. It stopped for about three seconds, and then it began again.
It almost drove him mad, the constant whisper in his ears.
Shut up!
But he loves you.
SHUT UP!
He banged his head more forcefully against the cold stone, making him see stars. Pain radiated from his head down to his neck, but the brief silence was more than worth it.
It had been this way since he woke up in prison. His hands were both cuffed with reiatsu suppressors, which should have made him fully incapacitated, yet he felt fine. Not that he showed he was fine.
The scene in Soul Society flashed before his eyes again, how the Hogyoku had shot into him, and once more he lifted his hand and touched the smooth skin of his chest.
A wave of anticipated frustration rose as he closed his eyes and reached for his inner world. As had happened countless times since his imprisonment, just as he began to sink inward, something struck and forced him back.
A growl escaped his lips as his eyes snapped open – he was still in the physical world. He couldn’t meditate. Couldn’t enter his inner world. Couldn’t speak to Zangetsu. He hadn’t heard him even once since being in prison.
He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you.
Mugetsu slammed his head against the cold stone again, harder than before. At this rate, he would be giving himself a concussion. Yet anything was better than that constant noise. Blood was trickling through his hair and down his neck.
The door of his cell cracked open, the dim light painful to his eyes. Maybe he already had a concussion, though he imagined the headache should be worse for that.
Kyouraku came in and went to sit in front of him, way too close than was probably allowed. The room was completely bare except for a soft blanket where he could sleep on, no bars separating the room. However, if someone wanted to enter the prison room while he was too close to the door, they would ask him to move away a few steps. Somehow, even without opening the door, they knew where in the room he was.
They regarded each other neutrally – Mugetsu on the floor in the corner of his room, Kyouraku an armlength apart – before Mugetsu sluggishly righted himself, still leaning with his back against the wall.
Kyouraku began to fumble in his kimono, in search of something. Two sake cups and a bottle appeared out of nowhere.
Mugetsu snorted, “You really always pick the best time, don’t you.”
Kyouraku chuckled. “Well, don’t be too loud, or the guards will confiscate it,” he whispered conspiringly with a wink.
The whispers of love began again, but he ignored it.
The Captain held out the filled cup, and Mugetsu gently accepted it.
“To a better future,” Kyouraku said, and Mugetsu raised it. Sipping from the cup, he savored the burn more than ever before. Anything to distract him.
Sighing and putting the cup down, Mugetsu regarded Kyouraku neutrally again, “You know what the future holds.”
“No,” Kyouraku said softly, looking into his cup. “I do not. And neither do you.”
The whispers became louder and louder.
“Yes I do,” Mugetsu whispered harshly, annoyed by both the Hogyoku’s insistence and Kyouraku’s stubbornness. “We need to prepare. You need to prepare. We still have time, but we’re going to be attacked–”
“When?” Kyouraku interrupted, “By who? And how could you be certain?”
He couldn’t explain it, as there was no certain way of knowing if the Quincies were listening in right then and there. They could loose the element of surprise. If only Kyouraku didn’t insist on reassuring Mugetsu they were alone.
“You cannot expect us to believe you if you refuse to give us details. There are no threats anymore. Do you really believe us that naïve? That you’re not just telling us this to make sure that Aizen is spared?”
Mugetsu’s anger spiked, “I am not trying to spare Aizen. Wait until the next war is over, and then–” kill him off. Kill him off in the most brutal way! – yet he couldn’t say it. His throat was squeezed shut from within.
It just infuriated him further.
The whispers slowly turned into shouts, almost drowning out what Kyouraku asked next.
“Then do you claim to not love him?”
HE LOVES YOU. HE LOVES YOU. HE LOVES YOU. HE LOVES YOU. HE LOVES YOU. HE LOVES YOU. HE LOVES YOU. HE LOVES YOU. HE LOVES YOU. HE LOVES YOU. HE LOVES YOU. HE LOVES YOU. HE LOVES YOU. HE LOVES YOU. HE LOVES YOU.
“I DON’T!!!”
He slammed his head backwards three times, hard, to quiet the noise. Pain exploded through his brain as a result, but he welcomed the silence more than ever.
Slumping forward, he rested his head in his hands, closing his eyes. He sighed in bliss, the whispers finally relenting more than just a few seconds. When was the last time he slept? Maybe he should lay down and sleep while the voices were gone.
He shifted to lay down without opening his eyes. When had his headache become so bad?
“Mugetsu?”
He startled at the sound, having totally forgotten Kyouraku was sitting right in front of him. The Captain regarded him with pained eyes, and he hated the pity there. Tempted as he was to just roll over to his other side, he forced himself to sit upright again.
“Sorry about that. It’s just–”
His throat squeezed shut once more, but this time Mugetsu was able to control his anger at his inability to speak freely.
Silence reigned once again, this time awkward and tense. The migraine he had called upon himself pounded his head in as if he were slamming it against the wall again.
“Where is the Hogyoku, Mugetsu?”
Kyouraku’s voice had turned into steel, yet his face was still soft. A necessity to ask.
Inside me, he wanted to answer, yet he felt his jaw clench shut involuntarily.
Too dangerous. Too dangerous. Best keep it secret. Too dangerous.
He tried to raise his hand and point at his chest, yet his body didn’t cooperate.
They would hurt you, they would try anything to get me out of you. Master does not want you to get hurt. Master loves you. He loves you.
He could only shake his head, helpless to do anything other than that.
“Mugetsu, we all saw him leave with the Hogyoku. When we came to Soul Society, the Hogyoku was already gone, separated from Aizen. Even Kurosaki-san told us when you arrived, something like a flash happened, blinding him for several seconds. He didn’t see anything.”
The frustration was clear in Kyouraku’s voice, yet Mugetsu couldn’t help but notice the Captain was trying to rein it in. To reason with Mugetsu. It just made the hopelessness inside him greater.
“By now you should realize Aizen can’t be trusted! If he willingly separated from the Hogyoku, it meant he planned on being apprehended. I don’t trust this situation. Something doesn’t add up here, so please, if you know anything, you have to tell us.”
Kyouraku’s eyes were pleading, yet there was nothing he could do but sit there and look at him with sorrow. Silence stretched on, the Captain patiently yet pleadingly waiting for an answer, but not a single sound got over his lips. Every gesture with his arms was restricted even before he began to move. The very thought of conveying any kind of information was shut down before it even fully formed.
He closed his eyes in defeat.
Master will have his wish come true, that is my duty.
Worry began to fill him up. He didn’t even know what Aizen’s dream was anymore.
When he opened his eyes again, he noticed Kyouraku was gone. The cups and sake were still there though, a silent reminder of their cracked friendship.
Your don’t need to be friends with him. You only need master. Because he loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you.
His eyes closed again when the chants of love began to fill his head once more.