The Broken Souls of the Seireitei

A/N: Sigh. This story is taking so much out of my mind. This chapter could have very well been 2 or 3, and it still isn't finished. The end is sort of choppy. Lucky for me I have the rest of the week off starting Thursday, so I'll work on this and my two Inuyasha stories. Thanks for the reviews. Much love.


“Oi, did you feel that?” Ikkaku looked at his red haired friend and snatched the jug of beer from him, making some of it slosh out of the top. He, Renji, Iba, and Yumichika were sitting in a glade, smoking and drinking, being Squad 11 trash as usual. Even though Renji was under the finger of the Kuchiki, 11 was his home. Iba felt the same, even though his taicho was good to him and really, a great friend.

Yumichika also snatched the joint from Renji, chiding him. “It’s supposed to be ‘puff’ ‘puff’ and pass, Abarai-kun. Trying to distract us will not help you,” The pretty man giggled, almost falling in Renji’s lap as he struggled to sit upright. Renji frowned and stood up, brushing sticky rice off of his hakama. Then his eyes narrowed. The reiatsu he felt was definitely Ichigo’s. And there was another familiar one, though much stronger than Ichigo’s. It was familiar in the sense that perhaps it was maybe somehow associated with Ichigo, but not Ichigo himself. His former squad members laughed at him when he spoke this concern to them.

“Ichi-kun went back home, Abarai-kun. How can he be both here and there?” Iba asked, froth from the beer on his moustache. “Can he be both here and there?” He asked, cocking his head to the side as if he were in deep thought.

Yumichika laughed, high pitched like a girl. “Maybe Iba-kun should stop drinking and smoking. It makes him think too much, and thinking is bad!” He batted his multi colored eyelashes and reached to pat Iba, and his hand was slapped away.

“Dat waddn’t nice,” Ikkaku slurred, the effects of the weed and alcohol always hitting him before any of his friends. Renji scowled at them and looked in the direction of Yamamoto’s quarters. “I’m sure it was Ichigo. Maybe I should go check it out.”

“Oooh, yeah! Go do that!” Yumichika said enthusiastically. If Renji left, there would be more weed and beer for the rest of them. “Come see us later!” He yelled as Renji ran off to locate the orange haired shinigami. Iba was taking massive gulps of the beer, and when Yumichika snatched it from him and titled it back, only one drop came out, and he panicked to think it wasn’t beer, but Iba’s slobbers.

“You son of a bitch! You always drink all the beer!” He screamed, throwing the jug at him, cracking it. “Way to go shit for brains. Now what will we carry the beer in?”

Iba paused, scratching his chin. “Our mouths, perhaps?” Ikakku burst out laughing, rolling and holding his washboard abs.

Yumichika glared at them, considering draining their energy to shut them up. He turned toward Yamamoto’s quarters, sensing the dull throb of Ichigo’s reiatsu. “Hmm…maybe Abarai-kun was right,” he trailed off. If Ichigo was around, he should alert Zaraki taicho. He was out of beer, at least he could watch a decent fight.

*****

“So, Isshin-kun. Have you come back to rejoin your family?” Yamamoto asked, leaning on his cane prop, his beady eyes glaring at Isshin. Both Kurosaki men were on one knee, bent down in submission the general. Ichigo slightly bristled with jealousy at Yamamoto’s comment. Isshin’s family was him, Masaki, Yuzu, and Karin. Not some dusty old fart in this wretched land.

“I am an old fart, aren’t I?”

Ichigo snapped his head up, confused, and saw Yamamoto smirking down at him. Isshin shook his head and stifled a chuckle. He thought Ichigo knew that higher level shinigami could read lower level’s minds. It was one of the many ways captains kept their unit in check.

“Uh. Well yeah. Renji told me you were like 20 million years old. But no one can seriously be that old. Maybe Kami-sama. Which you aren‘t.” Ichigo just had to wonder if Yamamoto had a God-complex like Asshole Aizen did.

Yamamoto walked over to Ichigo and patted him on the head. “Lullaby cry, fragrant waves crashing, eyelids heavy, dreamless sleep. Binding Spell Number 22, Serenity‘s Peace,” he said in a soothing voice. Ichigo’s eyes went wide, and then he fell down on his side, snoring lightly. Isshin glanced over at his son, who was so adorable with the faint line of drool coming from his mouth. Masaki would be proud.

“The funny thing is, that’s probably the best sleep he’s gotten since he became a shinigami.” Isshin lamented, feeling somewhat sorry for his son. Yamamoto smiled and nodded, beckoning for Isshin to follow him. The former taicho pointed at his son and told him to behave and walked behind Yamamoto to the garden to discuss the situation.

*************

“Abarai fukutaicho.”

Renji halted in his jog toward Yamamoto’s quarters at the three taichos sitting in the foyer of Squad 8. Byakyua was staring daggers at him for some unknown reason, and Renji was anxious to find Ichigo.

“Good afternoon, Kyoraku taicho. Good afternoon, Ukitake taicho. Good afternoon Kuchiki taicho.” Kyoraku chuckled at the way Renji addressed Byakuya. He sounded like he just knew he was going to be reprimanded for something stupid.

Byakuya finished his saucer of sake and looked at his fukutaicho with contempt. “Where are you running off to?” He said in a voice that flowed as smooth as water.

Renji wasn’t smart enough to lie. “I felt Kurosaki Ichigo’s reiatsu at Yamamoto’s quarters.”

“So?” Byakuya leaned forward in the wicker chair he was sprawled in, making the chair creak in protest. Renji swallowed. His taicho hated Ichigo, and would probably immediately forbid him from going further. As if Byakuya’s rules mattered; Renji had disobeyed him so many times.

“I was confused as to why he would be here. When I saw him at school yesterday, he didn’t mention coming here.”

Byakuya huffed and chuckled coldly. “That stupid ryoka school. Have they taught you to read yet?” Byakuya laughed outright at his joke, making Renji’s jaw set angrily. Kyoraku sat his sake saucer down and looked disapprovingly at Byakyua. “Yare, yare. Have the Kuchiki manners flown out of that air head of yours?”

Byakyua stopped short in his laughter and glared into his saucer, still knowing better than to glare at either of his father figures. Even as a grown man of hundreds of years of age, it still made him want to scratch his skin until it bled when he was scolded. It was a feeling comparable to an anxiety attack. It made him feel infantile and low, the way Renji probably felt everyday. He stood and began to step away from them, when Kyoraku grabbed a pale gloved wrist gently, but firmly.

“That was rude, Bya-kun. When you want to leave, you dismiss yourself. Stop being so spoiled. Jyuu-chan was feeling good today to want to sit in the sun, so he and I invited you for tea and cakes, and here you act like a brat. Yare, yare…” Kyoraku noticed a blue gray eye staring at him fiercely and let Byakuya’s hand go, letting the pale appendage drop from his hand.

“Tea and cakes? That’s funny, since they both taste like sake. I should have known better to spend my day with a choleric and an alcoholic. I bid you both farewell and a lovely day. But I’m sure it will be lovely, especially after feeling that very intimate reiatsu. Right, Kyoraku-sama?” Byakuya asked with a sneer on his face. Kyoraku gave him a stony look, and Ukitake looked as if he had been shot.

“Renji!” Byakuya snapped, never turning around. He beckoned him with his hand to follow and Renji huffed angrily, looking back toward Yamamoto’s quarters. He nodded at both stricken looking taichos before running to catch up with Byakuya, who was fast making distance between him and his Senpai.

Kyoraku turned toward Ukitake, who had been silent since Renji walked up. “That little smarmy upstart. I should have bitch slapped him. He knows better. Jyuu-chan? Are you feeling well? Too much sun?” He asked, fawning over the sick man. Ukitake looked at him with a strange look on his face and shoved his lover away, standing wordlessly and walking away to Squad 13 quarters.

Kyoraku watched sadly as Ukitake walked away, knowing why. He had apologized so many times over the past fifty years, and had actually thought for a few years there that he had been forgiven. He closed his eyes, his reiatsu recalling the events that took place fairly recently compared to his long stretch of life. He leaned back in his chair, placing his hairy feet in the chair still warm from Byakuya’s body and thought about what happened. Jushiro was so hurt, but he was tired of going to try to make it better. The man knew how he was. He knew of his flirtatious manner and never said anything about it. At least not until then…

“Kyoraku taicho!”

A shrill voice jostled the half drunk man, making him almost fall out of the chair. He adjusted his hat to see his fukutaicho, looking as pretty and nerdy as ever.

“Nanao-chan. Sweet Nanao. Did you bring a present for Daddy?”

Nanao dropped her heavy book on his feet, bruising them. “I just wanted you to know that you have a noticeable boner. I spotted it from across the courtyard. That’s not funny!” She yelled, kicking at him when he grinned pearly white teeth at her. She walked behind him and went to sit in Ukitake’s chair, when Kyoraku halted her.

“You know better, Nanao-chan.”

She smiled and gently removed his feet from Byakuya’s old seat and sat down, drumming her fingernails on the arm of the chair. “So…” She didn’t finish her sentence, just looked inquisitively at her taicho. She already knew so much. Kyoraku evened his jaw nodded and looked down, surprised to see water droplets land on the wooden planks of the deck they sat on. Nanao’s face broke and she reached to hug her tortured taicho. They sat on the deck for a long time as he wept bitter tears.

******

“Kurosaki Isshin. We can speak candidly, yes?” Yamamoto and Isshin were walking in his grand garden, covered with sakura trees and lotus flowers. Only the Kuchiki estate had more greenery.

“Yes, Yama-ji.”

The old man sighed, taking Isshin by the forearm and resting on him for support as he sat down on a small bench. Isshin smiled genuinely; it reminded him of the times that he, Kyoraku, and Ukitake would gather in the old man’s garden and hang out with him.

Ukitake.

“Tell me boy, why have you come back? Sit at my feet and rub them, they are sore.” Isshin wrinkled his nose at the brown sagging foot that was thrust on his chest. He cracked his knuckles, blushing when Yamamoto chided him for doing so, and started to rub the ancient feet.

“Well, Ichigo is a shinigami.”

Yamamoto nodded. “Indeed. But he has been that for awhile. I’m sure you could sense the spike in his reiatsu. You are a taicho. You can tell those things, correct?” He winced when Isshin rubbed a bunion. He made a mental note to send Sasakibe for more tabi.

Isshin nodded, rubbing the velvety skin. “I only recently got my shinigami powers back. But I had known about Ichigo for awhile. In fact, all of my children have reiatsu. That’s what I want to talk to you about. Ichigo loves being a shinigami. Just like I did.”

Yamamoto laughed. “No, not just like you. Nothing like you.”

Isshin paused. “How can you say that, Yama-ji?” His voice was small and hurt. The old man snorted and removed his foot from Isshin’s hands, only to replace it with his other foot.

“If someone loves something. Someone. They don’t run away. They fight.” Yamamoto cocked his head and looked at Isshin, waiting for the man to agree. Isshin was quiet, holding his head down.

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“Bullshit. Thirty years you stayed and then decided to run.” Isshin looked up at the use of the expletive by Yamamoto. The old man gruffly chuckled. “I asked if we could speak candidly. Anyway what of your other children?”

Isshin sighed. “I want to become a shinigami again. Full fledged. I don’t expect to go right back to being a taicho, but I want to be a reaper again. But if I were to be a shinigami, and also Ichigo, then what of my daughters?”

Yamamoto scratched his old chin and adjusted his beard. “Daughters, you say? And they have reiatsu? How old are they?”

“They are twins of fifteen years. One has the heart of a lion and the other has the wisdom of a bear. Their names are Karin and Yuzu.”

Yamamoto frowned, nodding his head. “I understand. You want them to become shinigami as well?”

Isshin chewed nervously on his lip. “Karin has fought hollows before. She and Chad have fought one together, also she witnessed Hitsugaya taicho and Matsumoto fukutaicho battle a hollow a few weeks ago. Yuzu can see hollows, though not all the time.”

“You know what this means, Kurosaki Isshin.”

“Yes, Yama-ji. I, my son, and my daughters will pledge our souls to you, and the King, and become shinigami. We will have gigai bodies, bodies that can be exited quickly to fight hollows that threaten our very existence.”

Yamamoto nodded. “Even more is the threat of Aizen. You know of him as well?”

Isshin nodded. “Why did he?…”

Yamamoto shrugged. “Who knows why the mother bird throws her young out of the nest? Who knows why the turtle lays it’s eggs so far from the water? To test them. To test their children, their surroundings, to see if they can survive. If they survive, they can conquer. Aizen survived. But he lost his place in heaven. He is my Lucifer, and Ichimaru and Tousen are my archangels. In every sense of the word.”

Isshin’s eyes widened. Urahara had not mentioned this. “Why would he align with the hollows?”

Yamamoto smiled. “I am not sure. But I believe he searches for the hollow…that contains the soul of Jesus Christ. The hollow that has the Spear of Destiny. Through the Orb of Distortion, he can gather the souls of Karakura and obtain the key to reach and kill the King. If he succeeds, then he can control Hueco Muendo, the Seireitei, Heaven, Hell, and Earth, all in one fist. Kami-sama himself may not be able to stop him.”

Isshin gave Yamamoto a curious look. “You doubt Kami-sama?”

Yamamoto smiled. “No more than I doubt you, Isshin-chan.” Isshin looked down and nodded, feeling uneasy at what was just disclosed. It was no more of wanting to rejoin the Gotei 13. They needed him. Aizen needed to be stopped, at all costs. That hollow must never be found, and the key must never be made. For the sake of all of them, it cannot happen. Isshin narrowed his eyes.

**************

Ukitake panted, reaching the steps of his home. He was tired from the shunpo steps he did to get away from Kyoraku. Sentaro and Kiyone were happily away doing some mindless tasks, to which he was infinitely grateful. With his present mood, he would have snapped at him, and both of his 3rd seats were so sensitive, especially Kiyone. He sat on his steps, his mind racing. He knew that reiatsu, and felt the shift in Kyoraku’s being, and it made him ache.

He and Kyoraku truly had had a long term relationship. They had been together 1,912 years. Of course, with that time frame, fidelity would have been a fleeting thought. Both of them had trysts, affairs, flings, fucks, whatever. They had an agreement though. No emotional attachments. Period. Ukitake, being the more sensible of the two had no problems discerning love from lust. And to be honest, most of the decent looking men within the Seireitei walls had been rolled across one or both of their palms. Ukitake had even spent a few nights with their recent leader of the coup d'état, Sosuke Aizen.

No attachments. Why was that so hard to understand? Ukitake gathered his breath and went inside to lay on his hard futon. He remembered how the scene played out, both intruding parties wide eyed and contrite, and him, weak, waifish, and sickly. Nothing could be done about it. The nasty events had played out, and were ingrained in his mind. Forgiveness was his true test of character. He loved Kyoraku so. The events 50 years ago had not lessened that love, perhaps increased it. The trust…the trust they had worked so hard to rebuild could be so easily destroyed again. The thought of it made his head ache. He wanted his lover’s arms around him, his sweet breath laced with sake ghosting over his ears, his full, sensuous lips on his. His breath evened as his eyes closed, imagining his lover there with him.

“Dreams can become reality, Jyuu-chan.”

Ukitake’s eyes flew open, and were looking right into the puffy red eyes of Kyoraku. “Why are your eyes red, Shunsui?”

The Squad 8 taicho looked at his lover and smiled. “You shoved me away so coldly. You know I hate rejection.”

Ukitake snorted and tried to turn his head away, but when he did, Kyoraku dipped his head and kissed the pale neck flesh, making his lover squirm. He licked over the shoulder, working Ukitake’s haori open more. He kissed a thin line in the open part of the haori, making him begin to pant again, but this time slower, fingers clenched on Kyoraku’s back.

“Why did you run off, koi?” Kyoraku kissed the pink lips gently at first, but again, more demanding, more erotic.

“You don’t want me.” It was a moan, half from ecstasy, half from fear. The white haired man looked so vulnerable, so broken, and again all the pangs of guilt and shame for hurting Ukitake filled Kyoraku as he buried his head in the crook of his beloved’s neck.

“Yare, yare…my gem, my koi. I should be the one scraping and begging at your feet for you to even acknowledge my presence. I love you, want you, need you.” Small kisses and strokes through bunched clothing did nothing to quell the water flowing freely from Ukitake’s eyes. The pain was immense. His chest felt like it was on fire, and his reiatsu was in turmoil.

“Please, please hold me, Shunsui.” It was a plea, strangled and hitched from a deep, 50 year old infected wound. Kyoraku held back his own tears as he gathered his love into his arms, stroking his back and cooing him to sleep. He mentally kicked himself for getting him so worked up. At least this time there was no coughing or blood. He held the man for the rest of the day, the only interruption being Kiyone quietly slipping in to leave a tray of food and water before quietly tipping out again. She and Sentaro managed to be quiet, knowing there was no reason to fight for any of Ukitake’s attention, since Kyoraku was the only soul he would pay any attention to anyway.



>Are you enjoying yourselves yet?