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[White Washed Grey] Bleach - One Shot - PG
Title: White Washed Grey
Author’s Name:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
parsnip_chan
Written for:ypaladinofchaos's request at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
bleach_flashfic
Pairing/Character: Zangetsu + Ichigo + Hollow!Ichigo
Genre: Genfic with a spattering of angst and drama
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2083
Author’s Note: Spoilers up through the soul society arc (re: episode 65 or so manga???) Sorryypaladinofchaos for taking forever and a day and then some to get this to you. It's overdue, but hopefully it's worth the wait. Beta read by tsukihime_san whose help was immeasurably valuable ♥
Summary: Zangetsu has been trapped in the dream scape created by his master, but his master can neither hear nor see him. One day, a child appears, trapped beneath the glass of one of the many buildings and Zangetsu is no longer alone...
White Washed Grey
Very little in his world changed. All day, every day, the grey walls of a city landscape laid stretched sideways across the horizon for countless miles. Only the elevation experienced minute changes, breaking up the monotony as building butted against building, some off centered and others dropping off abruptly, leaving an endless sky stretched vertically between it and the next. Zangetsu was weary of this world that changed so very little. From the moment his master was born, he had been alone in this inner world, unable to force his master to hear his voice and answer back in kind; Zangetsu could only murmur in his ear and despair as his voice went unnoticed.
His only comfort was the changing weather which mimicked the sunny days in Ichigo's life or the dreary, rain drenched days of endless sadness. But it did nothing to alleviate Zangetsu’s frustrations; he could not comfort his master, and he could not rejoice in the good days. And as turbulent as the storms became, it never matched the sorrow which made a home within Zangetsu's heart as the slow march of years wound on, unceasing.
When the heavens opened and rain fell in a torrential downpour, Zangetsu found him, that person whose voice was reminiscent of the one he often whispered to though he was always unheard, always ignored. Zangetsu’s heart nearly stopped, daring to hope that his master had found the door into this inner world. Zangetsu’s head turned, striving to determine the source of the fragmenting silence and searching for that singular crack of lightening which would commemorate the stillness that was finally broken. But no lightening split the sky, and no thunder rumbled to challenge the cries resonating within Zangetsu’s body.
It was the wail of a child, but it was more then just a cry for attention; it felt hot with rage and resentment.
Zangetsu was intrigued and griped with a need to know. For the first time in his life, he dared to hope he was not alone in this world. Listening, he slowly homed in on the child, pausing often to decipher echo from reality. He was unused to noise in this silent world of his. As the drizzle continued to white wash his world with grey, Zangetsu at last found his unexpected gift; beneath his feet was a child.
For a brief moment, Zangetsu dared to hope. He could have been Ichigo’s twin, if not for the eyes. These eyes were hollow and empty, black holes where only pupil resided without an iris. And he was wailing, crying and beating against the walls of his prison in a storm of rage, more brutal then the one raging above him. For a split second, Zangetsu understood. Had he not thrown himself countless times at his master in an attempt to make the child listen? Had he not screamed and cried in Ichigo’s ears to no avail? But what was the use of crying when his master had not the ears, or will, or need to listen?
“Little one,” Zangetsu spoke, gentling his voice in order to soothe the child underneath the glass. “Why have you come here?”
The child stilled at the low rumble above him, chest heaving with the force of his exertions. Turning his head, he looked up at the shadow standing on the other side of the window and smiled a twisted, cruel smile.
Zangetsu stared at the tear streaked face and the smile beaming up at him from below. It was more deafening then the silence he had grown to hate. It was more disturbing then the weather beating around him. This child was not Ichigo, and Zangetsu was almost grateful for the thin pane of glass which separated them.
“Yo, gramps!” The child was defiant, his body stiff with pride. “Let me out of here!”
Zangetsu gazed at the child, eyes endlessly long suffering and hiding that small pinprick of fear which tingled up and down his spine. “I am Zangetsu, and there is nothing I can do to break these windows.” It was not entirely true, but he had not attempted to change his landscape. He feared modifying it would damage his master. Zangetsu feared losing even the hope of contacting him. “It is not I who has made this landscape; it is my prison as much as the room below is yours."
The kid glared with lifeless eyes, soulless eyes. "I don't want your excuses, just let me out!" His hands clenched with ill-contained rage.
Zangetsu stared mournfully at him and shook his head. There were some dangers that were better left unchallenged.
~*~
As the days turned into years, Zangetsu often found his feet traveling down the long rows of windows and empty rooms. He feared the child trapped within, but he yearned for the sound of a voice which could interact with his; he had grown to love the many faces of the child beneath him. His world might not change, but this child did.
The hollowed child paced, wearing a path in the floor as deep as the weight of the world. Sometimes he yelled and sometimes he laughed with madness. Other times, the child did his utmost to tear apart the walls and ceilings and floors in an attempt to grasp at freedom, but he was always contained. With time, Zangetsu began to sense something deep within the growing boy that disturbed him greatly. It was during these moments, that Zangetsu left the other Ichigo alone, and returned to his own endeavors at freedom.
Zangetsu kept whispering in his master's ears, but Ichigo only gave him silence in return. The old man had cajoled in dulcet tones, but found only a blank stare that saw him not. And now as the years passed, Zangetsu saw the child Ichigo refused to be reflected in the one trapped beneath the glass.
When Ichigo strove to face duty, he was almost reckless in his attempts, constantly fighting against injustice and striving to aid the ghosts he could now clearly see even though he refused to pay attention to the one which stood behind his shoulder. The boy beneath the glass fought against the injustice of entrapment, but sought only to placate his own desires. In those rare moments when the hollow child was too weary to fight back, he would sometimes sit and exchange a word or two of civil conversation with his gaoler. When rationalization seeped into his voice, Zangetsu heard words and phrases that his master commonly used.
As the years passed, he thought the similarities would fade away, but they only grew stronger with the passing time. It made Zangetsu feel even lonelier watching the two boys struggle with their inner and not so inner demons. All he could do was watch, because while one could not hear him, the other refused to listen to anything an old man had to say.
When Ichigo at last had ears to hear and eyes to see, Zangetsu was not surprised to find that the hollow trapped within steel walls glared at his mirror image with hatred; it rivaled any of his prior displays of temper. However, Zangetsu was surprised that he wished that hatred was in some small part due to jealousy. He wanted the hollow to feel envious over Zangetsu’s ability to converse and interact with Ichigo because that meant he was as important to the hollow as the hollow had somehow become to him.
When the world fell apart, fragmenting into a million shards of reiatsu as Ichigo strove to find the true form of his blade, Zangetsu was glad that the hollow would at last be free of the glass room. But Zangetsu wept; the hollow would never wholly have he wanted. To do that, the Ichigo who came first would have to die, and Zangetsu would prevent that as long as he was had power to prevent it.
~*~
When the world reformed, and the buildings that dotted the landscape resumed their solid existence, Zangetsu found a new companion, a dangerous one standing next to him. The Ichigo that had been trapped found his way into the dream world, hovering as Zangetsu hovered, listening as Zangetsu listened, and the hollow that had been born through a chance encounter all those years ago grew to hate the world that had nearly been his when Ichigo's mother perished. Freedom was not what the Hollow had imagined, so he turned to Zangetsu. Hollow Ichigo liked to talk, usually derisively, as he ridiculed Ichigo’s lack of talent and finesse as he battled his way through Soul Society. And the hollow watched the battles, his eyes keen with hunger and talent, and he practiced the moves Ichigo used, perfecting what was clumsily wielded.
Zangetsu watched it all, both the events outside the dream world and within, and he smiled thinking of two children pitted against each other in rivalry. He nearly deluded himself into thinking it was friendly. What one man learned, the other did as well, and what Zanetsu whispered to Ichigo, striving to divulge the secrets of his blade, the hollow heard and remembered.
And then Zangetsu felt a tug on his soul as danger once again grew near and time grew short. By some strange quirk, a new wall was built between him and the hollow as Zangetsu gained human form. Ichigo had need of him. Ichigo needed to learn the art of bankai.
It was a curious thing, that singular feeling of need and fright and that searing pain as Zangetsu was sucked into the world Ichigo lived within. He was finally able to feel Ichigo's hand gripping the hilt of his power and he could feel Ichigo's breath as he labored to handle the influx of sensation the time trials forced on him. But neither hilt was the true hilt, and the days flew by. When at last his master found the true blade within himself, Zangetsu rejoiced. For the first time in almost 16 years, he was truly free, truly one with his master.
When his borrowed body deteriorated and Zangetsu fell back into the dreamscape, he felt another hand clench the hilt of his body, and he felt the scorn and rage that echoed within this new entity. When Zangetsu materialized in the world that had become his home, the hollow Ichigo glared, and walked away scornfully, propping the transformed blade on his shoulder with fingers tightly wrapped around the hilt as though to say he was the only one who could draw the blade, the only one who could wield it properly.
And Zangetsu knew that at that moment in time, he was right.
Watching the hollow retreat into the distance, Zangetsu sighed. Turning his face to the heavens, Zangetsu willed the landscape to darken with clouds and rain, wishing that the water would wash away his guilt at doubting his master’s skills, and guilt at wishing the hollow who had kept him company through the long years would let go of his anger bordering on insanity. But it never rained according to his will, and all he could do was watch as Ichigo faced his battles and won. And he let the tears fall underneath sunny skies when the hollow forced his way into consciousness and taught Ichigo what he had been unable to learn. He saved his master’s life although he had only meant to save his own.
Zangetsu was an old man, and a patient one. He would need it as the years progressed as these two fought to dominate. One had the right to live, and the other had the desire. Even though Zangetsu knew he shouldn’t trust the hollow, he did, and every day he turned his thoughts to a new hope, a new yearning: he wanted them both to live in harmony, giving each new life and freedom. He would give each man what they needed and pray they struck a balance, soon. If they didn’t, one would be destroyed forever, and Zangetsu would feel an eternity of grief.
And the hollow watched, and the hollow waited. He would have his opportunity some day and then he would release all the pent-up rage within, and an old man would weep even as he struck Ichigo down with his own blade. The old man, even weeping, would wait, and watch, and be a witness to all that occurred afterwards, because Zangetsu could not bear to be wholly alone ever again.
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Author’s Name:
parsnip_chanWritten for:
ypaladinofchaos's request at bleach_flashficPairing/Character: Zangetsu + Ichigo + Hollow!Ichigo
Genre: Genfic with a spattering of angst and drama
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2083
Author’s Note: Spoilers up through the soul society arc (re: episode 65 or so manga???) Sorry
ypaladinofchaos for taking forever and a day and then some to get this to you. It's overdue, but hopefully it's worth the wait. Beta read by tsukihime_san whose help was immeasurably valuable ♥Summary: Zangetsu has been trapped in the dream scape created by his master, but his master can neither hear nor see him. One day, a child appears, trapped beneath the glass of one of the many buildings and Zangetsu is no longer alone...
Very little in his world changed. All day, every day, the grey walls of a city landscape laid stretched sideways across the horizon for countless miles. Only the elevation experienced minute changes, breaking up the monotony as building butted against building, some off centered and others dropping off abruptly, leaving an endless sky stretched vertically between it and the next. Zangetsu was weary of this world that changed so very little. From the moment his master was born, he had been alone in this inner world, unable to force his master to hear his voice and answer back in kind; Zangetsu could only murmur in his ear and despair as his voice went unnoticed.
His only comfort was the changing weather which mimicked the sunny days in Ichigo's life or the dreary, rain drenched days of endless sadness. But it did nothing to alleviate Zangetsu’s frustrations; he could not comfort his master, and he could not rejoice in the good days. And as turbulent as the storms became, it never matched the sorrow which made a home within Zangetsu's heart as the slow march of years wound on, unceasing.
When the heavens opened and rain fell in a torrential downpour, Zangetsu found him, that person whose voice was reminiscent of the one he often whispered to though he was always unheard, always ignored. Zangetsu’s heart nearly stopped, daring to hope that his master had found the door into this inner world. Zangetsu’s head turned, striving to determine the source of the fragmenting silence and searching for that singular crack of lightening which would commemorate the stillness that was finally broken. But no lightening split the sky, and no thunder rumbled to challenge the cries resonating within Zangetsu’s body.
It was the wail of a child, but it was more then just a cry for attention; it felt hot with rage and resentment.
Zangetsu was intrigued and griped with a need to know. For the first time in his life, he dared to hope he was not alone in this world. Listening, he slowly homed in on the child, pausing often to decipher echo from reality. He was unused to noise in this silent world of his. As the drizzle continued to white wash his world with grey, Zangetsu at last found his unexpected gift; beneath his feet was a child.
For a brief moment, Zangetsu dared to hope. He could have been Ichigo’s twin, if not for the eyes. These eyes were hollow and empty, black holes where only pupil resided without an iris. And he was wailing, crying and beating against the walls of his prison in a storm of rage, more brutal then the one raging above him. For a split second, Zangetsu understood. Had he not thrown himself countless times at his master in an attempt to make the child listen? Had he not screamed and cried in Ichigo’s ears to no avail? But what was the use of crying when his master had not the ears, or will, or need to listen?
“Little one,” Zangetsu spoke, gentling his voice in order to soothe the child underneath the glass. “Why have you come here?”
The child stilled at the low rumble above him, chest heaving with the force of his exertions. Turning his head, he looked up at the shadow standing on the other side of the window and smiled a twisted, cruel smile.
Zangetsu stared at the tear streaked face and the smile beaming up at him from below. It was more deafening then the silence he had grown to hate. It was more disturbing then the weather beating around him. This child was not Ichigo, and Zangetsu was almost grateful for the thin pane of glass which separated them.
“Yo, gramps!” The child was defiant, his body stiff with pride. “Let me out of here!”
Zangetsu gazed at the child, eyes endlessly long suffering and hiding that small pinprick of fear which tingled up and down his spine. “I am Zangetsu, and there is nothing I can do to break these windows.” It was not entirely true, but he had not attempted to change his landscape. He feared modifying it would damage his master. Zangetsu feared losing even the hope of contacting him. “It is not I who has made this landscape; it is my prison as much as the room below is yours."
The kid glared with lifeless eyes, soulless eyes. "I don't want your excuses, just let me out!" His hands clenched with ill-contained rage.
Zangetsu stared mournfully at him and shook his head. There were some dangers that were better left unchallenged.
As the days turned into years, Zangetsu often found his feet traveling down the long rows of windows and empty rooms. He feared the child trapped within, but he yearned for the sound of a voice which could interact with his; he had grown to love the many faces of the child beneath him. His world might not change, but this child did.
The hollowed child paced, wearing a path in the floor as deep as the weight of the world. Sometimes he yelled and sometimes he laughed with madness. Other times, the child did his utmost to tear apart the walls and ceilings and floors in an attempt to grasp at freedom, but he was always contained. With time, Zangetsu began to sense something deep within the growing boy that disturbed him greatly. It was during these moments, that Zangetsu left the other Ichigo alone, and returned to his own endeavors at freedom.
Zangetsu kept whispering in his master's ears, but Ichigo only gave him silence in return. The old man had cajoled in dulcet tones, but found only a blank stare that saw him not. And now as the years passed, Zangetsu saw the child Ichigo refused to be reflected in the one trapped beneath the glass.
When Ichigo strove to face duty, he was almost reckless in his attempts, constantly fighting against injustice and striving to aid the ghosts he could now clearly see even though he refused to pay attention to the one which stood behind his shoulder. The boy beneath the glass fought against the injustice of entrapment, but sought only to placate his own desires. In those rare moments when the hollow child was too weary to fight back, he would sometimes sit and exchange a word or two of civil conversation with his gaoler. When rationalization seeped into his voice, Zangetsu heard words and phrases that his master commonly used.
As the years passed, he thought the similarities would fade away, but they only grew stronger with the passing time. It made Zangetsu feel even lonelier watching the two boys struggle with their inner and not so inner demons. All he could do was watch, because while one could not hear him, the other refused to listen to anything an old man had to say.
When Ichigo at last had ears to hear and eyes to see, Zangetsu was not surprised to find that the hollow trapped within steel walls glared at his mirror image with hatred; it rivaled any of his prior displays of temper. However, Zangetsu was surprised that he wished that hatred was in some small part due to jealousy. He wanted the hollow to feel envious over Zangetsu’s ability to converse and interact with Ichigo because that meant he was as important to the hollow as the hollow had somehow become to him.
When the world fell apart, fragmenting into a million shards of reiatsu as Ichigo strove to find the true form of his blade, Zangetsu was glad that the hollow would at last be free of the glass room. But Zangetsu wept; the hollow would never wholly have he wanted. To do that, the Ichigo who came first would have to die, and Zangetsu would prevent that as long as he was had power to prevent it.
When the world reformed, and the buildings that dotted the landscape resumed their solid existence, Zangetsu found a new companion, a dangerous one standing next to him. The Ichigo that had been trapped found his way into the dream world, hovering as Zangetsu hovered, listening as Zangetsu listened, and the hollow that had been born through a chance encounter all those years ago grew to hate the world that had nearly been his when Ichigo's mother perished. Freedom was not what the Hollow had imagined, so he turned to Zangetsu. Hollow Ichigo liked to talk, usually derisively, as he ridiculed Ichigo’s lack of talent and finesse as he battled his way through Soul Society. And the hollow watched the battles, his eyes keen with hunger and talent, and he practiced the moves Ichigo used, perfecting what was clumsily wielded.
Zangetsu watched it all, both the events outside the dream world and within, and he smiled thinking of two children pitted against each other in rivalry. He nearly deluded himself into thinking it was friendly. What one man learned, the other did as well, and what Zanetsu whispered to Ichigo, striving to divulge the secrets of his blade, the hollow heard and remembered.
And then Zangetsu felt a tug on his soul as danger once again grew near and time grew short. By some strange quirk, a new wall was built between him and the hollow as Zangetsu gained human form. Ichigo had need of him. Ichigo needed to learn the art of bankai.
It was a curious thing, that singular feeling of need and fright and that searing pain as Zangetsu was sucked into the world Ichigo lived within. He was finally able to feel Ichigo's hand gripping the hilt of his power and he could feel Ichigo's breath as he labored to handle the influx of sensation the time trials forced on him. But neither hilt was the true hilt, and the days flew by. When at last his master found the true blade within himself, Zangetsu rejoiced. For the first time in almost 16 years, he was truly free, truly one with his master.
When his borrowed body deteriorated and Zangetsu fell back into the dreamscape, he felt another hand clench the hilt of his body, and he felt the scorn and rage that echoed within this new entity. When Zangetsu materialized in the world that had become his home, the hollow Ichigo glared, and walked away scornfully, propping the transformed blade on his shoulder with fingers tightly wrapped around the hilt as though to say he was the only one who could draw the blade, the only one who could wield it properly.
And Zangetsu knew that at that moment in time, he was right.
Watching the hollow retreat into the distance, Zangetsu sighed. Turning his face to the heavens, Zangetsu willed the landscape to darken with clouds and rain, wishing that the water would wash away his guilt at doubting his master’s skills, and guilt at wishing the hollow who had kept him company through the long years would let go of his anger bordering on insanity. But it never rained according to his will, and all he could do was watch as Ichigo faced his battles and won. And he let the tears fall underneath sunny skies when the hollow forced his way into consciousness and taught Ichigo what he had been unable to learn. He saved his master’s life although he had only meant to save his own.
Zangetsu was an old man, and a patient one. He would need it as the years progressed as these two fought to dominate. One had the right to live, and the other had the desire. Even though Zangetsu knew he shouldn’t trust the hollow, he did, and every day he turned his thoughts to a new hope, a new yearning: he wanted them both to live in harmony, giving each new life and freedom. He would give each man what they needed and pray they struck a balance, soon. If they didn’t, one would be destroyed forever, and Zangetsu would feel an eternity of grief.
And the hollow watched, and the hollow waited. He would have his opportunity some day and then he would release all the pent-up rage within, and an old man would weep even as he struck Ichigo down with his own blade. The old man, even weeping, would wait, and watch, and be a witness to all that occurred afterwards, because Zangetsu could not bear to be wholly alone ever again.
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The relationship between the two perfectly underlines what I think is the core of Zangetsu- his loneliness.
Very well done.
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I loved reading this through Zangetsu's point of view. My god, i love you. Great, just great.