Ties of Blood

A/n: I now present to you part seven, otherwise known as a series of unfortunate events.

Ahem. SPOILER ALERT LIKE WHOAH! Yeah, if you’re not caught up to the most recent of recent Bleach and hate spoilers, then just don’t read my writing. Okay?

Special love to my readers and reviewers, who've stuck with me through this odd, no-smut fic.

And with that, enjoy!


Ties of Blood
Part Seven

Something about Aizen Sousuke had always struck Kisuke as odd. It wasn’t even something he could easily pin down or mark. It wasn’t something that he could put into words or explain or warn others about.

It was just a niggle. A trickle in the back of Kisuke’s mind. A tingle that pinged his senses. A crawling of his skin every time he was in Aizen’s presence.

He wished wholeheartedly that he’d listened to his instincts.

Perhaps it was Aizen’s smile, always so damn genuine and sincere. His kindness given to anyone and everyone. His authentic but oh-so-fake humility. The intelligence that glinted behind dark eyes. Sharp like a tiger, more vicious than his gentle smile gave credit.

Kisuke had meant for his research to help people. To make the lives of those in Seireitei and Rukongai better. To entertain and to ease their existence in this transitory life. He created because there wasn’t anything else Kisuke would honestly rather be doing.

He never would’ve guessed his own brilliance to be used against him. He never could’ve believed that the person behind the disappearances and the horror attacking the ninth division were one and the same. And that, this person, was only a vice-captain. One whose followers were little more than children.

Kisuke never could’ve expected that he’d be standing there, mouth agape, staring aghast as his closest friends writhed in pain and torment. As reaitsu lashed unevenly across the dark, open field. As Aizen returned his stare without a flinch. Without a hint of guilt or apology or remorse. As Aizen all but smirked, backed by Ichimaru and Tousen.

Traitor, traitor, traitor.

It danced on the tip of Kisuke’s tongue.

You are exactly the man I thought you were.

Those words danced in the back of Kisuke’s mind. Aizen’s accusations. Aizen’s taunt.

How could a mere lieutenant contain so much power? How could he easily counter Tessai’s kidoh? How could anyone, any person with a soul, stand there and do such a thing to others?

Kisuke’s world blurred to a jumble of sensations. To the smell of Shinji’s blood and the sound of Hiyori’s screams. To the sight of Aizen’s mockery, Tousen’s silence, and Ichimaru’s boyish face and creepy smile. To the bitter taste of defeat and the awful press of reaitsu, Shinigami and Hollow both, rapidly fluctuating.

Chamber 46 hadn’t believed them. Why should they? The proof – seen with so many eyes but how could they know, how could they know that Aizen was nothing more than an illusion? – was there. It couldn’t be denied. Only unblinded eyes would be able to look beyond. And there were none to be found. Not in Seireitei. Not in that circle of aged fools sitting high in their tower.

Yoruichi was there. With him. And Tessai-san. And eight broken bodies that Kisuke somehow had to put back together. Yes, he had prepared for this. But not with the knowledge that he’d have to use them on familiar faces. On people that had become associates and colleagues. Friends. More than that in some cases.

This was truly an unpleasant situation. This was truly a horrifying situation.

“You can do it.” Yoruichi’s hand briefly squeezed his shoulder as he stood, staring at the enormous task in front of him and wondering if he was capable.

Kisuke drew in a steady breath. “It’s no longer a matter of capability,” he returned, rolling up his proverbial sleeves as his eyes narrowed. “I have to do it.”

Someday, Aizen was going to pay for this. Pay for everything.

- - -

The Hougyoku was cold to the touch, as though carved from ice. So cold that it burned Kisuke’s fingers when he held it. The fire licked at his skin as he poured his reaitsu into it and held the gem over Kensei. Starting with the ninth division captain because he was the most far gone. Probably the first to be affected, knowing him.

Kensei didn’t twitch, didn’t so much as groan. Body locked in stasis thanks to Tessai’s kidoh. Reaitsu lashed from him, a disquieting mix of Shinigami and Hollow. Struggling to blend together in one form and rejecting itself all at once. Kind of like oil and water, swirling briefly before immediately separating. Tearing apart its container along the way.

Kisuke held his breath, tried not to look Tessai and Yoruichi in the eye, tried not to show his uncertainty. His gaze flicked from Kensei to the Hougyoku to the gigai that Kisuke had crafted for him. An exact copy of the former captain down to the 69 tattoo on his muscled abdomen, down to the twist of his white hair and the scar on his left leg.

It lay there woodenly, like a doll. Looking plastic and fake. Dead without something to animate it.

This had to work. Kisuke was going to make it work. There was no way he could fail. He wasn’t going to fail. He’d been too late to save them before. He wasn’t going to be too late this time. Not again.

Kisuke’s fingers trembled as he pushed with both will and reiatsu into the Hougyoku. Into Kensei. Watching as his energy reached out, snapping around the power that rippled from the Hougyoku. As the dark taint of Hollow inside of Kensei seemed to writhe with glee, as the burst of Shinigami flared brighter and brighter.

Sweat beaded on Kisuke’s forehead, and he focused with every inch of his being. He didn’t quite have the necessary breadth of reaitsu to properly control the Hougyoku. This was such a gamble. But really, what choices did they have?

None. None at all. Aizen had forced them into this predicament; Aizen had forced Kisuke’s hand. Forced him to rely on an unreliable object.

Kisuke closed his eyes. Drew from a well of strength he hadn’t known he’d possessed until now. And hoped.

Prayed to gods above and below that this worked.

- - -

“You could stay here,” Kisuke said and pointedly gestured to the long, empty hall behind him that held open doorways with equally empty rooms. “I have the space.”

Not far away, Shinji shook his head and idly tugged at the tie looped around his neck.

“Ya know why we can’t,” he replied, frowning at himself as the knot refused to situate properly. He’d picked a rather unique set of clothing for himself. But somehow, with Shinji’s less than conventional personality, it worked.

“Actually, I don’t. Since you haven’t told me,” Kisuke countered and tried to fight off the squeezing in his chest, the tightness of self-accusation that kept screaming at him for his failure.

Some genius. No genius. Just a fool with delusions of grandeur.

Shinji looked at him, grin crooked and just a pale shade of his former humor. “Awww, Kisuke, yer going to miss us, aren’t ya?” He cocked his head to the side, look turning sly and teasing. “Or is it Rose yer gonna miss?”

Kisuke felt the heat of a blush steal into his cheeks at thought of the man who had recently and quite frequently, shared his bed. “You know about that?”

“Kisuke, it’s hard not ta know,” Shinji scoffed, turning his attention back to the mirror and the complexities of his tie. “What with the way ya made moony eyes at him and Rose always looked at ya like something ta be eaten.”

Trying and failing to conceal his embarrassment – he still hadn’t grown out of that, though he suspected Yoruichi’s constant teasing only made things worse – Kisuke shifted in the doorway. His voice turned serious.

“You might still need my help.”

Shinji was far too stubborn for his own good. “Ya did all ya can for us, Kisuke. And ya stabilized us. The rest’ll have ta be up ta us. Though don’t think we’re ungrateful,” he added with a sidelong look.

Kisuke sighed and watched as Shinji frowned at himself and the sight of his hair in the mirror. Looking so incongruous next to his modern clothing. Chosen to fit in the current trends of the living world. As always, Kisuke’s gigai were flawless. But nothing could compare to the feel of one’s own soul free from earthly confines.

Shinji’s hand dropped to Sakanade’s hilt. And he fluidly drew his zanpakutou, admiring the blade for several long seconds before his gaze hardened. Kisuke watched with widening eyes as Shinji grabbed a handful of his hair. Those beautiful, long strands falling to the ground. Lifeless and shorn as he sawed through them in an uneven pattern.

“Why…?”

Kisuke was unable to formulate a proper question as Shinji shook his head. Loosening a few more strands of hair as the length settled just above his shoulder. Kisuke knew that this wasn’t just the cutting of the gigai’s hair; Shinji’s true form would reflect this too since he’d used his zanpakutou.

The older man’s smile was sad and accepting as he resheathed Sakanade and cast one last look at himself in the mirror. “It was something that had to be done.” He stepped around the last pieces of his past self, moving toward Kisuke at the door.

He paused in the frame, however, his gaze raking pointedly over Kisuke’s own attire, still the black of a Shinigami’s shihakushou. “I’m no longer the same man. None of us are. We’ll never be the same again,” he added and patted his friend on the shoulder, adding a brief but companionable squeeze. “See ya around, Kisuke.”

And then, Shinji was gone. Leaving Kisuke’s new home just as the other Vizard had left before him. Reminding Kisuke of the building’s utter emptiness and silence. Nothing like the welcome noise of his division. The beeping and burble of the laboratory. Hiyori’s abrasive arguments with Mayu-chan and Yoruichi’s laughter during her visits.

Kisuke sighed and knocked his head against the doorframe. Despite Shinji’s words, he couldn’t believe that he’d done enough. He hadn’t cured them after all. They’d never lose the Hollow inside of them. All Kisuke had done was stabilize those creatures, make them easier to manage. He could do nothing for the sharp bite of betrayal. For the feeling of losing their homes, their trust, their very selves. Kisuke couldn’t make things as they were before. And worse, he couldn’t even return to Soul Society to prevent such events from happening again.

Guilt threatened to swallow him whole. He’d been too slow, too foolish. Why hadn’t he connected the dots? Why hadn’t he opened his eyes? Why hadn’t he listened to his instincts?

Thrusting himself off the door frame, Kisuke wandered into the deserted hallway and headed toward the sanctuary of his lab. He passed a bedroom where Tessai was sleeping behind a closed door, softly snoring. His energy was depleted as he’d worked rather hard the past few months to heal the Vizard and keep the entire shop hidden from the casual passing Shinigami. Were there any to speak of.

Kisuke stepped into his lab, closing the door behind him, and breathed deeply of the strange mix of odors. Of chemicals and the mild aftertaste of gunpowder. The detritus of his rush-work on several gigai and reaitsu-concealment items littered the top of his favorite desk. He had the feeling he would be doing a lot of research over the next few decades.

Somehow, he was going to have to figure out how to stop Aizen. He needed to know what Aizen had planned and why. If he couldn’t warn Seireitei in advance, then all Kisuke could do was prepare for the worst. Build a weapon. Build some method of blocking Aizen’s abilities. Something.

Kisuke refused to let this defeat break him.

- - -

Night fell, bringing with it a small bite of chill. Kisuke hardly noticed. His head was tilted back to watch the stars appear one by one from his perch atop the roof of his new home. The moon was large and bright, a pale orb hanging in the sky and illuminating the buildings and streets of Karakura. Somewhere in the distance, he heard the screech of a Hollow, felt the dim prickle of malevolent reaitsu, but it was gone just as quickly.

There was a jug of sake next to him, and a small cup in his hand. But Kisuke couldn’t find the peace that he sought. There was too much turmoil raging inside of him. Too many thoughts, too many recent memories.

“What are you doing up here?”

Kisuke barely stirred at the familiar voice, having already heard Yoruichi’s footsteps. His instincts from the second division weren’t completely gone after all.

“Thinking,” the blond answered as Yoruichi lowered herself down beside him, instantly snuggling against his arm in deference to the chill of the wind.

Her head tilted to the side, resting on his shoulder. “Sounds boring.”

A small smile curled his lips. “That’s because you’re more of an action type.” Kisuke gently rested his head against hers for a moment. “I don’t think I’ve thanked you yet,” he murmured, watching as the sake swirled around and around in the bowl.

She pinched his thigh hard enough to make him bite back a yelp. “Idiot,” she said. “We’re family. It’s not needed.”

“Yeah, we’re family,” Kisuke agreed, pretty much all that they had left was each other. He fought off a sigh as he thought longingly of what had once been their home. “I tried to open a senkaimon earlier.”

From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of her wince. “Kisuke--”

“I know.” He shook his head. “It didn’t work. I just thought I’d try.”

His sister bit her lip and gazed at him. “You want to go back that badly?”

Kisuke lifted the bowl to his mouth. Taking a long drink of the liquor that was such a bitter, cheap taste compared to the sake Shunsui had always treated them to.

“They don’t know the truth,” he replied in a murmur. “About Aizen or anything. Someone’s going to get hurt because of that.”

Yoruichi hummed in her throat. “You really think they’ll listen.”

“Shunsui might. Unohana-taichou.” He paused to consider, face warming without his consent. “Ukitake-san.”

Her hair tickled at his cheek, but he was comforted by her proximity. A tightness gripped his throat, but Kisuke swallowed it down. He was a grown man, a captain of the Gotei 13… formerly at any rate. He hadn’t the time to waste on tears. Not anymore.

“You can still go back, you know,” Kisuke continued. And really, his punishment shouldn’t be suffered by her as well.

This time, she flicked his head, lifting her eyes to glare at him as though he had insulted her. “I’m not going to leave you behind. Not now and not ever. Get that through your thick skull.”

“If you insist,” her brother allowed, but inwardly, he was ridiculously pleased by her words. “But don’t blame me if your princess sensibilities are offended by the commoner surroundings.”

She sniffed. “When has that ever bothered me?” Yoruichi demanded and snatched his sake away, chugging down a gulp from the jug itself in a very unladylike fashion. “And what’s with the clothes?”

Kisuke looked down at himself. He’d abandoned the black shihakushou and the white, haori. Neither of them seemed appropriate anymore, and he’d carefully tucked them away into the bottom of a dark closet. Right now, they were only useful as memories. He doubted he’d ever have reason to wear them again.

“I’m no longer the same person I was before,” he said, thinking fondly of Shinji and the others. “And I’ll never be the same again.”

Yoruichi looked at him, golden eyes dark with regret and understanding. “You did the best you could with what you had, otouto. They know that.”

“My best wasn’t good enough,” Kisuke returned soberly. “And I’m obviously not the genius I thought I was.” He swirled the sake around and took another long sip of it.

She knocked her shoulder against his. “And I think you need to start blaming who’s actually responsible rather than yourself.”

“You mean Aizen.”

Kisuke wasn’t surprised that the traitorous bastard’s name came out little more than a growl. His grip unconsciously tightened.

“Him. Tousen. Maybe even Ichimaru, even if he’s just a kid.” Yoruichi exhaled sharply. “Yamamoto for letting them in the Gotei in the first place. The other Shinigami for giving them room to work. The Onmitsukidoh for not noticing shit about them. Maybe even me included in that. Hell, even Shinji for making Aizen his second and not keeping better watch.”

He turned to look at her with that. But she cut him off before he could even think to say anything.

“What I’m trying to say is that there’s only so much blame to go around, and none of its meant for you. So butt out.” Her face and voice were both steady, serious. “There are dozens of other people whose job it was to notice. And none of them are you. You did everything you were supposed to do. Went above and beyond it.”

Kisuke swallowed. Honestly having no clue what to say to that. It was the truth. Mostly. There were a lot of people who should’ve known what Aizen was up to, and none of them had. Still, he couldn’t help but feel guilty. But think that there was more he could’ve and should’ve done.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally.

And he didn’t know who it was for. If it was an apology from him for not being better. Or sorrow for her that she hadn’t been either.

Yoruichi sighed, long and hard. Gazing at him for a moment before taking another drink from the jug. Then tipping her head back to stare at the stars.

“Not as sorry as I am.”

- - -

Kisuke stared without blinking. Knowing that his jaw must have dropped and he looked like an idiot several times over. There was a man on his doorstep. A very familiar man, standing there as if he belonged. As if it was no big deal for him to suddenly appear in Karakura.

“Yo!” Kuchiki Isshin greeted with a lifted hand and a broad smile that had never been far from his expression in the past. “Long time no see.”

Kisuke’s mouth opened and closed several times. Gaping like a landed fish. Before a great shudder worked its way over his entire body and he finally came to himself.

“Isshin!” he exclaimed, proud that it hadn’t emerged as a squeak. “What are you…? How did you…?”

Words failed him.

“Do you have any idea how hard it was to find this place?” Isshin asked, boldly inviting himself inside without so much as waiting for an invitation. All but shoving Kisuke out of the way as he planted his hands on his hips and looked over the selection of candy with approval. “The second division in you really shows, Kisuke. You’re damn good at hiding.”

“You…” Kisuke lifted a hand, pointing at a man he hadn’t seen in decades. One who looked as if he hadn’t changed for all the time that had passed. “What are you doing here?”

Isshin turned to face him, lips still stretched in a grin. But a strange sadness darkening his eyes.

“I left Soul Society,” he announced and idly cleaned out his right ear with his index finger.

Kisuke gaped. “Why?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.” Isshin shrugged flippantly.

But even Kisuke could tell there was more to the story. There was a tight pinch to the brunet’s eyes and a firm set to his shoulders that told of a darker story. One that quite possibly echoed Kisuke’s own.

“So how about it? Make me a gigai, too?”

He sighed. “Isshin…”

And then, he looked at the other man. Actually looked at him for the first time since Isshin appeared. There was the shadow of a beginning bruise over one of Isshin’s cheeks. His shihakushou was noticeably ripped, and he was limping. Though it was clear he had been trying to hide that small infirmity. The smell of blood was fresh, albeit faint. Isshin was wounded somewhere. And in typical fashion, he’d probably wrapped some cloth around it and called it a day. But the most telling detail was his reiatsu.

Normally a strong and solid presence, a palpable buzz on Kisuke’s senses, the brunet’s reiatsu was now little more than a faint hum. It was as if he’d been reduced to little better than an Academy student, barely capable of even the simplest kidoh. There was no hint of Hollow to him, as in the case of Shinji and the others. However, it was clear that something terrible had happened.

Kisuke straightened, a frown pinching his expression. “What happened?” he demanded, hating that Isshin flinched at the change in his tone. “Why’s your reaitsu so faint? Why did you leave--”

“Please,” Isshin interrupted, and Kisuke had never heard him used that tone before. Had never seen a shudder that could only hold origin in fear wrack his large frame. “Please, don’t ask me that right now.”

Swallowing thickly, Kisuke nodded. “Fine,” he agreed. Though his curiosity overwhelmed him, he wouldn’t press for details. Not yet. “What do you plan to do?”

“I’m not sure,” Isshin admitted with a heavy breath and dragged his hand over his head, making his thick hair spike up oddly. “I need time. Time to heal. Time to think. Just… just time.”

Kisuke inclined his head, thoughts spinning madly. “I see.” He gestured for Isshin to follow him deeper into the shop, where his labs and living quarters were located. “I’ll do what I can.”

“I knew I could count on you,” Isshin returned with a note of relief. His footsteps followed after the blond. “I never believed Chamber 46’s bullshit. I knew you weren’t behind that shit with Shinji and the others. That wasn’t the Kisuke I know.”

Pausing in the entryway, he glanced at Isshin. “Thanks,” the shopkeeper said, genuinely appreciative. “The truth of what happened that night is so fucked up that I’m not even sure you’d believe me.”

Isshin looked at him. Some of the shadows behind his eyes fading in light of a new resolve. A new determination.

“Tell me,” he insisted, shoulders square and firm. “Tell me everything.”

“I can only tell you what I know,” Kisuke agreed, gesturing the older man into the lab ahead of him. “And I’ll let you decide what to do from there.”

* * * *

a/n: Only one more part to go! And I must say, I'm particularly pleased by this part. It flows so well, even though it covers a long chunk of time.

I hope you enjoyed. Comments and Crits are always welcome.