Shades of Grey (chapter 6, pt 1)

[silverkytten]

DISCLAIMER: All characters depicted in sexual situations are fictional and are intended to be and considered to be by the author of said material of the legal age of consent in the United States state of California, regardless of what age these characters may be in the material they are derived from.

Author: SilverKytten
Title: Shades of Grey (chapter 6, pt. 1)
Rating: R (overall: NC-17)
Pairing: IchigoxUrahara
Warnings: Yaoi, language, angst, graphic content, spoilers
Summary: The sequel to ‘Falling Into Darkness' - Ichigo never asked to be either loved or fixed, he just asked to be distracted. (previous chapters)

Notes: This chapter was far too long to post on LJ, so I am breaking it up into two parts. First part is obviously up now, and the second will be up tomorrow (and by tomorrow I mean today, just later...after I've slept, lol). Once they're both posted I'll set up the links between them for convenience, etc...


Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. All characters associated with the series are the property of Tite Kubo, I am simply borrowing them for my own amusement.

Slow Decay (pt. 1)

Ichigo’s sleep habits had never been the same since he’d returned from the war. The little things that he used to take for granted, whether it be a sound, a feeling, or just the stray thread of a half-forgotten dream were now enough to bring him panting back to awareness, straining in the dark. It was usually better with Urahara, because even if the panic came there was an arm to tighten around him, or lips to brush over his skin, something to remind him where he was. Unfortunately, times of stress seemed to make these occurrences more common, which was why he currently found himself glaring murderously at the door for no apparent reason while a hand traced sleepy patterns over his chest.

“What’s wrong?” Urahara murmured against the back of his hair, his voice sluggish.

“Just a noise,” Ichigo grumbled irritably, feeling the tension ebb from his straining muscles.

“Hardly surprising considering the number of people I’m housing,” Urahara reminded him, sounding slightly more awake as he pressed a lazy kiss against the back of his neck. “Go back to sleep.”

Ichigo shifted restlessly, his injured shoulder throbbing painfully, protesting his apparent decision to sleep on it. “What time is it?”

The former captain made a little noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan. “It feels early.”

Ichigo turned slowly in Urahara’s arms, rolling to face him, relieving the pressure on his aching shoulder. “That’s because you’re lazy.” He smirked; nudging the other man’s legs apart so that he could slip one of his own between them.

“I’m not lazy, I’m tired,” the blond muttered, finally cracking an eye open to look at him. “I’ve been busy.”

Ichigo’s smirk fell away as the weight of the past week settle over him. “How’s your chest?”

“Uncomfortable.” Urahara leaned forward to brush his nose over Ichigo’s. “But don’t worry about it.”

He stared into the green-grey eyes still clouded with the remnants of sleep, watching as pale lashes swept low in a gesture that might have been coy if he didn’t look so tired. This was how he liked to remember him, relaxed and smirking faintly, so different from the sad look of fatigue that he wore so often now. It was almost enough to dispel the image of his chin tilting away, his eyes begging to be remembered as Zangetsu pressed against his throat. Ichigo jerked sharply, tearing from the memory, feeling the pull of his lingering anger.

“You should have let me kill him,” he muttered darkly, dropping his gaze to hide the emotions simmering beneath the surface.

“That’s a horrible thing to say,” Urahara chided with an exaggerated sigh, brushing his nose over the rise of a cheekbone. “Think of the mess it would have made.”

“Why are you still defending him?” Ichigo grumbled, though the corners of his lips twitched slightly.

“I’m just being practical,” Urahara assured him, leaning in to catch his mouth.

Ichigo sighed against his lips, recognizing that the older man was trying to distract him from the issue. He wasn’t oblivious to Urahara’s mixed feeling of loyalty when it came to him and Isshin, but there was nothing he could do about it. It pissed him off sometimes, but he didn’t take it personally; Urahara was just complicated like that and he sure as hell wasn’t in a position to judge anyone else’s problems. Still, if Isshin refused to back down, there was going to be a reckoning and Ichigo wasn’t blind to what that might require of him. He felt the familiar detachment settling over him, distancing him from the thoughts running through his head.

“I could do it if that’s what it came down to.” His voice was hard, though his body remained relaxed in the embrace.

“That doesn’t mean that you should,” Urahara pointed out gently, “Try to remember there’s a difference.”

“So you think that I should just let him hurt you? Let him hurt Ururu?” Ichigo demanded, his reiatsu churning with the memories of bloody tears on china doll skin.

“Of course not.” The blond leaned forward, rubbing his jaw over wild orange hair. “It was incredibly stupid of him to come here like that.”

“But you still feel bad for him,” he pressed, dark and bitter.

“It’s a difficult situation,” Urahara hedged gently, trailing his fingers over Ichigo’s back, nuzzling his face in an almost apologetic gesture.

Ichigo huffed, the noise harsher than he really intended, biting his tongue against any further reply. He didn’t want to fight anymore, not with Urahara, not with anyone. He was too tired to fight. He was too tired for any of it.

“You’re angry,” Urahara murmured, breaking the silence as he shifted him a little closer.

“It’s fucked up.” Ichigo slumped against him, a heavy sadness creeping into his voice. “The whole thing’s just fucked.”

Urahara made a little sound of agreement, a wry smile flickering over his lips as his eyes fell closed. “An astute observation, and as eloquently phrased as always.”

Ichigo couldn’t help the smirk that twisted the corner of his mouth. Urahara always managed to reach him, no matter how far he buried himself in the darkness, no matter how hard he tried to hold on. There was just something about the way the voice rolled over his frayed nerves, the fingers soothing his aching thoughts, that made him feel like there might still be something left in his otherwise shitty world.

“It’s too damn hard to be mad at you,” he complained halfheartedly, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw.

“I know,” Urahara sympathized with a dramatic sigh, turning his head to nip at the caress. “My charm can be such a trial at times.”

He caught one of Ichigo’s fingers between his teeth, flicking it with his tongue before drawing it further into his mouth. He sucked on it gently, nibbling and licking, molesting it thoroughly before relinquishing his hold. Lashes drifted over pale eyes again, but the sleep had faded from his expression and the effect vastly different. Ichigo’s pulse jumped.

It was unusual for Urahara to initiate anything overtly sexual between them, usually opting for gentle caresses and soft displays of affection until Ichigo took it to the next level. It wasn’t that he didn’t have the urge, far from it in fact, but his deeper interests lay in his concern for Ichigo. He didn’t have any miracle cure that could make things right, but he could offer comfort for the agony that he understood so well, he could listen to the half choked memories as they tumbled from those perfect lips, and he could touch him like he so desperately needed when it all became too much to bear. This was all he had to give, and if that meant reigning in some of his own desires then he would, because it wasn’t about him.

On occasion, however, there was something in the younger man’s eyes, something that pulled deep inside him, that tore at his resolve. It was a sense of sadness, a horrible loneliness that made him want to reach out and touch him in any way he could to remind him that there was still hope, no matter how faint it seemed. His eyes fell to the lips, still slightly parted, and he leaned forward, breathing in Ichigo’s soft gasp as he claimed them.

There was nothing forceful about the way he pressed his tongue into the waiting mouth, just a soft, slow caress as he ran his hand up the smooth flesh of his back. Ichigo responded easily, tilting his head, stroking against his tongue with practiced finesse. A hand traced over his face, brushing the hair away from his cheek, gliding against the curve of his ear. Ichigo pressed forward, invading his mouth, the hand sliding deeper into his hair as he drank in his flavor.

They pulled apart, panting softly, staring at each other in silence. A slow smile curled across Ichigo lips and Urahara felt the ache in his chest uncoil, sighing as the life returned to the eyes pinning him from beneath dark lashes. Ichigo kissed him again, slow and languid.

“You know,” He pulled back, trialing his tongue over Urahara’s lower lip. “It’s too bad you’re hurt, because I was just thinking how amazing you look when I fuck you.”

He was close enough to see the pupils dilate in the darkening eyes as Urahara’s breath hitched.

“It’s hardly even a scratch,” he murmured, a slight tremor running through him.

“Mm-hmm.” Ichigo was kissing him again, needier and more demanding. “I think you just want me to fuck you?” he panted against his lips.

“Good to see you’re s-still…s-somewhat observant.” Urahara let out a shuddering breath as Ichigo ground his thigh between his legs, licking a hot trail down his neck.

A hand found its way into tousled orange hair, pulling him back into the kiss, plunging deep into his mouth. Ichigo responded, a soft noise rising in the back of his throat, grinding harder against him with silky promise. His hand trailed lower, catching the top of light linen pants, pushing them down over a sharp hipbone.

A crash from the other room snapped his head around, his body coiling tight.

“What the fuck was that?” he panted, tension rolling off him in heavy waves.

“Sounds like someone broke something,” Urahara sighed, not looking particularly worried, running a hand lightly down his cheek.

Ichigo continued to stare at the door, listening intently, poised to strike.

Urahara shifted onto his back, brushing his hair out of his face and breathing heavily. “I should probably go and make sure everything’s alright.”

“I’ll go.” Ichigo was already on his feet and reaching for Zangetsu.

“Honestly, Ichigo, it’s not an invasion.” Urahara rolled gracefully out of bed, reaching for a robe. “At least put something on, you’re currently leaving little to the imagination.”

Ichigo looked down at the front of his shorts and had to admit the other man was right. There was no need to subject his sister to that kind of trauma over what was probably no worse than a broken jar. He kicked them off and stepped into his hakama, retying it quickly.

“Better?” He demanded as the other man approached, spinning Benihime idly in one hand.

Urahara came to a halt, stroking his fingers over the exposed flesh along one of his hips. “Not really,” he admitted with a wicked smirk.

“Fine,” Ichigo grumbled, looking for the rest of his clothes, “I’ll be out in a minute.”

Urahara withdrew his hand reluctantly and headed for the door, casting one last, heated look over his shoulder before disappearing into the hall. After yesterday’s incident he’d taken more precautions with security, so he wasn’t particularly worried that anything was seriously wrong. On the other hand, he always maintained that it was better to be safe than sorry, and with the amount of odd concoctions he kept around the place it was best to check on what had broken.

He found the source of the disturbance in the dining area, where Karin, Ururu, and Kon had apparently converged. The latter was currently crouched on the floor, gingerly transferring pieces of broken glass into the trash while Ururu soaked up a puddle with a rag.

“Glad to see it wasn’t an invasion after all.” Urahara smiled pleasantly when all eyes snapped to him. He noted, with a perplexed sort of amusement, that Kon had achieved a level of blush that he hadn’t seen on Ichigo’s face in years.

“See, I told you they were fine.” Karin rolled her eyes, smirking at Kon.

“Did something happen to warranted concern?” Urahara looked between the two with mild curiosity.

“No,” Karin snorted, but before she could elaborate Ichigo materialized in the doorway, radiating tension and gripping Zangetsu.

“What happened?” he demanded, looking as if he expected trouble in every shadow.

Urahara looped an arm around his waist, pulling him against his chest and resting his chin on his shoulder. “It seems Kon broke a cup and Karin was about to recount the details,” he spoke next to his ear.

“It’s nothing, it just slipped,” Kon muttered uncomfortably, returning the trash to the corner and dropping back onto his cushion.

“Liar,” Karin snickered, ignoring his mutinous glare as she turned towards Urahara and her brother. “He felt Ichi-nii get upset a couple of times and thought that maybe we should check on you. I said that we should just leave you alone, because you’d probably be fucking by the time we got there.”

Urahara chuckled against the side of Ichigo’s head as the younger man stiffened and Kon made a distressed, whining noise.

“What?” Karin inquired innocently, “I’m still impressionable, I don’t need to see that shit.”

Kon dropped his head into his hands and Urahara bit his lip against another laugh. “And these observations lead to the dropped cup?” he inquired.

“No.” Karin completely ignored Kon and Ichigo, smirking at the blond over her brother’s shoulder. “He was fine until I mentioned that we’d know soon enough, ‘cause it’s not like we wouldn’t be able to hear you.”

Urahara choked on his own amusement as he saw the tips of Ichigo’s ears go pink. Kon had long since given in to his horror and was sitting with his forehead against the table, one hand gripping the back of his neck. Even Ururu, who was accustomed to their relationship by now, was staring at the floor as if it held the answers to all of life's questions when she mumbled something about inventory and fled.

“I take it some of our activities were less than subtle?” Urahara guessed, looking just slightly apologetic.

Kon made another strange noise against the table, his hand clenching in his hair. Karin snorted in morbid amusement, looking between him and the still frozen Ichigo before nodding to the blond.

“That was truly bad manners.” Urahara gave her a solemn look, his lip twitching faintly. “I will attempt to be a better host in the future.”

“It’s fine.” Karin played along with the mood, shrugging nonchalantly as if they were talking about something as mundane as the weather. “Ichi-nii’s always been loud.”

“Karin!” Ichigo spluttered, the tip of Zangetsu impacting the floor with a dull thud. “Don’t say shit like that.”

“Well it’s true,” she insisted, hauling out her rarely used innocent look.

Ichigo seemed at a momentary loss for words, caught between his sister's wide eyed stare and Urahara’s soft chuckle against his hair. He scowled; wishing embarrassment was one of those emotions he could easily suppress.

“You were unusually vocal last night, even for you,” the blond whispered, pulling back to nip at one of his blush stained ears. Ichigo’s scowl deepened.

Urahara released him, heading for the kitchen, trying to keep the smirk from his face. It was always interesting to watch Ichigo blush, because it happened so rarely anymore. It was a nice reminder that there was still some of his old self left in there, that the war hadn’t thoroughly hardened him.

When he returned to the table with some extra cups, he found Ichigo seated next to Kon, apparently recognizing that, having been the most horrified person in the room, he was least likely to continue the conversation. He set two cups between them and moved to take his seat, though not before tracing a finger behind each of their ears and watching them share an almost identical shiver. Karin choked into her cup as Kon cursed colorfully, the blush returning to his cheeks.

“Stop doing that,” the mod soul demanded, though there was a slight tremor to his voice that made one of Urahara’s pale brows twitch in interest.

“Kisuke, have you been molesting Kon?” Ichigo sounded faintly amused, apparently having recovered from his shock.

“Only very slightly,” Urahara assured him. “Certainly nothing to cause permanent trauma.”

Ichigo smirked, looking across at Karin who was still snickering and using a napkin to wipe up a few drops of tea. “I suppose it was with the best of intentions.”

“Naturally,” Urahara said loftily, passing Karin a fresh napkin.

Ichigo rolled his eyes and poured himself some tea, wondering how they could possibly be joking after the fiasco of the previous day.

He was still shaking his head at the depth of their emotional issues when a movement in the hall grabbed his attention. He frowned, unable to make out its source in the darkness. It moved again, seeming to draw closer, dipping lower like a leaf caught in a draft. He was about to alert the others when it finally caught the light spilling through the doorway, slipping lazily forward to join them in the room.

Ichigo stared at the dark, fluttering creature, realizing, to his surprise, that it was a Hell Butterfly. He hadn’t seen one in over a year and for one to show up here of all places was completely unfathomable. What shocked him more, however, was the fact that Karin was giving it an absolutely murderous look as it dropped gently onto her outstretched finger.

“I already said no,” she stated flatly, even before it had settled its wings.

This declaration earned her looks of varying confusion from everyone but Kon, who just shook his head and returned to his tea. She wasn’t paying attention, caught up by the words whispered too softly for the others to make out.

“Well too bad, it’s not my house.” She frowned at the little creature as though it could somehow convey her outrage to its master.

The whispering started again, but Urahara had already caught something, motioning Ichigo to stay as he slipped from the room. Ichigo watched dumbfounded as Karin continued to glare, arguing with the butterfly as though this were something she did all the time.

“Why the hell bother to send the first one if you’re just going to do whatever the fuck you want?” she demanded, her scowl only getting darker as a reply was forthcoming.

“He already left, and I can talk however I like,” she griped, sounding sullen and just a little petulant. Ichigo recognized the tone; whoever she was arguing with was starting to wear her down.

He wanted to question her, but couldn’t bring himself to interrupt as she shook her head subtly against whatever she was hearing. “That’s shitty logic,” she insisted with a sigh. “You always do whatever you want.”

“Just because you don’t agree doesn’t mean it’s faulty logic.” Urahara had returned, followed by a rather incensed figure still talking into a headset looped over his ear.

“Fuck, Toushirou, what part of no don’t you understand?” Karin had transitioned seamlessly, the butterfly drifting away as she stalked towards the white haired captain.

He just blinked at her in exasperation, catching the finger that was jabbing at his chest.

“When did you get so vulgar?” he muttered with a sigh.

She blinked back at him, a slow smirk breaking onto her features.

“When Ichi-nii started fucking Kisuke,” she responded easily, pulling her finger form his grasp. “It’s sort of a deal we have.”

He gave her an incredulous look before scanning the other occupants of the room, apparently looking for some thread of sanity, though none was immediately forthcoming.

“It’s been awhile, Toushirou.” Ichigo nodded to him, still on edge from the rather unusual appearance.

“Kurosaki.” Hitsugaya returned the nod, having long since given up on formalities.

“What can we do for you, Hitsugaya-kun?” Urahara was leaning against the wall in an easy manner, though his eyes remained sharp.

“He wants to talk to Ichi-nii,” Karin supplied, rounding on the young captain once again. “And I already said no.”

“You can’t just say no.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, looking for all the world like he didn’t know what to make of the conversation.

“Why are you sending Hell butterflies to my sister if it’s me you want to talk to?” Ichigo interjected, drumming his fingers lightly against the table.

“I was being courteous; I simply mentioned to her that I intended to visit.” Hitsugaya would have sounded indifferent to anyone who didn’t know him better.

“That doesn’t answer the question of why you were talking to her in the first place,” Ichigo pointed out, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Hitsugaya made no outward show of discomfort, but there was a slight pull to his mouth that indicated he wasn’t happy with the direction of the conversation. Karin looked between the two of them and sighed dramatically.

“He’s just bothering you ‘cause I told him I kissed you,” Karin informed Hitsugaya, ignoring his look of horrified disbelief as she turned back to her brother. “Toushirou heard about your fight, and that I was there. He sent a Butterfly to make sure everything was okay.”

“Uh-huh.” Ichigo still wasn’t satisfied, but he wasn’t in the mood to push it so he just moved on. “So why are you here?”

“Uh.” Hitsugaya was still staring at Karin in disbelief. He blinked, turning slowly toward Ichigo, seeming to remember his original intent. “I was sent to investigate the circumstances behind your recent encounters.”

“You mean fighting with my dad?” Ichigo gave him a hard look. “What the hell does Soul Society care about that? How do they even know?”

“Do you really think you can just throw around that kind of power and not have anyone notice?” Hitsugaya’s eyebrow twitched upward subtly. “As for the interest Seireitei is taking in it, that’s somewhat complicated.”

“By complicated do you mean dangerously paranoid?” Urahara murmured shrewdly, waving the younger man towards the table.

Hitsugaya stared at him for a moment, an unspoken understanding passing between them before he relented, talking the offered seat as Urahara dropped down next to Ichigo.

“They’re concerned about the potential problem,” he clarified, still looking at Urahara.

“What potential problem?” Ichigo looked between them, not having caught whatever they both seemed to be thinking.

“The problem that would arise should you lose control on a more permanent level.” Urahara held his gaze steadily.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Ichigo shifted to face Hitsugaya.

“They’re worried that you might be becoming unstable,” the young captain confirmed with an unreadable look. “They want you evaluated as a possible threat.”

“What?!” Ichigo exclaimed, looking back to Urahara.

“That’s crazy,” Karin shouted, her eyes flashing, “Why would you think something like that?”

“Do you think it was my idea?” Hitsugaya shot her a hard look.

“An interesting point,” Urahara cut in, still watching Ichigo. “Who actually did raise the issue?”

Hitsugaya tore his gaze back around, a look of distaste simmering just beneath the surface. “Soifon met with the Commander General last night. She reported that, in her opinion, you are losing your grip on reality and are engaging in activities which are dangerous to not only the people around you, but possibly to Soul Society as well.”

“That fucking bitch,” Karin gritted out viciously, her hair stirring slightly under the rise of untrained reiatsu.

“Losing my grip on reality?” Ichigo’s anger sparked. “What the fuck is everyone’s problem lately?”

Urahara slid a hand over his, squeezing gently before turning to the captain

“Did she happen to give a full account of the event?” His voice was soft, but with an edge that could have cut steel.

“In a way, but given what I’ve heard from Karin, I would say that her report lacked adequate detail.” Hitsugaya brushed his hair back in agitation. “She simply stated that she accompanied a group to confront Kurosaki regarding certain negative behaviors, and that when the situation deteriorated he lost control of himself, going so far as to actually attack the person he had been trying to protect.”

“They fucking attacked us.” The table jumped as Ichigo’s palms slammed down, his reiatsu flaring wildly. “They came in here and used kidou on me! My fucking dad tried to kill Kisuke and smashed Ururu into a wall! Was I just supposed to fucking stand there?”

“I understand that.” Hitsugaya looked angry, though it wasn’t directed at Ichigo. “But she didn’t mention those details and I doubt it would have made a difference either way.”

“How could it not make a difference?” Ichigo started to rise but an arm snaked around his waist, hauling him closer to a familiar body.

“They’re afraid,” Urahara murmured against his hair. “After what happened with Aizen they’re going to be suspicious of anyone with your kind of power.”

“But that’s bullshit,” Karin exploded. “Ichi-nii would never do something like that.”

“Of course he wouldn’t.” Urahara turned his head slightly to regard her. “But that isn’t going to make them less paranoid.”

“It’s still bullshit,” Karin grumbled.

“It’s just a precaution.” Hitsugaya gave them a tired look. “They just wanted me to come and check things out, make a report.”

“And what happens if they decide I’m a threat?” Ichigo bit out, his tone laced with resentment.

“I doubt they’ve thought that far ahead.” Urahara traced slow patterns up his back, shooting Hitsugaya a hard look that Ichigo missed. “They’re just being overly cautious.”

Something passed briefly through the young captain’s eyes and Urahara’s jaw twitched as he gave a very subtle shake of his head. There was no need to worry anyone needlessly over something he would never allow to occur.

“This is all dads’ fault,” Karin said bitterly, drawing everyone’s attention. “He’s the one who got that bitch involved in the first place.”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean for it to happen,” Urahara sighed, “But it was certainly an unfortunate decision.”

“He was already fucking everything up, and now he’s putting Ichi-nii in even more danger.” Her fury was rising and Ichigo reached across the table to take her hand.

“Don’t worry about me; I can take care of myself,” he assured her, his eyes cold and determined.

She met his gaze, dark fire rippling beneath the surface of her features before a hard barrier clicked into place.

“I’m not going back there,” she declared, her voice low and angry.

“What about Yuzu?” It was the first time Kon had spoken throughout the entire ordeal.

Karin’s jaw clenched. She had sworn to protect Yuzu, but she refused to be under the same roof with her father, not after what he’d done.

“I wonder how she’d feel about visiting some old friends,” Kon mused, his eyes flickering past Ichigo to Urahara. “She still remembers Jinta and Ururu, unless I’m mistaken.”

“That seems like a rather dangerous idea,” Urahara’s replied evenly. “Isshin is already unstable.”

“I won’t leave her there.” Karin’s eyes snapped to Urahara. “Not with him.”

“It’s not safe,” Ichigo muttered, thoughts of Ururu’s crumpled body fresh in his mind.

“He would never harm your sisters,” Urahara murmured softly, trying to forestall what he knew was coming.

“You can’t know that, not with the way he’s been lately.” He was looking at him with those haunted eyes. “I have to protect her, Kisuke.”

“Ichigo…” Pale brows drew together as he stroked a thumb over the younger man’s cheekbone.

He sighed.

“At least take the time to consider it,” he pleaded softly. “There are some decisions that there is no going back from, and I fear this is one of them.”

“He tried to kill you.” Ichigo’s tone was hard. “I don’t know what he’s capable of anymore.”

Urahara felt a sad resignation setting deep inside of him. “At least consider it before you do anything rash?”

Ichigo reluctantly agreed, though it was fairly clear that his mind was set. Urahara brushed his thumb once more down the slope of his cheek before turning back to the others.

“Well this has certainly been an eventful morning.” He couldn’t quite manage the proper tone. “I’m going to see if Tessai is up to a little healing for Ichigo and I, and then I have a few errands to run.”

He rose fluidly, pushing his hair back and straightening his robe. He looked around the table at all of them, his eyes lingering on Ichigo for a moment longer before making his way into the hall.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Thank you so much for seeing him.” The petite woman tucked the blanket a little tighter around her baby before glancing up at Isshin. “I wouldn’t have called if didn’t think it was important.”

“It’s not a problem,” Isshin assured her, walking them to the clinic entrance. “I’m always available for emergencies.”

The woman smiled up at him. “I wish it had been a more opportune time, I feel like I've disrupted your weekend.”

Isshin smiled back, hoping it didn’t look as forced as it felt. “You didn’t interrupt anything; I was just clearing up old paperwork. If anything, you helped to relieve the monotony.”

She laughed easily and continued chatter until they reached the door. She thanked him once more with another cheerful smile before stepping out into the morning sun. He watched the door close behind her, his smile breaking away like brittle glass as he ran a hand through his hair, the weariness throbbing in his bones.

He turned, letting his feet carry him back towards his office, staring blankly at the passing walls as he wallowed in his own internal chaos. He nudged the door closed behind him, not caring if it latched as he made his way to his desk, pressing his palms flat against the wood. He remained standing, looking down at his hands, overwhelmed with the sudden urge to break everything within reach until the real world resembled the madness in his head. His fingers twitched against the wood.

“You’ve looked better, Isshin.” A voice spoke form the corner and he spun to find Urahara lounging in a chair, looking deceptively casual but for the way he was spinning Benihime against the floor.

“What are you doing here?” Isshin spat, his nails digging into his palms.

“I was in the area,” Urahara replied lightly, regarding him with cool interest. “I thought I might check up on you, seeing as our last conversation ended rather abruptly.”

“I've had enough of your bullshit,” Isshin gritted his teeth, “What do you want?”

He sighed, tugging his hat lower over his eyes. “I want you to stop antagonizing your son before something regrettable happens.”

“Is that what you think I’m trying to do?” Isshin snapped, his knuckles going white. “You think I’m trying to antagonize him?”

“No,” he replied softly, his eyes unreadable. “I understand what you’re trying to do; I’m simply pointing out what you’re actually accomplishing.”

“Well, I’m not going to just sit back and watch you drag him down, if that’s what you’re hoping for.” Isshin’s voice was hard, his cheeks flushed with anger. “He’s my son, Kisuke, not some fucking game.”

“I’m aware of that, Isshin, but this isn’t the way to handle things.” The steady tone taking on an edge.

“You think I’m going to take advice from you?” Isshin bit out, his voice rising, “I don’t need you telling me how to take care of my son.”

“He would have killed you yesterday.” Urahara’s voice was flat, his eyes biting and hard. “I know you can’t see it, but you’re making things worse.”

“You’re the one who’s got him all twisted in knots,” Isshin snarled, the memory of the black eyes still burned in his mind. “I’m looking out for him when no one else will.”

“No, you’re pushing him towards an edge that he might not come back from,” Urahara countered, still quiet but razor sharp. “You need to consider a different approach.”

“Stop trying to sound like you give a fuck, you’ve never been interested in anyone but yourself.” Isshin face was red, his reiatsu stifling in the small room.

“Are you implying that I don’t care about Ichigo?” His voice was dangerous, hanging heavy between them.

“I’m implying that you’re using my son as a fuck-toy while he’s losing his mind.” Isshin took a step forward, his anger pulsing like a physical thing.

“I would be careful about questioning his sanity.” His eyes were ice, not even acknowledging the threat. “Someone could get the wrong impression.”

“The wrong impression?” Isshin’s lip pulled back in a snarl. “You’ve got his mind so warped that he would actually kill his own father for you!”

“You attacked a child in front of him,” Urahara snapped, the first fracture in his calm facade. “You had people hold him down while he watched her bleed. Can you even imagine what that did to him? Do you have any idea what he’s seen?”

“That was an accident,” Isshin shouted, his rage and guilt a sickening lump in his gut. “She would never have been in the way if it wasn’t for you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Urahara shook off the excuse, a sharp breath hissing through his nose. “You can’t fight him into submission, he’s going to respond with violence because it’s all he knows how to do.”

“He’s just a fucking kid, Kisuke. He could still have a chance if you’d just leave him alone.” Isshin’s reiatsu was screaming and Urahara twitched Benihime in reminder.

“A chance for what?” he demanded, the muscle jumping in his jaw. “He’s never going to be normal, not in the way you want him to be, and he’s never going to be a kid again, either. He’s torn between so many worlds that he’ll never fit into one of them completely, not in the way he used to. He’s a soldier; a hero who saved countless lives and took countless more, nothing will ever take away the memory of what he’s endured. You may be right about him being very young, but he has faced decisions that you can’t even imagine, done things that the rest of us can’t even understand. He’s one of the most powerful creatures that Soul Society has ever seen, and all he ever wanted from that power was to protect the people he cared about. He could have had anything, but all he wanted was to keep people safe, which was the only thing he couldn’t do and so now he wears his guilt like a badge to remind himself how he failed.”

Isshin mouth started to open, angry and hateful, but Urahara overrode him.

“People have been looking to him as savior since he was fifteen years old, and he played the part willingly because there was no one else that could. Older, harder men would have broken long ago under the weight of what he’s had to carry, but he survived because he had to, because he wouldn’t let himself fail. There’s no going back after that, there’s no button he can press to make his life like it was, to make everything soft again. He’s still figuring out who he is now, and all you’re doing is reminding him of the things that are holding him down.”

He trailed off, his heart pounding painfully as his eyes pleaded with the larger man to understand, though he could tell by the hard look that it wasn’t getting through.

“So you saw this boy with all of these horrible problems, with all of this pain and guilt that was tearing him apart, and you decided to offer him a place on your cock while he was trying to find himself.” Isshin sneered, twisted and ugly, and Urahara had to bite back the urge to strike him for his stupidity.

“I offered him everything I had to give,” he bit out, the old fatigue settling over him.

“Only you could make fucking an emotionally scarred teenager sound like a noble act.” Isshin voice was nasty and dark.

“I’m not here to explain myself,” Urahara snapped, realizing it was a lost cause.

“Is he a good fuck, Kisuke?” Isshin wasn’t listening anymore, lost in seething hatred. “Does it make you feel better about yourself when he looks at you with those lost, broken eyes? Does it make you feel like you’re in control when he’s begging you for help and you tell him you can fuck away his pain?” His face was almost unrecognizable. “Is it worth tearing away that last part of his soul just so you can hear him scream for you?”

Urahara felt white hot anger searing along his bones and realized he was on his feet.

“Fuck you,” he growled, his knuckles white on Benihime’s, the hilt cutting into his palm until he felt a trickle of blood roll down.

“What’s the matter, Kisuke, where’s that famous calm?” Isshin taunted, moving towards him with burning eyes. “Can’t take being called on your own bullshit?”

Urahara forced his teeth together, feeling them grind as his body shook. The blood pounding in his ears, wanted nothing more than to lash out, to crush him until that hateful sneer was lost in the twisted ruin of his face. He shook his head, trying to remember why he was here.

“Finally run out of words?” Isshin was closer now, looming furious.

Urahara clamped down on his emotions, forcing them into that battered little cage he’d formed during the war. Ichigo was in danger and that had to come first, there would be time for the rest of the world later.

He drew a shaky breath, struggling to unclench his jaw. “I know what kind of guilt you’re carrying, Isshin, and I’m not going to play your games with you.”

“Game?” Isshin was still stalking forward, his voice thundering against the walls. “This is my son’s life we’re talking about.”

“No, this is about you.” Urahara snapped at him, the rage still tugging at its chains. “You can’t help anyone while you’re hiding from your own guilt and fear. All you’re doing is making your problems into his, and he doesn’t need any more.”

“You don’t know anything about what I’m feeling, or what I’m trying to do,” Isshin screamed.

“I know that if you keep following this path, you’re going to die alone and despised.” Urahara’s voice was sharp as glass.

Isshin’s fist flew; spit spraying from his mouth as his growl tore free. Urahara stood his ground, feeling the crunch of bone against bone, letting his head snap under the impact to keep his jaw from breaking. He stumbled slightly, bracing his hand against the wall, raising Benihime to ward off another blow.

“Stay away from my family, you son of a bitch.” Isshin looked wild, fear and insanity staining his features.

“I’m not taking your family, Isshin.” Urahara bit out coldly, reached up to press his fingers to the already forming bruise. “I’m just catching the pieces when you drive them away.”

Isshin looked ready to hit him again but his eyes flickered to Benihime, realizing the next one wouldn’t be free.

“I’m not interested in fighting you.” Urahara’s anger was fading, choking on the deep sense of futility and hurt. “Enough lives have been lost and families torn apart, I don’t need any more blood on my hands.”

“Then why did you come here?” Isshin demanded, his tone lashing out like his hands could not.

“You’ve drawn Soul Society’s attention to Ichigo,” he informed him, forcing him back as he pushed away from the wall. “All the good intentions in the world aren’t going to save him if they decide he’s a threat. If you continue to push him you’ll drive him to a place where no one can reach him and they’ll be forced to take action. You need to think about that while there’s still an opportunity to do something about it.”

He turned, pulling the door open, ignoring the thunderstruck look rooting Isshin in place.

“So what am I supposed to do?” Isshin shouted, finally finding his voice amidst the rising fear.

“I don’t know.” Urahara paused in the doorway, looking over his shoulder with sad, tired eyes. “If I had the answers I would have made it right a long time ago.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, and Urahara thought that he might have seen the first signs of real thought, though it could just as easily have been wishful thinking.

“I have no desire to see you in pain, Isshin, regardless of how you may feel towards me.” He sighed sadly, stepping into the hall. “Please think about what I’ve said.”